Triggered & Divided: The Celebrity Circus Keeping Black Folks in the Bleachers

By Dani Marie

Yesterday on Fanbase, I found myself sitting in a space that should’ve felt familiar—Black voices, Black stories, and what we’d call a “culturally relevant” conversation. A beautiful Black woman led the room—shoutout to the lawyer holding it down—and the topic? The ongoing saga surrounding Sean “Diddy” Combs.

Now before we get into it, let’s address the elephant, the room, and the entire zoo: Why are we, as Black people, so deeply mesmerized by celebrity news? Why do we let it distract us, divide us, and at times… derail us? This blog is less about Diddy himself and more about what he represents to us, and how the entire spectacle reflects something much deeper.

Because what I witnessed wasn’t just a conversation about allegations. It was static. Emotional static. Room-shaking static. A battle of energies and trauma responses dressed up as debate.

The Celebrity Distraction Complex

Let’s start with the obvious: Celebrity news has become our new form of worship and warfare.

When a big story breaks—especially involving someone like Diddy, or Cosby, or Kanye, or even Meg and Tory—the community splits into factions. We stop everything to talk about it. Not to process or understand, but to pick sides. To debate. To dig in. It becomes a circus, and we’re not just watching—we’re the clowns, the ringmasters, and the audience at once.

But what’s more troubling is how we internalize these public scandals. We don’t just talk about the story—we live through it, because in many ways, it mirrors our own. Diddy isn’t just a mogul on TV. For some of us, he looks like the ex we escaped, the uncle who was protected by silence, or the charismatic man we were told to never question.

And for some of the men? These high-profile cases feel like threats. Another example of the system being weaponized. Another reason to armor up. They see Cosby, Diddy, and now whispers around T.D. Jakes and think: “They’re coming for us.” Even if they’ve done wrong, there’s this looming fear that Black men are being hunted. And historically? That fear isn’t made up.

But fear can also blur truth.

Triggered Women. Defensive Men.

Let’s call it like it is: These conversations are triggering AF.

Black women show up to these spaces emotionally raw. Some are survivors of abuse. Some are raising daughters. Some are just tired. So when a man with power and money is being held accountable—or even accused—it sets off alarms. Even when facts are murky. Even when we say “allegedly.”

Meanwhile, many Black men feel like they’re not allowed space to speak. Like any attempt to nuance the conversation is seen as betrayal. Like defending any man is code for misogyny.

So what do we get? Static.
Not conversation—collision.
Not community—combat.

And the media? They’re eating this up. Social platforms reward the drama. Algorithms boost the tension. And we? We play right into it.

The Real Cost of the Circus

Let me be clear: These conversations matter. The Diddy case matters. Survivors matter. Black men being falsely accused matters. Accountability matters.

But what doesn't matter?

Who “won” the comment section.
Who made the best meme.
Who got the last word in the audio room.

At some point, we have to ask ourselves: Is this helping us heal? Or just keeping us busy?

While we’re fixated on these high-profile cases, we forget the everyday injustices happening right outside our door. Our neighborhoods are being priced out. Our kids are under-resourced. Our voices are still underrepresented in boardrooms, politics, media ownership, and law. But we’re on Instagram arguing about a man we’ll never meet and a woman whose pain we’ll never fully understand.

Sankofa, Accountability, and Moving Forward

You know what I kept thinking while in that Fanbase room? Sankofa.

Sankofa means “to go back and get it”—to look to the past in order to move forward.
But it’s not about staying there.

We can look at these celebrity scandals and ask:

• What does this trigger in me personally?

• What conversations have I been avoiding in my own life?

• What systems do we need to build so that we’re not just reacting to drama—but creating solutions?

Because right now, we’re stuck in a loop. The headlines drop, we argue, we divide, we do TikToks, we meme—and nothing changes. Rinse. Repeat. Deflect. Deny. Distract.

And then comes the most important word we seem to forget in all this: Accountability.

I’m not just talking about Diddy.
I’m talking about us. The spectators. The commenters. The sideline experts. The “just stating my opinion” crew.

Are we really contributing something constructive?
Or are we just participating in the spectacle because it feels closer than the real work?

The Deeper Setup

This entire cycle? It’s part of a setup. A psychological, political, and cultural setup.

Mainstream media has long understood how to bait Black emotion. Give us a controversy. Make sure it features someone we feel connected to. Let the internet do the rest.

It’s the new bread and circus.

Distract us with entertainment. Divide us with identity. Deter us from ownership, healing, and collective power.

That’s why I say this isn’t just about Diddy. This is about the celebrity circus that keeps Black folks in the bleachers—watching, clapping, fighting each other, instead of organizing on the field.

We are so deeply emotionally invested in their stories because our own stories haven’t been processed. Because our own platforms feel small. Because drama is more palatable than accountability. And because, truthfully, we’ve been conditioned to look outward instead of inward.

What Now?

So what do we do?

We have the conversations—but we do it with care.
We hold space—but we also hold boundaries.
We unpack—but we also unplug when it becomes too much.

And above all: We hold everyone accountable.

That includes alleged abusers, survivors, and especially ourselves. The ones watching. The ones commenting. The ones turning real pain into content.

Because if we don’t, we’ll just keep living the same script over and over—different celebrity, same trauma, louder divide.

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I want better for us. I want us to heal. I want us to debate, but with heart. I want us to be less reactionary and more revolutionary.

Let’s not mistake conversation for community, or attention for activism.
Let’s not forget that while we’re watching them, someone is always watching us.

The bleachers are crowded.
It’s time we got back on the field.

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