In The Wake Of Yung Filly’s Arrest, How We Talk About Alleged Abusers Must Change

Warning: The following includes descriptions of rape, sexual assault and abuse that some readers may find distressing.

Early on Thursday morning last week, social media was rocked by rape allegations and charges against the popular British YouTube personality and musician Yung Filly, real name Andrés Felipe Valencia Barrientos. The severity of the charges against the star — four counts of sexual penetration without consent, three counts of assault occasioning bodily harm and one count of impeding a person's breathing or circulation by applying pressure to their neck — led to his arrest and extradition in Australia, where he has been touring, as the allegations are investigated.

Barrientos is one of many high-profile figures to face such allegations this year, shocking legions of fans yet again. While significant progress has been made since the #MeToo movement (which was a cultural reckoning of sorts), the way we discuss prominent cases of sexual abuse reveals our generation’s troubling lack of understanding of sexual violence and how deeply entrenched societal norms continue to enable and perpetuate such harmful behaviour. 

A recurring theme in the online discourse surrounding cases like this is what these high-profile men stand to lose if found guilty. In one widely shared post on X, commenters obsessed over Barrientos’ fame, wealth, religious background and friendship circle, expressing disbelief that someone with so much going for him could possibly be capable of such violence. Much of the conversation has revolved around the potential fallout for his high-profile friends and the impact on his career, with many speculating about the consequences for his public image. Alongside all this, some are celebrating what they see as his "downfall", devoting disproportionate attention to how the allegations could affect him personally and professionally.

We’ve seen similar online and media reactions in the case of Sean “Diddy” Combs, who is facing serious charges of kidnapping, drugging and coercing women into sexual activity. Amid the shock surrounding these allegations, the prevailing focus seems to centre once again on the potential impact on his fortune and legacy. Headlines from outlets like Extra TV have posed questions such as “Diddy’s BILLION-Dollar Empire: What Does He Stand to Lose?”. Elsewhere, Fox has raised concerns about how his “$1 billion fortune” is at risk. Online personality Michael Dapaah faced criticism for creating memes about Combs’ arrest and potential losses. Similarly last year, many X and TikTok users mocked R. Kelly, speculating about his prison experience since he was convicted of three charges of producing child sexual abuse images and three charges of enticement of minors for sex. The memes and skits distract from the severity of his crimes and the ongoing dialogue about why abuse persists today.

In many ways, our preoccupation with how such allegations affect the accused is unsurprising. According to financial advisor Fintuity, millennials and Gen Z are the generations most obsessed with wealth and status, and we are likely to frame our identities and self-worth around money. When a celebrity is faced with sexual assault allegations, our obsession with wealth often manifests as a hyperfocus on the potential career implications, financial losses and reputational damage for the accused. Online communities often reflect and amplify societal values and in this case, our conversations about the surprising and disgraceful nature of sexual abuse allegations against the rich and famous are deeply problematic.

Comments like these might seem like they’re born out of curiosity but they also reveal a deep-seated belief that wealthier people are more valuable to society, morally superior and have more to lose, and are therefore better behaved. In this way, the rest of us normal people are implicitly more likely to be morally corrupt. This may explain why some users on X are speculating about the identity of Barrientos’ alleged victim, with some suggesting — without evidence — that she could be a sex worker who may have targeted him for financial gain. It also raises the question of whether we’re more concerned about the tangible, measurable consequences of such allegations — especially those tied to wealth — than the emotional and psychological trauma experienced by survivors.  

The conversation surrounding Barrientos’ case has also touched on religion and its potential influence on his actions. One group of fans speculates that his close relationship with Muslim friends, such as fellow YouTuber Chunkz and Harry Pinero, should make the allegations against him less credible. This line of reasoning — that people of faith are less likely to commit sexual abuse — is of course contradicted by the high-profile abuse scandals within religious institutions, including several that have made headlines this year.

Bringing religion into the conversation has real-world consequences as it allows people to use religiosity as a shield against accusations — something some of the accused arguably exploit to manipulate public opinion. When a video of Combs assaulting his then partner Cassie Ventura went viral, he responded by claiming he had since evolved and found forgiveness through God in a now-deleted apology. Similarly, soon after actor and comedian Russell Brand was accused of rape, assault and emotional abuse following an investigation by Channel 4 Dispatches and The Times, he came forward to proclaim his newfound Christian faith and said he was now "in the business of serving Jesus Christ".

We’re right to question the timing and authenticity of these declarations of faith but ultimately, if men accused of heinous acts are using religion to sway public opinion, it’s because on some level it works. Instead of focusing on accountability, the conversation gets derailed, with people speculating about how difficult it is to believe that men of faith could commit such acts of violence.

The discourse suggests that we still haven’t grasped that sexual abuse is fundamentally an act of power and control. Anyone is capable of it. When we focus on the wealth and status of the accused, we perpetuate a toxic myth that those who "could get anyone they want" have no reason to resort to coercion, assault or abuse, when in many cases it is precisely their power, fame and perceived invulnerability that embolden their behaviour.

When we focus on the consequences for an alleged perpetrator, we risk downplaying the seriousness of the crime and its impact on the survivor. It’s not just online fodder; we’re creating an environment where empathy shifts towards the accused. What we should be talking about instead is prioritising justice and support for survivors.