On March 23, the Ghanaian visual artist Joseph Awuah-Darko said in an Instagram post that an “incredibly powerful” person in the art world had sexually assaulted him. Shock and speculation ensued, and on May 19 Awuah-Darko revealed his abuser as Kehinde Wiley, the 47-year-old Nigerian-American painter renowned for his 2018 portrait of former President Barack Obama. Awuah-Darko claimed Wiley had assaulted him on two separate occasions in 2021: first at a dinner held in Wiley’s honor by Ghana’s Creative Art Council; and a second time, also in Ghana, which Awuah-Darko described as “much more severe and violent.” Awuah-Darko has also made these allegations in a telephone interview with The New York Times.
Wiley has denied the allegations, characterizing the sexual relationship he had with Awuah-Darko as consensual. And his attorneys have issued Awuah-Darko a cease and desist letter. This case is not an isolated incident in the art world, and though Wiley’s guilt is yet to be proven in a court, it raises questions about the nature of sexual abuse involving the artistically high and mighty. When S.I Ohumu, a journalist, came forward on Medium with a disturbing account of grooming and sexual abuse at the hands of the popular Nigerian visual artist Victor Ehikhamenor, there was no outrage. Perhaps because of Ehikhamenor’s beloved status, Ohumu’s claim of a trauma that will forever scar her was largely ignored and thrown under the bus. And therein lies the problem: powerful offenders are often popularly accepted, and even loved.
“Mohbad’s spirit is strong, I can’t sleep,” was the general cry after the musician’s tragic passing last year, the wake of which ushered in rumors of an underlying power struggle. After his death, it became public knowledge that those close to the artist (friends and colleagues) knew about his struggles, yet they chose to ignore him. Instead of addressing the warning signs, they opted for hypocrisy — taking to social media to absolve themselves while abandoning the very strong spirit they claimed to revere. In art, music, and other industries, this pattern repeats itself with disheartening familiarity — those with the power to combat injustice instead choose to shield themselves. For what forges thicker bonds than the ties of elite kinship?
Last July, the singer-songwriter Brymo admitted proposing exchanging music opportunities for sexual favors to singer Simi early in her career. Brymo’s brazenness suggests two things: A startling lack of awareness on Brymo’s part that leveraging his power and influence to sexually exploit a woman is a grave abuse of trust and position. And perhaps more disturbingly, it suggests he is aware of the societal norms that enable such misconduct — norms that often allow transgressors to evade consequences.
Artists are often placed on a pedestal, their talent giving them permission to cross certain ethical lines. This raises the question: how far are we willing to go to separate the art from the artist, and at what point do the crimes become too grave to ignore? Not only is “the untouchable man,” as Awuah-Darko wrote in his Instagram post, alive and well, but he is everywhere, from impoverished communities to affluent circles, the music world to the arts.
Last November, singer Cassandra Ventura’s federal lawsuit against her former partner, American rapper Sean “Diddy” Combs kicked off an array of lawsuits from other women who accused the mogul of sexual harassment. Comb’s legal team scrambled to settle, a typical pattern available only to the wealthy. Victims who usually lack the financial fortitude to sustain a legal battle opt for a settlement advised by their lawyers. Fortunately, as more victims found the strength to come forward, they gradually chipped away at the impenetrable façade that had long shielded Combs, exposing a common thread that binds these “untouchable men”: a confluence of power, influence, and a systemic willingness to look away.
A 2017 study revealed that feelings of powerlessness among sexually assaulted male victims led to reduced victim blaming, while powerlessness experienced by female victims led to greater victim blaming. This statistic highlights the role of power dynamics in perpetuating sexual violence and its aftermath: those in positions of authority within industries exert control over their victims. For victims, the sense of powerlessness is a constant, haunting reality. To add to their trauma is the ever-present risk of social stigmatization, making it harder for such people to come forward.
The answer is not merely advising victims to speak up. Rather, the path forward is finding different strategies to ensure their voices are amplified and their allegations are thoroughly investigated, regardless of the wealth or influence of their alleged abusers. That these abusers are rich and powerful is not enough reason to flush the alleged crimes down the toilet. Moreover, social media has made it such that we have insight into the lives of public figures. So if formal institutions refuse to take action, a single tweet or post supporting these victims could potentially catalyze the change necessary to protect another life from the trauma of abuse. Perhaps one day, by fostering a culture of accountability, we might close the era of the so-called untouchable men in the art community and beyond.
