The GRAMMY’s Shadow of Domestic Violence

On Saturday night the nation mourned the loss of one of its greatest musical legends, Whitney Houston. Even before her cause of death was investigated, her passing was already deemed a tragedy – not only because of the ripe age of 48 in which she left us, but because of her equally tragic life which began with tremendous potential, and decayed with tales of drug abuse and domestic violence. Only hours after Houston’s death, Rolling Stone reported that her ex-husband Bobby Brown broke down onstage in Mississippi. As he blew a kiss to the sky and proclaimed, “I love you Whitney,” one had to wonder if any of his tears were out of regret for pummeling her throughout their marriage.

The next night, Chris Brown opened the Grammy Awards to flashing lights and applause. Fans everywhere gyrated their Twitter feeds, ogling over his sexiness and impressive dance moves. “CHRIS BROWN IS BACK!” some tweeted. And then ten minutes later Rihanna and Coldplay did something everyone agreed was kind of lame.

I don’t know which is more offensively distasteful of the Grammys – pitting Brown against Rihanna back to back on the infamous third anniversary their high-profile violence case – or that a perpetrator of domestic abuse was chosen to open a show which would later pay tribute to a victim of it. For those whose attention spans are able to stretch past the media-sponsored 24 hours, the elephant in the room was a snarling behemoth. Talks of “moving on with the show for the sake of Whitney,” mixed with the flailing of Brown’s arms (Chris, not Bobby) to usher us out of mourning, created the perfect formula for a conversation that we knew would never quite bubble up. Who would mention it? Who would run onstage, grab the mic, and scream something that was actually more important than which Kanye award would beat the other Kanye award? But interrupt an awards show for something like that? Unrealistic.

To understand why some of us can’t “get over” the Chris Brown and Rihanna affair after all these years, we need to revisit why music is important in the first place – and particularly, why music is more important than the Grammys. We must ask ourselves why Houston’s music was transcendent. It wasn’t just her voice – it was what her music meant for our generations. From “How Will I Know” to “The Greatest Love of All,” Houston led a musical narrative of caring for oneself and for how others love us. For young women, her discography was a manifesto for empowerment through enjoyment of life. For young men, she introduced us to a framework for how to love well. She even made a movie to signify all of this, and her eventual downfall served as a cautionary tale against toxic relationships. As Brown performed and later received his awards, the loudest message wasn’t in any of the lone tweets that dared to bring up 2009’s dated incident. Instead, it was written in the Grammy production schedule – that one can emerge as a harbinger of violence against women and be forgiven – nay – awarded, handed reality shows, and signed to experimental country music deals.

No matter how many singers they haphazardly stacked for the Whitney tribute, don’t ever be fooled that this year’s Grammy Awards was about remembering. Rather, it was about forgetting – for sweeping under the rug, burying in PR campaigns, and distracting with backflips and shuffling feet. This week, with Whitney’s blood still fresh in her veins and her music still ripe in our hearts, let us remember why her music displays a strength that will always conquer the weakness that leads to violence against those we love. If we don’t, there’s simply no reason to make songs like that anymore.

“Teach them well and let them lead the way.” – Whitney Houston

“TEAM FUCKING BREEZY!” – Chris Brown