I Escaped a Hollywood Sex Trafficking Ring. This Problem Is Bigger Than Diddy.

Diddy is a symptom of a disease that has plagued Hollywood for over a century. His demise is a form of treatment, but we need a cure.

On Friday, May 16^th, Cassie Ventura concluded her testimony as a witness in an ongoing federal criminal trial against notorious music mogul Sean “Diddy” Combs. Over the course of four days, Cassie detailed the years of abuse she endured as Diddy’s sexual slave. While being cross examined under oath, Cassie said the physical and sexual torture she endured “became a job…” This is the operative word—job.

This is not simply a domestic violence case or a sexual assault case, though Diddy is guilty of both these crimes. Cassie was more than just a battered girlfriend. She was a sex worker. She was paid to participate in these demonic, sexual freak shows at the behest of her employer. This case focuses on Diddy’s patterns as a sex trafficker—not a bad boyfriend. This is what seems to be lost in the media’s framing of Cassie’s harrowing story and the trial more broadly. This is a case exposing the culture of sexual exploitation in exchange for money, resources, and opportunities in the entertainment industry. This is what has gotten lost in the sensationalism surrounding Diddy’s trial, Harvey Weinstein’s trial, etc. The culture allowed this behavior to happen, and it is the culture that must be held accountable if we want this behavior to stop.

The history of Hollywood and the culture it created set the precedent for a predator like Diddy to thrive without having to face any accountability. The system has been set up to fail women and men who are vulnerable to these powerful predators in the entertainment world. If you do not have connections or wealth going in, you are at the mercy of the music executives, film producers, agents, etc. Prior to #Me Too, the fastest way to become a successful new artist, whether it be in music or film or fashion, was to be a sex worker, whether willingly or unwillingly.

In her Variety article “Casting-Couch Tactics Plagued Hollywood Long Before Harvey Weinstein” written at the height of the #MeToo Movement, film critic Thelma Adams traces these sinister patterns of sexual quid pro quo back to the architects of Hollywood, like MGM founder Louis B. Mayer or co-founder and president of Columbia Pictures Harry Cohn. Adams writes,

“Mayer, the ground zero of this kind of abuse, had means, motive, opportunity and that critical piece of the puzzle: the whip. If women didn’t comply, he’d threaten to ruin their careers or those of their loved ones.”

Adams cites fellow critic and historian Carrie Rickey in her piece, stating that

“[the] perils for women in Hollywood are embedded, like land mines, from an actress’s debut to her swan song, where moguls like Harry Cohn reputedly wouldn’t cast starlets like Marilyn Monroe and Kim Novak unless they auditioned in bed.”

But as we have learned in the aftermath of the lawsuits against Diddy, the victimization of young talent was not limited to women. There was a culture of sexual abuse against male actors as well. This went under the radar mainly because homosexuality itself was seen as taboo in the early days of Hollywood. Male actors who had been solicited or even assaulted by power brokers like agent Henry Willson felt even more discouraged from speaking out about the corruption because the news could ruin their lives, nonetheless their careers. This type of abuse against men in the industry continues.

Terry Crews was one of the few men in Hollywood to come forward about a traumatic incident he experienced when he was groped at an industry event by Adam Venit, former talent agent at WME. Actor Anthony Rapp was just one of the victims who accused Kevin Spacey of molesting him when he was just 14 years of age. Though Spacey had been found not guilty in a court of law, this verdict did not clear him of wrongdoing in the eyes of the public, nor did it discourage Rapp from sharing his story in the hopes of empowering other survivors. Rapp spoke about his experience during a panel discussion hosted by The Meteor at the Brooklyn Museum in 2022.

“I’ve talked to other especially young actors coming up — especially in Hollywood, more so than New York probably. It was rampant. The lights are on enough that it’s hopefully not happening as often to some of these very vulnerable young men.”

In Diddy’s case, the news exposing his fluid sexual orientation worked in his favor. When male victims came forward with lawsuits against him for sexual abuse, the commentary on social media focused on his queerness rather than the victims’ stories, regardless of their gender. It opened the door for memes which made light of the abundance of baby oil found in his home during the FBI raid, or for resurfaced interviews with rappers who spoke about Diddy being satirized for the internet’s amusement. Almost immediately, the seriousness of the case was lost upon the public. The allegations were treated like tabloid gossip rather than serious allegations of organized crime. Even if everyone believed Diddy was guilty, it didn’t really matter. The question was: will the culture survive without him? So long as the culture was fed a healthy diet of salacious headlines and internet clicks, it would do just fine regardless of Diddy’s fate.

How did Sean Combs become Diddy, the tyrannical monster we know today? In the HBO Max docuseries Diddy: The Making of a Bad Boy, Diddy’s childhood friend alleges that Janice Combs, the hip-hop producer’s mother, threw sex parties in their home on weekends, with pimps and drug pushers in attendance. A young Sean Combs witnessed this lewd behavior consistently throughout his childhood, and was raised by a woman who not only normalized this behavior, but encouraged it. The aura of the drug dealer and the pimp, especially back in the 70s during the era of Superfly (1972) and The Mack (1973), was sexy and cool. Diddy was instrumental in building such an image for the artist Notorious B.I.G. and eventually for himself. With the help of Diddy’s influence, the pimp persona became synonymous with the hip-hop mogul.

Brian Joseph, journalist and author of Vegas Concierge: Sex Trafficking, Hip Hop, and Corruption in America, wrote an op-ed for the Washington Examiner discussing Diddy’s indictment on sex trafficking charges. He wrote:

“Hip-hop music, with its references to pimps and pimping, has made the vernacular of sex trafficking more common in America. But rappers rarely seem to be talking about enslaving women. Instead, pimping in hip-hop is often a metaphor for being suave or cool, an epic and prodigious lover, not a slave master. Of course, the repeated use of those terms in rapping has undoubtedly dulled their sting in the collective consciousness…But the power of a trafficker’s manipulation is only increased when he is also backed by money or fame. When you are a young woman beset by trauma and a rich, famous man preys on your vulnerabilities to entice you to trade sex for money or perhaps a spot in a music video, that is exploitation at its most heartless.”

If we look back at Diddy’s catalogue, there were clues alluding to his crimes hidden in plain sight. In the music video for the song “Been Around The World” featuring Mase and posthumous vocals from Biggie, Diddy approaches Mase in an all white outfit, complete with boots and spurs, on the tarmac as they prepare to board a private jet. Diddy says to Mase, “Got that for me?” Mase opens a small box filled with cash, candy, and condoms. Diddy even refers to women with a pimp vocabulary, saying, “You got some hoes, well n***a, send ‘em in/What you waitin’ for, let the freak show begin.” At the time, no one batted an eye at this phrasing. Referring to women as hoes and bitches had become universal by that point. Images of Diddy and his posse surrounded by scantily clad women on boats and at lavish parties was all apart of the luxurious pimp lifestyle he sold to his audiences, and they bought in.

But the allure of the pimp did not begin with Diddy. This is especially obvious when we examine the life and career of Hugh Hefner, who built his empire on the sexual exploitation and objectification of women’s bodies. Hefner was the biggest pimp of them all. The Playboy Club and The Playboy Mansion were basically glorified brothels. Besides gangsters like Frank Lucas (who worked with Diddy’s father) or pimps like Iceberg Slim, Hugh Hefner seems to be one of Diddy’s greatest inspirations. Both men employed their lavish, star-studded parties as a celebration/normalization of their hedonistic lifestyles, and as a site to lure in impressionable new victims, gather blackmail material to manipulate famous partygoers, etc. Hefner made his playboy persona irresistible to both men and women around the country. His influence is inextricable from American culture, and in many ways, so is Diddy’s.

Former Playboy Bunny Precious Muir worked for Hugh Hefner in the early 2000s and attended parties for both Diddy and Hefner as a part of her job. In an interview with The Mirror, she observed:

“It's almost like to me; Hugh Hefner and Diddy had the same handbook as it were. It's almost like these very powerful men have the same formula of how they run their circle and how they create the atmosphere that they want to be the king of all parties. It’s very similar. The same people, the same celebrities, the same athletes that attend the Diddy parties attend the Hugh Hefner parties…It’s the same crowd.”

After Hefner’s death, former Playboy Bunnies and Playmates revealed the scope of the sexual violence that occurred under the direction of Hefner, either at his lavish parties, or in his own bedroom over the course of Hefner’s decades long career until his death in 2017. In the docuseries Secrets of Playboy, many former employees share their accounts of sexual assault while working with the Playboy company. Hugh Hefner himself was one of the many men who were accused of assaulting and raping women in the company, but there were also stories about Hefner’s high-profile friends who took part in the sexual abuse, like Bill Cosby, Don Cornelius, and Roman Polanski. There were likely many more, considering that almost no one would turn down an invitation to party at the Playboy Mansion back in its heyday. The same could be said about Diddy’s now infamous parties. Both environments were playgrounds for predators, but for victims, it was all an elaborate trap.

The internet has taken turns guessing which of Diddy’s elite associates will be named as witnesses, if not accessories, to his crimes. But the harsher truth is that nearly everyone in Hollywood is a witness and/or an accessory to his empire. Nearly everyone who was anyone saw how violent and dangerous Diddy was to Kim Porter, to Misa Hylton, to Cassie, to his employees and even random strangers caught in his crossfire, like Natania Reuben. No one stood up to him. They were too busy drinking Ciroc and shimmying to his music in their all white outfits. If every celebrity who has ever attended a party hosted by Diddy could be subpoenaed to testify in his trial, the streets of Hollywood would become a ghost town.

Cassie’s testimony, as well as her 2023 lawsuit against Diddy, haunts me. The details in her story are consistent with patterns of behavior I’ve witnessed firsthand. In September of 2021, I was lured to a private party, drugged, sexually assaulted, and escaped (by the grace of God) what would have likely been a “freak off” at the hands of another prominent Hollywood star in connection with Diddy. Once the effects of my drug laced champagne had subsided, I realized the scope of what I had just witnessed. This was not just a crazy LA party gone awry. I had nearly been abducted into and fled a sophisticated sex trafficking operation involving many handlers (both men and women) who did the star’s dirty work for him. I had videos, photographs, and witnesses to corroborate my story. I reported every single detail of my story to the UCLA Rape Center and the LAPD. I went to the press. I did everything I could within my own limited power to bring this story to light the “right way.” And still, four years later, nothing has happened.

To every person who questions why Cassie didn’t leave sooner, or didn’t speak out sooner, ask yourself this: If she had done everything right immediately when it first happened, would you have believed her? Would you have held Diddy accountable then? Or would you have written her off as some money hungry wannabe trying to take down a successful business man and tarnish a symbol of Black excellence? I shudder thinking about the other young women who were not as fortunate as me and have not escaped without first enduring far more severe trauma than I experienced. Who is going to save them?

Diddy is not the only cultural figure organizing these sex trafficking rings. Diddy is a single cell in a larger cancerous tumor of sexual violence which has metastasized throughout Hollywood. The reason I have not released the name of the man who I believe orchestrated my attack to the public—besides my fear of being sued into oblivion and attacked by my own community—is because exposing this individual predator will do nothing to stop all the people whom he employed to traffic me. Sexual exploitation is foundational to the American entertainment industry. If I reveal the name of this celebrity, I know it will do nothing but get headlines for a few weeks, maybe months, and die down as he and the rest of his fellow predators continue to attend fancy awards shows and live behind their gilded cages completely protected by wealth and fame. As Jesus said, you can tell a tree by its fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. I don’t want to throw out one bad apple. I want to uproot the whole damn tree.

Last year, I produced a short film and art series entitled The Common Thread Project through my arts nonprofit Black Sheep Collective. The series honors survivors of sexual violence through quilt work, portrait photography, and documentary film. My hope is that this project will open a larger discussion about rape culture and how it impacts nearly every human being across space and time. Every survivor is connected by this pain and this history, regardless of our backgrounds or the circumstances that brought us together. The only way I know how to fight back against the rape culture in the entertainment industry is to make culture that resists against it. If we can shift the narrative around sexual violence and survivors, we will raise up generations of people who will not tolerate this behavior or make light of it. We will not be silent. We will use verbal and artistic language to speak the truth and set ourselves free. Thank you to Cassie, to Dawn, and to all the brave survivors of sexual and physical violence for sharing their stories. We are listening to you, we are crying with you, and we stand with you.