Russell Brand: an open secret

#thelads

Oi oi the lads! It's just the lads, being lads. Love the lads. Legendary lads. Lads, lads, lads!

This was a chorus for years when I was a young buck on a desk at music magazines in late 2000s through early 2010s in London, next to lads making Pot Noodle (adorable, right?) and maintaining that the lads were the ones who needed protecting, needed promoting. Without the lads, who were we? Every magazine I worked at was adjacent to a Nuts or a Zoo or an FHM (the famous lad mags of the era), and their larger-than-life-sized posters and cardboard cutouts of oiled, augmented, blonde and naked celebrity women. This is the era in which Russell Brand, now exposed as an alleged vile predator and repeated sex offender this past weekend, claimed Godlike status at places like the ones I was employed by. I grew up around it. I cut my teeth on it. I learned how to mould myself within it, and which edges I could fray, and fray them I did – or attempted to – as much as was possible. “Here comes Barlow with her feminist agenda again.” You’re welcome, lads. This was a culture that discouraged the sharing of political or social opinions in favor of having a jolly good time. That's entertainment. Shut up about it. Nobody wants to know how scared you are when you’re trying to make your way in this world. You’re lucky. Stop complaining. Put up, or get out. And you know I'm not talking about being afraid of a job interview, or having nerves on a first day. Not that fear.

The first day I walked into the office of the most famous weekly music magazine in the Western hemisphere, it was during a time of transition for British media. The old guard were clinging on as a new wave of hyper-politicized and diversified individuals were coming in and demanding change. I took the elevator up to the ninth floor of the skyrise building just south of the River Thames, and I will never forget the faces of the men who had become as old as the furniture there. I found it charming. There was no other way to find it. Who the fuck is this girl? – Basically. I wore a Stone Roses t-shirt to soften the blow; the extreme ego burn that was me, a sub-editor who had a performative editorial role at a competitor magazine coming in at the tender age of 25 to take the second most senior job in the office, ahead of the dinosaurs who had been sitting there in waiting since Oasis were still together.

As a result of the revolutionary act that was my hire, I was approached by every marginalized (gay, female, person of color, etc) human being in the London circuit. “Commission me!” etc. And I wanted to try and give as many a voice as possible. The publicists, the managers, (the lawyers even), the bands… everyone wanted to bend my ear about what this meant. What would this new era be like with more women in tow? What can we get away with now? Is the renaissance en route? I guess, on the face of it, it looked like it might be. What I will say is that everything was a battle, and a necessary one. The end of the old ways were nigh. And yet the lads still had their nails in the wood of the industry, holding it together, barely, as the entire thing was rotting and buckling under the weight of new technology, social media (“it will go away”) and streaming. Physical things that weren't old enough to be quaint or cool (see – vinyl, second-hand brogues, first edition books) were becoming obsolete before our very eyes. And every week we were still making one of those physical things. Sixty-four pages of it. And as much as we wanted it to be up to speed with the increasingly colorful, fresh and urgent public conversation, there was still a “core” readership that needed to be served, and they were served up as the reason nothing could go too far in the right direction.

When you're a young woman, broke and hungry, coming up in this strange metaverse, rape culture is just another hurdle in your peripheral view. And it's everywhere. It's in the hotel bar over drinks with the manager with a penchant for infidelity. It's outside the pub with the handsy publicist who just thought he'd try to push himself on you after one too many. It's at the office Christmas party where, you know, everyone's had a bit too much to drink and is “in the spirit!” To make it in the music or entertainment in London in the era of Brand, you had to be malleable. Two gigs a night, sometimes one in Soho then pop over to the East End. Awards seasons defined by crippled feet, head-thumping hangovers and making it into the office at 8am sometimes straight from the afterparty. It was an industry that rewarded masochism, singledom, and genuine insanity. To be great, you had to throw yourselves at the lions, and you had to eat, sleep and breathe it, every day and every night. No days off, as they say in the world of fitness. This was like being an athlete, except your profession is rock'n'roll. And the lads were seen as the last thing that could keep it afloat, that could still sell, that offered a ticket to remain in it forever. So let the lads be lads. Otherwise, we’re all fucked.

So this is the context in which I came to brush shoulders with the likes of Russell Brand. And here’s the thing about that man, and the sea of deniers who are shaming his victims who came forward. Brand existed at the apex of post-90s media and came up around a new media culture spearheaded by reality TV show Big Brother (the first of its kind). He is a product of British lad mag culture (see Zoo, Loaded, FHM, mentioned above). Brand shamelessly promoted himself as a rebel, alternative, indie rock’n’roll, somewhat effeminate version of an already well-established aspirational archetype of a “lad about town”. He eschewed a promiscuity that wasn’t simply celebrated but glamorized and desired. It was a culture that permeated the entire British media, from the fringes of the underground through the mainstream, via rock venues, red carpets and fashion parties. And everyone who either participated or dreamed to participate in it let things exist as they were because you were viewed as a prude if you didn't. Brand was a bastion of cool, propped up by the biggest names and institutions in the country. Those who believe him now do so because they don’t want to accept that any of it was misjudged or wrong. They’re still attached to an era of debauchery without accountability. And it’s not a “conspiracy” (yes, there is a whole faction of the online world who believe this piece of investigative journalism is one giant conspiracy). No it’s not a conspiracy that the MSM (mainstream media) are covering it. The MSM are covering it because all of them are complicit. They’re protecting their backs.

Channel 4 broadcast the shocking episode of Dispatches that served as the partner to The Sunday Times' superfluous breaking story on Saturday night. Channel 4 made Russell Brand. But sure, Channel 4 are just cashing in. “This is what they do to the truthsayers!” etc. OK well how about the Guardian? There have been at least two op-eds in as many days in support of the victims, expressing disgust, but little acknowledgment for the fact that Brand was a columnist for NINE years. 2006-2015. Over 130 pieces published. The conspiracy is broken. Blood is on the media's hands. The BBC paid for the car that collected one of the victims – 16-year-old “Alice” – from her high school to deliver her to Brand. Last week the BBC announced that it would retroactively remove all of its programming featuring Irish electronic artist Roisin Murphy, after a controversy in which Roisin's private correspondence about puberty blockers was leaked online, immediately vilifying her as a TERF, resulting in her record label refusing to promote her record, and various venues cancelling her shows. Are the BBC going to similarly retroactively erase all of Brand's materials from its canon? Or is this just a war on women? Are women expected to be of somehow higher ethical and moral standards than men in their private worlds?

Of course, the conspiracy is backed by the usual list of high powered / influential supporters who have all come through in support of Brand, who is now viewed as some sort of long-haired, loin-cloth-wearing Yoda of higher selfdown. They did so even before the pieces came out, in response to Brand's pre-apology for claims that had yet to be made to the public. (Is there a greater sign of guilt than apologizing for something before you've been accused of it?). All of these noteworthy individuals have also rebranded themselves as “free speech defenders” who will soon be outed for crimes they haven’t committed just to stop them in their tracks. They are in fact all just misogynists in wolf's clothing: Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Jordan Peterson, Dave Rubin, and the owner of Twitter himself (sorry “X”) Elon Musk. So oppressed they are. The new media have the boot on their necks now. The old guys are trampling their opinions. As a friend of mine wrote on Twitter, “you will know them by who they defend.”

Before MRAs (Mens Rights Activists) were a known thing in the vernacular, Brand was out there making himself a poster boy for them; groups of guys in the margins of the internet, plotting, aiding and abetting their destruction of women. Men who believe women are just vessels, playthings, trophies to be won, and then discarded with. Women are their source of power. Ruining them widens the girth of their self-professed importance. Genius, even! Underage girls, sex workers, etc are like throwaway batteries for their egos. MRAs have YouTube channels with millions of subscribers, that they monetize, and utilize to spread disinformation about whichever female figure is the one to hate today, and to use as examples by which to scare all other women into submission.

The women in particular who are defending Brand have enormous engagement on their tweets. Why? Because in the past few years, MRAs have become very organized online, and they hide behind women. But if you are one of said women, listen here: you will NOT be excused from misogynistic treatment as a result of your betrayals. I’m afraid to say, your time will come, too. Maybe it already has. Maybe the stinging hope that you can hide the secrets you’ve kept about your own experiences are compelling you to side with the wrong team. I feel sorry for you.

To all the women who have said: “I dated him and he was fine to me.” Well done to you. Do you know that car thieves don't nick every vehicle they come across? To the chorus of those who ask: Why didn't they come forward sooner? I'll tell you why. Women don’t come forward because they have more reason to think nobody will believe them. Women don’t come forward because they don’t have examples to show them that the pain of doing so will be worth it. Women don’t come forward because they’re taught to blame themselves. Even if they did come forward, even if the police took their claims seriously, even if they made it all the way into a courtroom, and even if it was decided in that courtroom that there was enough evidence to prove the rape, the world would still question her, because that is rape culture. As they say: Russell Brand won't see your rape apologist tweets, but all your friends who have been raped will.

People always ask why the likes of Johnny Depp are protected by online advocates who are survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault. “Well they believe him! Not all men!” If you watched the Dispatches episode, and I recommend you do, with a strong trigger warning, you will see Brand playing guru to female victims of abuse on his new age crusade, targeting them specifically to defend him for the inevitable moment in time that is now. Many people who attacked me in recent days spoke of the “inspirational” work Brand has done in recovering from his addictions and finding a new way of life. If Russell Brand is your inspiration, may god help you. Powerful men very regularly reinvent themselves, build their own native audiences, and online armies, to prepare themselves for when the truth finally catches up to them. Brand is no exception to the playbook. The testimony of one woman who worked at Big Brother during the '00s via Dispatches recalled that she felt as though she was bringing women to Brand backstage (audience members, etc) like “lambs to the slaughter”. That’s cult level coercive control. And like any great cult leader, Brand reoriented himself to make himself even less accountable and more impervious to future allegations, and to make him more successful at DARVO (Deny Attack Reverse Victim Offender). It’s the PR strategy of infamous and worshiped assholes in positions of power.

Brand's misogyny was an open secret. His jokes were diabolical. He publicly boasted about his reputation as a predator. Audiences laughed alongside him. In the original Sunday Times piece, the following was reported:

Alice, who later worked at Channel 4, recalled a meeting in late 2013 or early 2014 during which Brand was pitched as a host of a show but concerns about his behaviour were flagged. “The solution that was offered was that we would take the female staff off the crew — women that have worked hard to get into this industry — now can’t work on particular shows because of fear that they might be assaulted or harassed. I was in disbelief.”

The women who came forward are, as far as I'm concerned, made of steel.

I'm pissed. I'm pissed at an industry that enables abuse and has done “in plain sight” for as long as it’s existed. An industry that holds women to unobtainable standards and punishes us for falling short. Be the cool girl. Be loud when it’s asked for and quiet when nobody cares. Be small enough for a mini skirt and big enough for a night on the lash. Listen to the right bands and sing the same chorus. Never refuse what you’re supposed to accept. Well it’s enough. Women are not expendable. Women are not something you can get away with. We deserved protection then and we deserve it now. Myself, my former colleagues, the young girls who sought me out as a mentor, we shouldn't have been subjected to a language, an atmosphere, and a culture that threatened our safety. But we were. We were exposed to shark-infested waters.

Russell Brand's live shows have been postponed, although he did play a sold-out gig at Wembley hours after the allegations came out. He has been dropped by his talent agent, and the Metropolitan police are now probing a claim of sexual assault against him. YouTube have also demonetized him.

Yet still there is a rage in my gut, and there has been for days about the amount of space men assume they can occupy, leaving women in their wake. So tall are those men. Let me tell you, all the medical evidence proves that it is far more damaging to a person to be raped than it is to be accused of rape. So save your tears. Thank you to Rosamund Urwin, Charlotte Wace and Paul Morgan-Bentley for their important journalism. I hope the women who valiantly came forward are protected and safe with all the support they’ll need in the coming months. And I hope those who have been unable to come forward are somehow relieved to know at least that their personal pain is echoed in others; that what they experienced was real.

I'll leave with this image. Feel free to share it. Believe women.