Controversial take: We can still love cancelled celebrities
Every week, PhilSTAR L!fe explores issues and topics from the perspectives of different age groups, encouraging healthy but meaningful conversations on why they matter. This is Generations by our Gen Z columnist Angel Martinez.
Some of my darkest days took place during my freshman year of college. Instead of going into the specifics, I want to talk about a rare glimmer of hope: my spur-of-the-moment, solo trip to Maginhawa.
While my classmates were spending our free period doing God knows what, I attempted to commute on my own, treated myself to comfort food I had deprived myself of, and cafe-hopped to sit in silence. School days felt like I was forcing myself into a space that wasn’t mine. That day was like breathing for the first time in months.
Playing in my earphones throughout was a fitting soundtrack: Maginhawa by OPM band Ang Bandang Shirley. Until recently, the first few notes were enough to transport me to that pivotal moment of self-realization. Shirley’s sincere, sentimental discography would provide a backdrop for the rest of my onsite university experience. I would fall in love (or so I thought) with Umaapaw, then fall out of it (or so I thought) with Di Na Babalik. Favorite soon became my favorite album.
Hearing these songs live healed something in me—perhaps the very same parts that splintered in two when they announced their disbandment. Of course, I understand why it had to happen. Earlier this year, grooming and sexual misconduct allegations against frontman Ean Aguila resurfaced with new information. There was simply no other way, given that abysmal breach of trust.
Public figures—from Pablo Picasso to Roman Polanski—routinely fall off pedestals and fail their supporters. Very few are banished into oblivion: for instance, beloved comedian Bill Cosby’s legacy is forever tainted by his track record of sexual assault. But it’s more commonplace for perpetrators to shy away from the spotlight and then come back as if nothing happened. There's Chris Brown, Kanye West, and LANY, even local artists such as Marcus Adoro of Eraserheads, Skusta Clee, and Hev Abi. The list, unfortunately, goes on.
The oft-prescribed solution is to stop supporting them immediately, to strip their body of work of all significance. How could you not, right?
For Gen Z fans in particular, who we stan is who we are. Where we invest our money, emotions, and time says volumes about our values and belief systems. And with others’ track records available online, feigning ignorance is no longer an option.
Licensed psychometrician Rissa Coronel identifies the 2017 #MeToo movement as a turning point: “This shifted the conversation and enabled justice in ways we hadn’t seen before, exposing beloved figures for their politics or patterns of abuse,” she told PhilSTAR L!fe.
But this conversation needs some nuance, ‘no? It’s easy to take a definitive stance as passive observers or casual consumers. Holding such strong opinions on Harry Potter and Woody Allen amid the noise barrage on social media gave me a sense of moral superiority. Complications arise when it’s something we’ve forged a deep, personal connection with.
“For many, art isn’t just art—it might be identity, nostalgia, community,” Coronel affirms. “Letting go [of that] means confronting what it all meant to you in the first place, being forced into a decision based on painful new information.” Artists shape our tastes and worldviews, exposing us to new art forms or inspiring us to explore what we are personally capable of. If their impact is so deeply enmeshed with who we are, how can we move on as if they never existed?
Of course, what we grapple with will never come close to what their victims go through. But whether we admit it or not, we carry real grief, too, which keeps us from moving forward as quickly as we want to: “The guilt that comes with realizing that you once supported someone who turned out to be horrible can feel like complicity, like you were an enabler, even if you had no way of knowing,” Coronel says.
There’s also the confusion of not knowing where to draw the line. What is considered acceptable and forgivable, and who decides on these standards? Should we continue liking Taylor Swift even with her carbon footprint and white feminism? Justin Bieber said the n-word with a hard ‘r’ back in the day—they got it on video, too! Is it wrong that I’d pay an arm and leg for a ticket to his next tour?
Claire Dederer captures this tension perfectly in her book, Monsters: “I wished someone would invent an online calculator—the user would enter the name of an artist, whereupon the calculator would assess the heinousness of the crime versus the greatness of the art and spit out a verdict. You could or could not consume the work of this artist.”
Ultimately, this piece was never meant to impose what to do next. Maybe this is your permission slip to stew in your complicated feelings a bit more. “There’s no deadline for figuring out what to do next. Look at what you want to prioritize: artistic legacy? Accountability? Both?” Coronel advises. “This isn’t only about loss. It’s also a chance to show up better for who and what you care about.”
The bare minimum I’d suggest for any fan would be to acknowledge that sins were committed, rather than covering them up or coming to a suspect’s defense. We can confront our biases and believe victims as they come forward, and join them in their fight to hold our favorites accountable. Believe it or not, this can happen while acknowledging that these flawed people made us very happy. Beauty and terror can be found in the same source.
Others have found ways to consume artists’ work without funneling money into their pockets. You might want to avoid buying merchandise or attending their concerts and opt for indirect revenue streams like listening to them on YouTube or pirating their movies instead. (Dederer made me cackle when she wrote in Monsters: “Is it simply a matter of pragmatism? [...] Is it okay to stream, say, a Roman Polanski movie for free? Can we, um, watch it at a friend’s house?”)
Personally, I will feel a pinch in my heart every time the algorithm serves me my favorite Shirley songs. I simply can’t imagine that someone who perfectly captures such pure emotion can also inflict so much pain. But that’s the price we must pay for putting our faith in imperfect people. Regardless of their status or contribution to society, humans are messed up and morally complex. Loving them will always require us to ask ourselves: What are we willing to tolerate or forgive in its name?
Generations by Angel Martinez appears weekly at PhilSTAR L!fe.
