Derek Fisher
Derek Fisher
Breezy Bowl: On Violence, “Cancel Culture” and Complacency
Breezy Bowl: On Violence, “Cancel Culture” and Complacency
On March 26, Chris Brown announced his “Breezy Bowl XX” Tour, a celebration marking 20 years since his debut album’s release. It has been his highest-grossing tour yet: from its kickoff in June through only Sept. 26, Brown sold 1.7 million tickets and brought in 241.4 million dollars.
There is no denying the sustained success of Chris Brown’s career, which I have grown up witnessing. However, despite his talent and the memories I associate with his music, it becomes impossible for me to separate the art from the artist when I consider his lengthy history of violence.
Brown’s track record of abuse began as a 19-year-old in 2009, when he brutally assaulted his then-girlfriend, 20-year-old pop star Robyn Rihanna Fenty. The severity of the incident is often understated, frequently accompanied by the claim that Fenty tried to kick him first, angry about Brown’s infidelity.
Regardless of who initiated it, the brutal assault that followed was unjustifiable– the report describes Brown attempting to shove Fenty out of the car, then repeatedly punching her in the face, throwing her phone out of the window when she pretended to call for help and choking her to the point of losing consciousness. The haunting, graphic image of Fenty’s battered face, bruised, swollen and bloody with a split lip, was leaked and shared by media outlets. Brown pled guilty to felony assault and was sentenced to five years of probation and six months of community service.
In conversation about this incident, those who come to Brown’s defense frequently emphasize how long ago the incident was, claiming Brown was “just a kid” at the time and did not know any better. Some often reference Fenty’s forgiveness of Brown, insisting that if the victim has let it go, then the public should as well.
After completing required domestic violence counseling sessions after the 2009 assault, Brown himself wrote in a since-deleted post: “I have enough self respect and decency to be proud of accomplishing this DV class. Boyz run from [their] mistakes. Men learn from them!!!”
Unfortunately for his many victims, Brown did not learn much— while I believe that all people are imperfect and are capable of redemption, Brown’s violent behavior certainly did not stop in 2009, a fact that many defenders choose not to acknowledge.
In 2017, Brown’s ex-girlfriend Karreuche Tran was granted a five-year restraining order from him. She accused him of punching her in the stomach, throwing her down stairs and repeatedly threatening her and her friends, even telling multiple people he would kill her. Upon seeing her friends at a party, Brown allegedly threw a drink in one's face and threatened to beat up another if he did not leave. In January 2016, he was accused of beating a woman who tried to take his photo and taking her phone at a party in Las Vegas.
In 2022, a woman sued Brown, alleging that he drugged and raped her aboard a yacht owned by Sean “Diddy” Combs in 2020. His accusations don not only apply to women. In 2013, while still on probation from the Rihanna assault, Brown and his entourage assaulted Frank Ocean in a recording studio parking lot– Brown allegedly punched Ocean in the face after refusing to shake his hand.
About a year later, he was charged with and convicted of misdemeanor assault for breaking a man’s nose after he tried to join a picture Brown was taking with fans.
In 2019, Brown’s former manager, Mike G, sued him for assault and battery, and in 2024, Brown was sued for 50 million dollars after he and his entourage assaulted four fans backstage. Most recently, in May 2025, Brown was arrested and charged with attempting to cause grievous bodily harm for assaulting a producer in a London nightclub, almost delaying his Breezy Bowl tour kickoff.
This does not even cover the full timeline of his many controversies, covered in almost full totality by People Magazine– clearly, claiming that Brown is a “changed man” is simply illogical, and his money and fame have arguably allowed him to evade long-lasting consequences.
Several TikTok creators have gone to Brown’s shows to ask attendees about their knowledge of his criminal history, as well as their opinions about it. In one video, some fans admitted they were unaware, while others were aware, but indifferent.
“Have you not been in a toxic relationship, sorry? Like, it’s life,” one woman said, laughing.
This concerning remark is a clear example of the normalizing and downplaying of domestic violence that still plagues our culture today. Another woman simply stated that his actions were not done to her, insinuating that because she was not the victim, she did not care. This comment is indicative of larger societal problems: complacency, individualism and the loss of empathy.
“…I think he’s paid enough, like for his problems or whatever, and I just go because I like his concert, music, dancing… and he’s pretty cute to look at,” one Black woman said in a different video.
I find this comment particularly alarming, as it highlights how attractiveness and/or talent allow so abusers to evade accountability. This was illuminated again last month when social media personality Kayla Nicole Brown was brought on stage as the special guest for his performance of “Take You Down”. The risqué moment was widely celebrated on social media, with many fans considering it a powerful “clapback” weeks after her ex-boyfriend, Travis Kelce, announced his engagement to Taylor Swift.
Kayla Nicole Brown posted about the moment on her Instagram, writing, “I did it for the smart girls, the cool girls, the sexy girls, the fun girls… . And I OVERLY did it for my brown girls, tthhhhaankya…”
As I observed the praise online, I sat bewildered at how a Black woman getting a lap dance from a serial abuser, some of his victims being Black women as well, could be considered even remotely empowering or beneficial for other girls and women.
It disheartens me to see so many people, especially women, continuing to support an artist who has caused such tremendous harm, whether in the form of buying tickets to his shows, lining up for pictures at VIP meet and greets, or downplaying his violence on social media. Even Essence Magazine, a publication that claims to be dedicated to uplifting Black women, chose to include a Chris Brown tribute in an anti-Columbus day post on Oct. 13, the prompt reading, “The Only Christopher We Acknowledge Is.”
When the questionable nature of this choice was pointed out in the comment section, accompanied by calls for his photo to be removed from the slideshow, the magazine boldly replied to one critic’s comment, saying, “we like the list as is”.
This lack of care amongst many Black women is unfortunately not a new phenomenon. To name just a couple of examples, we saw it in 2021, 2022, and even years earlier in 2008, when Black women stood outside courtrooms cheering for R. Kelly as he faced child pornography, racketeering and sex trafficking charges. I even saw it with my own eyes this past summer, when I stood outside the court where Sean “Diddy” Combs’ trial took place, watching Black women and men sport “FREE DIDDY” shirts and passionately debate anyone willing to challenge them.
When dealing with controversy of any kind, many Black people struggle to overcome respectability politics, worried about the optics of publicly condemning any Black celebrity and “airing out dirty laundry” for a large audience. It’s often difficult to have productive conversations about violence against women within the Black community, as those who critique Black men’s behavior are often scolded for attempting to ‘tear down Black men’— some deflect by bringing up famous white men who have gotten away with similar or worse offenses, as if this should somehow absolve the offender in question.
As discussed in “Gender Talk” by Beverly Guy-Sheftall and Johnnetta B. Cole, cultural critic Nelson George once wrote, “There is an intense knee jerk defense of black male privilege loose in the African-American community that can be irrational and destructive. Usually the stance is supported by paranoia that this particular Black man is being targeted by white people because of his public profile,” he said. “Often they are right. There are many whites who love to pull black icons off whatever pedestal they’ve climbed upon. But not all brothers have that excuse.”
By dismissing valid criticism of Brown as an unjustified attempt to tarnish his image and career, or positioning him as a “victim” of cancel culture, we minimize the seriousness and tangible impacts of domestic violence.
I understand the harsh pressure, criticism and stereotyping that Black men are subjected to, as well as the inclination to defend them in a racist and hypocritical world that allows men of other races to redeem themselves after their transgressions, but rarely extends Black men the same compassion or grace. Chris Brown himself has experienced hardship, such as witnessing his mother being regularly abused by his stepfather as a child— he has struggled with bipolar and post-traumatic stress disorder, as well as substance abuse and anger management issues.
While I feel for Brown and hope that he can one day overcome his traumas, I refuse to let any extension of empathy or grace come at the expense of the women who have been victimized by his behavior. If defending Brown and other abusers’ behavior comes from a place of care, what does that say about our lack of care for the people who have been harmed by it? Aren’t they also deserving of empathy, care and protection?
We must also remember the immense courage it requires for victims to come forward, particularly those of well-established and admired celebrities like Chris Brown. Black women in particular face intense pressure to remain silent about violence at the hands of Black men, as speaking out would make us “traitors” to the race in the eyes of many.
An unfair and dangerous expectation is imposed on Black women to prioritize racial unity and stand behind Black men unapologetically, even if it means denying our own value and making our experiences unimportant, or completely invisible. What does it say about our community if we are willing to discard our women, as well as women of other backgrounds, to protect a serial perpetrator?
It is my hope that our society can move away from an attitude of passivity and enablement to one of true accountability, one that provokes us to reflect more deeply about the people we support, as well as the violent and oppressive systems we uphold in the process.
On March 26, Chris Brown announced his “Breezy Bowl XX” Tour, a celebration marking 20 years since his debut album’s release. It has been his highest-grossing tour yet: from its kickoff in June through only Sept. 26, Brown sold 1.7 million tickets and brought in 241.4 million dollars.
There is no denying the sustained success of Chris Brown’s career, which I have grown up witnessing. However, despite his talent and the memories I associate with his music, it becomes impossible for me to separate the art from the artist when I consider his lengthy history of violence.
Brown’s track record of abuse began as a 19-year-old in 2009, when he brutally assaulted his then-girlfriend, 20-year-old pop star Robyn Rihanna Fenty. The severity of the incident is often understated, frequently accompanied by the claim that Fenty tried to kick him first, angry about Brown’s infidelity.
Regardless of who initiated it, the brutal assault that followed was unjustifiable– the report describes Brown attempting to shove Fenty out of the car, then repeatedly punching her in the face, throwing her phone out of the window when she pretended to call for help and choking her to the point of losing consciousness. The haunting, graphic image of Fenty’s battered face, bruised, swollen and bloody with a split lip, was leaked and shared by media outlets. Brown pled guilty to felony assault and was sentenced to five years of probation and six months of community service.
In conversation about this incident, those who come to Brown’s defense frequently emphasize how long ago the incident was, claiming Brown was “just a kid” at the time and did not know any better. Some often reference Fenty’s forgiveness of Brown, insisting that if the victim has let it go, then the public should as well.
After completing required domestic violence counseling sessions after the 2009 assault, Brown himself wrote in a since-deleted post: “I have enough self respect and decency to be proud of accomplishing this DV class. Boyz run from [their] mistakes. Men learn from them!!!”
Unfortunately for his many victims, Brown did not learn much— while I believe that all people are imperfect and are capable of redemption, Brown’s violent behavior certainly did not stop in 2009, a fact that many defenders choose not to acknowledge.
In 2017, Brown’s ex-girlfriend Karreuche Tran was granted a five-year restraining order from him. She accused him of punching her in the stomach, throwing her down stairs and repeatedly threatening her and her friends, even telling multiple people he would kill her. Upon seeing her friends at a party, Brown allegedly threw a drink in one's face and threatened to beat up another if he did not leave. In January 2016, he was accused of beating a woman who tried to take his photo and taking her phone at a party in Las Vegas.
In 2022, a woman sued Brown, alleging that he drugged and raped her aboard a yacht owned by Sean “Diddy” Combs in 2020. His accusations don not only apply to women. In 2013, while still on probation from the Rihanna assault, Brown and his entourage assaulted Frank Ocean in a recording studio parking lot– Brown allegedly punched Ocean in the face after refusing to shake his hand.
About a year later, he was charged with and convicted of misdemeanor assault for breaking a man’s nose after he tried to join a picture Brown was taking with fans.
In 2019, Brown’s former manager, Mike G, sued him for assault and battery, and in 2024, Brown was sued for 50 million dollars after he and his entourage assaulted four fans backstage. Most recently, in May 2025, Brown was arrested and charged with attempting to cause grievous bodily harm for assaulting a producer in a London nightclub, almost delaying his Breezy Bowl tour kickoff.
This does not even cover the full timeline of his many controversies, covered in almost full totality by People Magazine– clearly, claiming that Brown is a “changed man” is simply illogical, and his money and fame have arguably allowed him to evade long-lasting consequences.
Several TikTok creators have gone to Brown’s shows to ask attendees about their knowledge of his criminal history, as well as their opinions about it. In one video, some fans admitted they were unaware, while others were aware, but indifferent.
“Have you not been in a toxic relationship, sorry? Like, it’s life,” one woman said, laughing.
This concerning remark is a clear example of the normalizing and downplaying of domestic violence that still plagues our culture today. Another woman simply stated that his actions were not done to her, insinuating that because she was not the victim, she did not care. This comment is indicative of larger societal problems: complacency, individualism and the loss of empathy.
“…I think he’s paid enough, like for his problems or whatever, and I just go because I like his concert, music, dancing… and he’s pretty cute to look at,” one Black woman said in a different video.
I find this comment particularly alarming, as it highlights how attractiveness and/or talent allow so abusers to evade accountability. This was illuminated again last month when social media personality Kayla Nicole Brown was brought on stage as the special guest for his performance of “Take You Down”. The risqué moment was widely celebrated on social media, with many fans considering it a powerful “clapback” weeks after her ex-boyfriend, Travis Kelce, announced his engagement to Taylor Swift.
Kayla Nicole Brown posted about the moment on her Instagram, writing, “I did it for the smart girls, the cool girls, the sexy girls, the fun girls… . And I OVERLY did it for my brown girls, tthhhhaankya…”
As I observed the praise online, I sat bewildered at how a Black woman getting a lap dance from a serial abuser, some of his victims being Black women as well, could be considered even remotely empowering or beneficial for other girls and women.
It disheartens me to see so many people, especially women, continuing to support an artist who has caused such tremendous harm, whether in the form of buying tickets to his shows, lining up for pictures at VIP meet and greets, or downplaying his violence on social media. Even Essence Magazine, a publication that claims to be dedicated to uplifting Black women, chose to include a Chris Brown tribute in an anti-Columbus day post on Oct. 13, the prompt reading, “The Only Christopher We Acknowledge Is.”
When the questionable nature of this choice was pointed out in the comment section, accompanied by calls for his photo to be removed from the slideshow, the magazine boldly replied to one critic’s comment, saying, “we like the list as is”.
This lack of care amongst many Black women is unfortunately not a new phenomenon. To name just a couple of examples, we saw it in 2021, 2022, and even years earlier in 2008, when Black women stood outside courtrooms cheering for R. Kelly as he faced child pornography, racketeering and sex trafficking charges. I even saw it with my own eyes this past summer, when I stood outside the court where Sean “Diddy” Combs’ trial took place, watching Black women and men sport “FREE DIDDY” shirts and passionately debate anyone willing to challenge them.
When dealing with controversy of any kind, many Black people struggle to overcome respectability politics, worried about the optics of publicly condemning any Black celebrity and “airing out dirty laundry” for a large audience. It’s often difficult to have productive conversations about violence against women within the Black community, as those who critique Black men’s behavior are often scolded for attempting to ‘tear down Black men’— some deflect by bringing up famous white men who have gotten away with similar or worse offenses, as if this should somehow absolve the offender in question.
As discussed in “Gender Talk” by Beverly Guy-Sheftall and Johnnetta B. Cole, cultural critic Nelson George once wrote, “There is an intense knee jerk defense of black male privilege loose in the African-American community that can be irrational and destructive. Usually the stance is supported by paranoia that this particular Black man is being targeted by white people because of his public profile,” he said. “Often they are right. There are many whites who love to pull black icons off whatever pedestal they’ve climbed upon. But not all brothers have that excuse.”
By dismissing valid criticism of Brown as an unjustified attempt to tarnish his image and career, or positioning him as a “victim” of cancel culture, we minimize the seriousness and tangible impacts of domestic violence.
I understand the harsh pressure, criticism and stereotyping that Black men are subjected to, as well as the inclination to defend them in a racist and hypocritical world that allows men of other races to redeem themselves after their transgressions, but rarely extends Black men the same compassion or grace. Chris Brown himself has experienced hardship, such as witnessing his mother being regularly abused by his stepfather as a child— he has struggled with bipolar and post-traumatic stress disorder, as well as substance abuse and anger management issues.
While I feel for Brown and hope that he can one day overcome his traumas, I refuse to let any extension of empathy or grace come at the expense of the women who have been victimized by his behavior. If defending Brown and other abusers’ behavior comes from a place of care, what does that say about our lack of care for the people who have been harmed by it? Aren’t they also deserving of empathy, care and protection?
We must also remember the immense courage it requires for victims to come forward, particularly those of well-established and admired celebrities like Chris Brown. Black women in particular face intense pressure to remain silent about violence at the hands of Black men, as speaking out would make us “traitors” to the race in the eyes of many.
An unfair and dangerous expectation is imposed on Black women to prioritize racial unity and stand behind Black men unapologetically, even if it means denying our own value and making our experiences unimportant, or completely invisible. What does it say about our community if we are willing to discard our women, as well as women of other backgrounds, to protect a serial perpetrator?
It is my hope that our society can move away from an attitude of passivity and enablement to one of true accountability, one that provokes us to reflect more deeply about the people we support, as well as the violent and oppressive systems we uphold in the process.