Perfect victimhood and the complexity of Ethel Cain
This week, Ethel Cain has found herself embroiled in controversy.
As tweets, dated from 2018, along with old images from her various social media accounts, were circulated, the singer was accused of racism as well as making light of issues like incest, abuse and child pornography. These are all incredibly serious allegations and were obviously claims worthy of the artist being held accountable, but what the black-and-white internet lacks, as always, is a shade of grey and nuance.
On the morning of July 9th, Cain’s Spotify was hacked, links to her own Wikipedia were switched to divert to the PornHub Wiki page, and her artist image was altered to a collage of all of the seemingly incriminating screenshots being circulated. But it went beyond that. Her bio was switched to one that misgendered Cain in a transphobic attack, the videos playing behind her tracks were swapped to mocking TikToks and a playlist was pinned to her account with further transphobic content.
Unearthing controversial material and demanding accountability from artists is valid, especially in today’s online culture, where public figures are often called to explain their actions. However, when that criticism turns into a transphobic attack, it crosses a line. This isn’t a call to give everyone a second chance, no matter what; they may not deserve it. Rather, it’s a reminder that actions like hacking Cain’s Spotify and targeting her identity don’t help those genuinely hurt or offended by her comments. Instead, they create a hostile pile-on that makes it nearly impossible for anyone to meaningfully respond or take responsibility.
In a lengthy statement, Cain tried to take on that responsibility. The artist addressed the various allegations and made little attempt to sweep her past racist comments under the rug. “There’s no place for excuses in this matter,” she wrote. “At the end of the day, I am white, so while I can take accountability for my actions, there’s no way for me to fully understand the way it feels to be on the receiving end of them. All I can say is that I am truly sorry from the bottom of my heart to anyone who read it then and to anyone reading it now”.
This wasn’t the only controversy the artist had to address. One widely shared image showed Cain wearing a handmade T-shirt that read “legalise incest”, leading to accusations that she was promoting abuse. Another circulating piece, a drawing Cain had created, was accused of depicting child pornography. In response, she called this accusation “one of the most serious offences I can fathom”, and explained that the figure inscribed was one she “drew often from the ages of 18–20”, with the characters themselves “in that bracket” as well.
She defended her work by emphasising that when it comes to art, especially art that engages with taboo subjects, the context is often more complex than it immediately appears. “It’s a layered experience,” she wrote in her statement, but it’s exactly that which online discourse struggles so much with.
On Preacher’s Daughter, the debut album that made Cain a cult and critical darling, she deals with the deepest darkness of human experience, sharing in her statement that this album is a deeply personal story, “born from my traumas and deepest fears”. In the narrative of the album, her protagonist is abused by her father, with suggestions that the abuse is sexual. On her earlier EPs like Inbred, and in many of her unreleased tracks, the topic comes up again in hinted lyrics.
But not all the references are subtle. Much of her discography is steeped in raw, often explicit depictions of sexual trauma. As public conversations swirl about the boundaries between art and lived experience, questions are raised around these recurring themes. As serious matters amid a complex questioning of the line between art and responsibility, Cain is clear: while the material reflects a “layered experience”, that complexity is not meant as an excuse when it comes to the allegations of racism. A tweet is not art, and a racist comment is not art.
Not all of her past behaviour can be viewed through a contextual or artistic lens that attempts to pardon her actions. Regardless of intention or history, reprehensible comments are deserving of clear and direct accountability. In some areas, art can be a vehicle for healing in all of its complexity, but it does not serve as a shield for morally unambiguous responsibility.
While this element of Cain’s past deserves clear condemnation, it is not the whole story of the present controversy. To understand the broader complexity of the picture Cain presents, there needs to be space for nuance. And within the realm of her creation, perhaps the words of Cesar A Cruz have value: “Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable“.
The core issue here is how the allegations against Cain have spilt over into a broader reevaluation of her music and message, particularly regarding abuse, through rigid moral lenses rather than artistic ones. Of course, wearing a T-shirt that reads ‘legalise incest’ isn’t acceptable in public, but this was a one-of-a-kind creation made for a photoshoot and never commercially produced. It was, she argued, an extension of her taboo-challenging art and her own personal journey of complex processing.
Being the ‘perfect victim’
Cain’s work confronts the uncomfortable idea of not being the “perfect victim”. As she mentioned in her statement, her audience includes “many victims of sexual/emotional abuse of an incestuous nature who find comfort in my music because of it”. The darkness of her projects resonates so deeply with those who have shared similar experiences because she refuses to ignore them and doesn’t shy away from the darkness.
In her statement, Cain openly shares her own personal experience with being sexually assaulted and abused, and the way making this art, as twisted as others may view it, has helped her process that period. When you’ve been disturbed in that way, confronting disturbing art on the exact topic can be a comfort.
This isn’t a new or singular occurrence; there are countless other examples. People resonated with Nosferatu because of its allegory of assault. Films like Mysteruous Skin with its visceral depiction of trauma, or the complexity of cinematic adapations of Lolita and its controversial engagement with child sexual abuse and grooming, or any movie that chooses to show a scene of an assault, a violent attack or an instance of abuse, often finds a home within a community of victims who have been through exactly that.
Music like Cain’s, which sings of dark, traumatic things, can be a safe space for those traumatised. Trauma is not black and white; it is as grey as can be. The stereotypical depiction of a victim of sexual abuse would be someone who would desperately want to avoid all reminders or triggers of it, but that’s not accurate.
Of course, some victims do respond this way, and live their lives avoiding any reminders of their abuse. Some people have, thankfully, not experienced trauma like this at all. But that cannot diminish the right or value of those drawn to works which echo their pain, which is where the grey lies.
Maybe it makes them feel less alone. Maybe poking the bruise feels validating. Maybe it is simply oddly comforting in a life where living with trauma is not about forgetting or confronting it, but just that, living. That was Cain’s own experience as she wrote of navigating her own assault, stating, “The way I processed this was the opposite way I thought rape victims were supposed to behave”.
Ethel Cain’s art from the beginning, when she was first posting demos on Tumblr, has found that sect of people, and it’s a shame that the calls for accountability that could have made room for that nuance largely didn’t.
Not every action is excusable through the medium of art, and the artist should continue to take accountability for the racist comments she made in the past. With a bigger platform, as Cain has certainly gained in recent years, comes a warranted spotlight that must include warts and all.
However, when it comes to dealing with the topics of sexual abuse and trauma, the line is not a stick to hit victims with, especially when it’s held in the hand of those unwilling to pause and consider with an open mind the vastness of what a victim can look, sound and behave like.
