The Pointy End of the Question

What witches can learn from a docuseries about Bill Cosby

The world owes a deep debt to W. Kamau Bell, the architect of the docuseries “We Need to Talk About Cosby.” In this four part series, Bell, a Black comic and television host, takes on the very thorny issue of what to do with the life and legacy of Bill Cosby. If you think you have clear ideas on how to handle it when your heroes fall off the pedestal they’ve been placed upon, if you think you know all the nuances of whether or how an artist should be “canceled” for their behavior on or off a stage, the life and work of Bill Cosby will challenge everything you think you know. You hear it from the moment the docuseries begins, with a run of shots of Black comics, artists, intellectuals and leaders heaving big, deep, frustrated sighs as Bell asks them the simplest question about how they feel about Bill Cosby. This is not an easy thing to unpack, however simple the question is.

On the one hand, Cosby was without doubt one of the great comedic talents of the late 20th Century, period. His stand up comedy albums won Grammy after Grammy after Grammy, and were you to ask a comic of any race before 2010 to list their influences, Cosby would nearly always make the list. And that’s before you even get to Cosby’s legendary run as Dr. Cliff Huxtable, the main character on the NBC sitcom “The Cosby Show.” During the time when The Cosby Show ruled the prime time airwaves, Bill Cosby was “America’s Dad” and gave families, but particularly Black families, something to aspire to.

What many do not realize is that even before reaching the pinnacle that was The Cosby Show, Bill Cosby had already built a deep legacy of support for civil rights and uplifting and educating children, particularly Black children. He became the first Black man to hold a leading man role (on the prime time TV series “I Spy”) where the role wasn’t fulfilling some negative stereotype of the lazy, slow-witted field hand. Cosby single-handedly changed the game in Hollywood by insisting that his stunt doubles be Black men like him, not white men literally painted with black paint. He focused a lot on education for Black youth, providing millions in support for HBCUs in America, logged countless hours on PBS educational shows like “The Electric Company” and “Captain Kangaroo,” and even designed his own lesson-based Saturday morning cartoon in “Fat Albert.”

And yet, all the while as Cosby was building this legacy that instilled pride and admiration, he also drugged and raped more than 68 women that we know of, from the early 1960’s until well into the 2000’s. Reportedly there are more who did not come forward because they did not want to tell their stories publicly.  Although Cosby was released from prison in 2021 because of a technicality regarding a plea bargain, at no point was Cosby exculpated from the finding that he committed the crimes he was accused and convicted of.

Cosby may not be serving jail time for it, but he is, undeniably, a rapist. And it wasn’t just a moment where two people could look at the facts and see them differently. Cosby repeatedly drugged women until they were senseless and then forced them to have sex with him. He was not confused about the consent. He was a predator who picked targets and groomed them for his intentional assault.

The age old question — “Can you separate the art from the artist?” comes up when you think about what to do about Cosby's vast body of work. Cosby’s legacy is the stuff of legend. And his transgressions are equally epic in scope. Of all the artists for whom this question continues to be pointed at — Woody Allen, J K Rowling, Dave Chappelle, Picasso, Michael Jackson — Cosby feels like the one that is in some ways the most difficult to grapple with. The dichotomy between “America’s Dad” and the predatory serial rapist is so vast it’s hard to really wrap your brain around it.

Um…. I have a question…..

And yet you can’t really ignore it. Especially when you start to listen more closely to Cosby’s work, particularly his earliest standup routines, which regularly talk about giving women “Spanish fly” to make them more sexually compliant. Bell’s docu-series even unearths a clip from the 1990’s  of Cosby being interviewed on “Larry King Live” and talking about it. Even The Cosby Show has a running gag about Cliff’s barbecue sauce being an aphrodisiac. Like all the artists that end up being at the pointy end of this question, if one looks closely at the oeuvre that is their work, you start to see them “tell on themselves” and drop references that unmistakeably telegraph the problematic issues they will eventually be called out on in the fullness of time. You begin to realize that the truth was always there -- we are just all too busy celebrating the person to see the problem.

But the question of what to do about the artist’s work as a whole, is very specific. The question on the table is, as a person who is a member of the public engaging with art products on a regular basis,  do you still choose to engage with this artist’s work, now that you know what they have done or said or stood up for? How much does consuming a work of art mean tacit support for the artist themself? Are you cosigning their flaws if you enjoy their art?

At the very least, we can't and shouldn't ignore the accusations. Whatever legacy Cosby has attained, now has an inescapable asterix connected to it. Baseball history fans and statisticians know by heart the tale of Roger Maris's "asterix" around his home run record. Maris's famous asterix was removed, but the point remains -- one can effectively caveat the artist's legacy with an asterix that notes it isn't without questions. Whether you choose to watch "The Cosby Show" anymore, or choose to watch a Woody Allen film, or read a book by JK Rowling, there must be the inevitable notation in that experience, that you are consuming a product that comes from someone who has done something very problematic.

The idea that one may "separate the art from the artist" presumes that the artist's work product can be placed in a bubble, divorced from the context of who created it. And certainly, it is true that most of us who engage with artwork usually don't know as much as we could or even should about its context. We watch a movie. We read a book. We see a painting. We hear a song. How much context are we expected to apply to those activities? Is it fair to burden the work with its context in this way?

The problem with the idea that artwork can be hermetically sealed off from the context of who created it is that creators rely on that context for their livelihoods. The artist certainly isn't wanting their work to be seen as an independent thing hermetically sealed from their identity. Although it is true in the literary world pen names were used often (usually by women and people of color to obtain access to the literary marketplace), in the case of most performing arts, the creators WANT their names associated with the work. Their future depends on it. Bill Cosby didn't do his standup routines in his garage for the benefit of the neighborhood cats. He sought big theaters full of people, and committed those routines to vinyl and sold them in the millions. And he made lots and lots of money doing it. He didn't put a bag over his head when he did his legendary sitcom. He titled the show with his own name.

People like Cosby, Rowling, and Allen are banking on the idea that they can have it both ways. That they can be allowed the personal benefits of fame and wealth that come with people consuming the product of their creative work, while avoiding the approbation from their more problematic actions when they reach the public eye.

In the docuseries, Bell includes a clip of comedians Jerry Seinfeld and Stephen Colbert talking on Colbert's talk show about Seinfeld's influences. He mentions Cosby. Colbert immediately says that he can no longer watch Cosby's work. Seinfeld seems nonplussed. "Really?" he asks. Clearly it hasn't stopped him.

It's a telling moment. Two famous and successful white men, the epitome of privilege in the world in which we live, people who are part of the same world in which Cosby worked. Neither man has a specific stake in Cosby's success or failure. They have no shared identity with  either Cosby or his victims beyond a shared profession.  Both men have enough success that they don't need Cosby's assistance or approval. One who is now unable to even watch his peer's work because of Cosby's crimes, and another who is unperturbed by those crimes.

Which reaction is the right one? Which do you choose? Who will you be -- Seinfeld or Colbert?

In the end, that's the real question. Because who Cosby is is not in question. He's a legendary performer and a serial rapist. Both of those things are true. Cosby doesn't get to pick and choose between those things. They are both inescapable parts of who he is.

We know who Cosby is. What we don't know is who you are.

The pointy end of this question isn't actually directed at Cosby at all. It's directed at you. How important is it to you to stand in solidarity with those Cosby harmed? How important is it for you to defend Cosby's reputation? Are you willing to ignore Cosby's victims so that you can enjoy his artistry or celebrate his legacy? Can you do both? Is your experience more mixed, where you enjoy his artistry and at the same time feel bad about it? The answer to that question says very little about who Cosby is. But it says everything about who you are.

The question being asked -- "can you separate the art from the artist?" isn't the right question at all. Separation isn't possible, because once you know who the artist is, and know the artist created the work, it's not like you can un-know those facts. The work and the artist are inextricably linked. You can't remove their contribution from the work, and you can't in good faith pretend you don't know what they did.

It's important to note that I'm not advocating for censorship. I'm not suggesting we excise everything Cosby ever did from the public memory or even from public access. I believe in the marketplace of ideas and in allowing artistic expression to have a wide berth. We don't need to create some kind of government intervention here to protect people from Cosby's work. That's not how a society that values free expression operates. Placing Cosby's life and legacy into the proper perspective does not necessitate erasing him from history altogether.  But we can't ignore a whole category of things he did as a human being -- things that were predatory and evil and worked deep, irrevocable harm on other people. It happened, and you can't pretend it didn't.

With Cosby's case we also have the benefit that his crimes are conclusive -- proven in a court of law and backed with literally dozens of victims corroborating the accusation of what we can all agree is a horrible crime. While there are plenty of people who still nonetheless disbelieve the evidence, when I say we know who Cosby is, it does stand in contrast to individuals who are merely accused of things, but about which there is little to no proof. Those cases are, admittedly, even more complicated.

In the end, however, the real question is, "What are we personally willing to suborn from an artist in order to receive enjoyment from their work?" What price are we as a human willing to pay to have that art from that artist, to have that legacy from that person. What price are you comfortable with? Are you okay with the idea that Cosby's legendary stand up routines cost at least 68 women the experience of being drugged and raped, with all the attendant life-altering trauma that comes with it? Is a good laugh worth that to you? You can answer that question any way you like. But the answer will be a reflection on you and your values. It has nothing to do with Bill Cosby.

Time was that we as a society looked past the cost to women, to trans people, to children when a "great talent" was gracing us with their genius. The social calculation valued the powerless victims far less than the work that the "great talent" produced. Commentators on these sorts of accusations are quick to point out the potential loss to the "great talent's" reputation.  And we as a society were comfortable with that calculation. We swept the victims under the rug, ignored them, discounted their stories, minimized the harm done to them. The "great talent" and their contributions to the world were deemed too important and valuable. Their reputation and legacy was the concern, not the well-being of their accusers or victims.

What's changed is that cultural observers are no longer content to ignore that cost. We can choose to place value on the victims. We can value the lives of the women Cosby hurt more than the sitcoms and stand up routines that Cosby produced. We can choose to value the careers of the 68 women he harmed as having more value than his well-being as a "great man." If you still want to watch Cosby Show reruns, and play his comedy records, go ahead. But you're going to know the truth about all of who Bill Cosby was, and who he harmed while he racked up all those accolades and that applause, what the full cost of that legacy really is.

And as those around you observe that choice, they'll draw conclusions, inevitably. Can I trust a man who seems to think that it's okay for 68 women to be drugged and raped so long as he gets to watch "Fat Albert?" Can I really say that I support my transgender siblings, can they really trust that I stand with them if I am still putting money in JK Rowling's pocket? These aren't easy questions, but they are valid ones.

In almost any community, including the witchcraft and pagan world, there are people who have historically contributed greatly to the culture, but whose contribution exists alongside some very problematic and abusive behavior. They have a legacy, and that legacy carries a horrible cost. The Cosby problem as discussed here is also the Crowley problem, the Bonewitz problem, the Marion Zimmer Bradley problem. Cosby is merely a higher-profile, better documented, more publicly dissected version.

Heroes in every culture  can develop feet of clay.  Power, fame and influence erode empathy, engender entitlement, and make accountability harder.  And so leaders who do not stay grounded can rack up a swath of harm in their wake.  And eventually, you will know their deeds, the cost of their leadership. You will eventually figure out who they really are. You can do whatever you like with that knowledge -- ignore it, deal with it, agonize over it. But as is true about most things in the world, your choices are going to tell us who you are. That’s not a “social justice crusade.” That’s just basic physics. For every action there is a reaction. Cause and effect. You make your choices, as is your right. And others have a right to their feelings about it, and to form an opinion of you based on your choices.

I'm not advocating for anyone to be "canceled" or excised from public memory in the pagan and witchcraft communities. I don't have that power, nor do I want it. What I am advocating for is a more careful and personal consideration of the problematic nature of some of our leading lights. Before you pooh-pooh it as "cancel culture" and congratulate yourself for being high-minded for your ability to "separate the art from the artist," consider the question of who has had to endure hardship so that you could have the benefit of the "artist's" work, and whether that really shouldn't have any impact on your future consumption of it. Who do you really want to be with respect to this issue?

You are not entitled to demand that people only form good opinions of you. No one is, including “geniuses,” comedic or otherwise. And maybe you don’t care what anyone thinks of you. If you are fully capable of living that way, you are welcome to it, but most humans do in fact want and need community and that requires you to categorically care about other people and what they think.

As Bell notes in the beginning of his series, this is not easy stuff to sort through. Community begets complication. If you smugly think you have all the answers and don't question for a minute whether you are doing the right thing, that's how you know you're doing it wrong. Knowing what's right has never been a comfortable or easy place to get to or to be at. I can't tell you which way you need to land on any of this. My goal here isn't to give you the safety of right answers. It's to make you uncomfortable enough to ask the right questions.

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