David Michael Miller
Kobe Bryant can be a wonderful father, husband, mentor, philanthropist and basketball player — his accomplishments made even more extraordinary given the many obstacles we place between black men and greatness in America. He can be a leader, even a hero.
He can also be the perpetrator of sexual violence.
If we continue to impose a legacy of perfection on our heroes like Bryant, we perpetuate a system that marginalizes survivors of sexual violence and discourages public figures from taking responsibility for their wrongs. In the news and social media coverage of Bryant’s legacy, I am reminded that we continue to struggle with how to honestly reflect on the value of a flawed hero.
As a former sensitive crimes prosecutor and now a crime victims’ rights attorney in Wisconsin, I know that far too many men commit sexual assaults against their children, significant others, classmates, intoxicated acquaintances and strangers. Far too few of these men have the courage to admit to their assaults, to validate the survivors’ truthfulness.
Beyond their crimes, like our heroes, these same men do good things too: They are devoted sons, fathers, brothers. Hard workers. Honor roll students. Leaders at work. Star athletes. They are often victims themselves who are struggling to overcome their own traumas. And, many — especially black men — must also navigate institutional inequities designed to impede their success, including the criminal justice system itself.
All of this deserves recognition, but so too does the harm they caused.
I, like many of you, have appreciated the beautiful tributes honoring Bryant’s impactful words and good deeds. Along with you, I feel heartache for his family, friends, and the deep bench of people he inspired.
Yet, I am simultaneously dismayed by the discord over Bryant’s sex assault charge as we shape the narrative of his legacy. I hoped that, in light of #metoo, we could speak more openly now about the allegations against Bryant, which even he acknowledged.
Instead, we are still reflexively inclined to distill a complex legacy down to oversimplified perfection. A mere mention of the bad resulted in backlash. The day after Bryant’s death, a young female journalist (and a survivor herself) for The Washington Post re-tweeted a link to a 2016 in-depth article about Bryant’s rape case. The response was swift. She received threats of rape and death and a critic tweeted out her home address. By Monday, her tweets were gone. Her employer placed her on leave while issuing a statement condemning her “poor judgment.”
Another woman silenced.
Now, Gayle King is also enduring the consequences of asking one question about Bryant’s sexual assault charge. According to a tearful Oprah Winfrey, her best friend, the question resulted in an explosion of “misogynist vitriol” and dangerous threats. A couple of vulgar accusatory tweets from Snoop Dogg rapidly spawned countless other hateful responses. Snoop Dogg eventually apologized for the tone of his message, but the result, nevertheless, remains.
Another woman silenced.
Imagine you are a woman who, at 19 years old, was sexually assaulted by a national hero. Despite his eventual acknowledgement of your non-consent, your torn clothes, your own words, and your injured body, you are still blamed for trying to ruin this hero’s life.
Now imagine cycling through the glossy, glowing coverage honoring your rapist’s life. How little your suffering appears to matter.
Finally, consider this: All of us know someone who has been sexually assaulted. What message do we send all survivors — including the survivor you know and believe — when our tributes deliberately ignore the painful parts of a hero’s legacy?
This silencing of Bryant’s survivor makes me want to rebel against his positive truths as others rebel against the negative; to resist the binds of collective grief over the loss of an important man. It makes me feel like I must choose one side of Bryant: the good or the bad. I don’t want to feel that way. I want to be able to mourn the imperfect legacy of a flawed hero. I want to live in a world where I can grieve all of it, with each of you. We need not choose a side.
Greatness is different than perfection. Famous people who become our national heroes — leaders in sports, arts, politics, business, academics — can do bad things. We should honor the great things they accomplished in their lives while also acknowledging their wrongs.
When we openly acknowledge Bryant’s full legacy, we accept his complexity. When we allow our heroes to be human, we encourage them to accept responsibility for their flaws, mistakes and crimes. We create space for them to publicly learn from their wrongdoings, to seek forgiveness, and, ultimately, to help others do the same. In turn, we support the equally heroic survivors of sexual violence.
In truth and acceptance, we find greatness. A remarkable legacy, indeed.
Rachel E. Sattler is a Madison-based attorney specializing in privacy and crime victims rights law.
