By Kebeli Demba Nyima
I am not a statistician, and I am not here to lecture anyone on the complexities of crunching numbers or the methodology of quantitative data collection. How exactly Mariama Jobarteh, a women’s rights activist and CEO of the civil society group Fantanka, arrived at the specific conclusion that 30% to 50% of sexual and gender-based violence occurs within the music industry is, quite frankly, none of my business in a technical sense. However, what remains undeniably clear is that she has raised a vital alarm regarding a reality that has become tragically commonplace within the entertainment world.
The revelation that such a staggering portion of violence occurs within this sector is not just shocking; it’s a storyline straight out of Hollywood’s darker exposés. Think of it as the Harvey Weinstein effect transplanted into the rhythm and glamour of the music world. Behind the glittering lights, award shows, and chart-topping hits lies a culture that too often normalises exploitation, silences victims, and rewards predators.
We see this pattern repeated globally; even the “mighty” USA and UK, with their massive legal infrastructures, continue to bring these harrowing cases to light. This is no longer a localised anomaly but a systemic failure within the creative arts. When an activist of her standing points to such a figure, the focus shouldn’t be on debating the decimal points, but on acknowledging the sheer volume of smoke that indicates a massive, uncontrolled fire beneath the surface of the industry.
The entertainment sector has never been a church, though it borrows the language of faith with remarkable ease. It speaks of “belief,” “devotion,” and “calling,” while operating more like a high-stakes casino with a choir. At the altar sit the powerful: a narrow priesthood of producers and executives dispensing blessings in the form of airplay, contracts, and exposure. In the pews wait the hopeful, taught early that reverence must be shown and that disappointment is merely a test of one’s “will to succeed.”
The architecture of fame is guarded by gatekeepers who operate behind contracts designed to protect the institution rather than the individual. When an aspiring singer is told that a career depends on a “private session,” a “late-night meeting,” or an “exclusive mentorship,” the meaning is rarely obscure. It is an offer backed by structural power that preys on the vulnerable. Those who refuse are not confronted; they are quietly removed from consideration. This is why so many talented artists who refuse to play by these dirty, unspoken rules hardly make it in Hollywood or any entertainment industry on the planet.
However, my principal at Gambia High School, the late Reverend Willie Carr, used to tell us every Monday morning during assembly that “there is no shortcut to success.” In the moral sense, he was right, but in the entertainment industry, he would have been technically wrong. In this world, talent is often not what gives one stardom; it is the willingness to be available sexually to the predators who hold the levers of power.
The case of Kesha Rose Sebert is a prime example. She did not accuse an obscure figure; she accused Dr Luke (Lukasz Gottwald), one of the most commercially powerful hitmakers in the business, responsible for some of the biggest pop anthems of the decade. Her case revealed the terrifying reality of how contracts, Non-Disclosure Agreements (NDAs), and elite entertainment lawyers can effectively trap an artist inside an abusive professional relationship while the industry continues to profit from their work. For years, the courts prioritised contractual obligations over claims of personal harm, proving that even if an artist speaks out, the corporate machine may still grind on.
This same pattern explains how R Kelly operated for decades in plain sight, shielded by fame, money, and legal firepower, while young women were silenced through secret settlements and intimidation. Even more recently, the unfolding allegations surrounding Sean “Diddy” Combs underscore that these are not isolated accidents. They are systems working exactly as designed where predation is not viewed as a scandal, but as an inefficiency to be managed so long as the revenue remains high.
The British music industry, often imagined as more tasteful, follows the same script with a softer accent. Exploitation is masked by politeness and reputation management. Artists like Amy Winehouse were consumed by an industry that monetised vulnerability while outsourcing responsibility. Managers, labels, and lawyers circled the artist, not to protect her, but to protect the output. This is why entertainment lawyers rank among the richest professionals in show business. Their function is not moral arbitration but risk containment. They are not paid to ask moral questions; they are paid to keep the engine turning. Through NDAs and jurisdictional delays, they ensure that abuse remains an internal cost rather than a public reckoning. In such a structure, coercion becomes expedient and silence becomes currency.
When we read Jobarteh’s report in the Gambian context, we see this global “operating system” repeating itself in a market where protections are even thinner. In a scene lacking strong unions or institutionalised HR departments, the gatekeeper becomes a god. The intervention by the International Trade Center and the Creative Industries Directorate suggests that this is now a structural hurdle to national development. If 50% of the population feels unsafe participating in a vibrant sector of the economy, the loss of potential is immeasurable.
The Gambia can learn from the history of the West without repeating its mistakes. Recognition is a start, but deterrence requires regulation and a refusal to treat predators as legends. As Mariama rightly stated, musicians are the curators of our culture; they are emulated by our youth and listened to by the masses. If the environment producing this music is rooted in the acceptance of harassment, that toxicity inevitably leaks into the broader social fabric. We must decide if we will confront this structure now, or wait until our artists become nothing more than a ledger of acceptable losses.
