Everyone has been discussing and dissecting the documentary Sean Combs: The Reckoning.
Executive produced by fellow hip-hop mogul Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson, the highly anticipated doc which chronicled the rise and fall of Combs recently debuted on Netflix. It has already landed a number one spot on the streaming platform. Combs is currently serving a 50-month prison sentence after being found guilty on two counts of transportation to engage in prostitution in New York City earlier this year. Combs has heavily consumed the pop culture news cycle since November 2023 when his ex-girlfriend and former artist Cassie filed a lawsuit alleging a laundry list of charges including rape, physical abuse and sex trafficking. The two settled soon after. Since then, dozens of civil lawsuits were filed against the father of seven.
As a born and bred New Yorker in her late 40s with an older brother who once worked in the hip-hop industry, much of what was revealed in the documentary was not news to me. I remember when Puffy was a party promoter. (I still refer to Combs as Puffy or Puff because that’s what native New Yorkers my age call him. I don’t make the rules.) And while I was too young to attend any of his functions at that time, I recall that the events he was associated with seemed to bring out the flyest of the fly. This was pre-social media. Word of mouth was everything. Hip-hop had not yet achieved mainstream notoriety. The bubbling party scene in New York City was indeed a movie, and Puffy was hustling his way into the leading role.
I also recall Heavy D and Puffy’s City College celebrity basketball game tragedy and all the sadness, confusion and awkward silence surrounding it. After it occurred, no one really discussed the event outside of certain insular circles. It took place in pre-gentrified Harlem. Mainstream media didn’t care about Brown and Black youth above Central Park innocently losing their lives. So, unfortunately conversations around the lives lost at that game steadily dwindled while Puff’s ascension in the entertainment world soared.
The documentary did expose a few things that I didn’t know and frankly would have been fine going to my grave never knowing. Still, not too much was necessarily shocking. What was shocking? The constant chatter I have heard about Puffy’s mother, Janice Combs, from people who have viewed the documentary. I was surprised and disappointed by the attacks she was receiving, from Gen Zers to Boomers. I have heard otherwise diplomatic people blame everything from the ways she spanked Puffy as a child to how she dressed to the parties she hosted in her home for the behavior of her now 56 year-old son.
Why is she to blame for what he became?
Let me be abundantly clear: I do not subscribe to the notion that someone is automatically given sainthood because they become a mother. I certainly do not agree with many things I’ve observed Ms. Combs do and say. We can all agree that not all mothers are cut from the same cloth. I would hope we can also agree that judging mothers, especially Black mothers who already face a disproportionate amount of challenges, is cringe. Janice Combs is 85 years old. Franklin D. Roosevelt was President when she was born. I highly doubt gentle parenting was on her radar when she was a new mom. She became a widow suddenly when her son was still a toddler following her husband’s brutal murder. Did she know what type of life she was signing up for by marrying him? Perhaps. None of us know for sure.
Why is she to blame for what he became?
We do know that she managed to raise her children in a single-family brick front house in the comfortable NYC suburbs of Westchester County after moving there from Harlem. She probably considered their safety (remember her husband was murdered near Harlem), green space for a backyard to run and play freely and the quality of schools when deciding to plant roots there. She sent her son to Mount Saint Michael Academy, an all-boys Catholic, private college preparatory school. Upon his high school graduation, he began collegiate studies at Howard University. Puffy’s attendance of both schools required his mother’s dedication, intention and sacrifice.
As the mother of a Black son myself, maybe I have been a bit (or a lot) triggered by these harsh critiques of Ms. Combs. I spend a lot of time, energy and resources trying to ensure my sonshine receives the best education his father and I can afford. With private tutoring to maintain his straight A grades, and extra-curricular activities like Cub Scouts, karate and piano lessons, I am constantly trying to give my son a solid foundation that will set him up for greatness—whatever greatness looks like for him. I could be naïve, but I sincerely think Ms. Combs at least tried to do the same.
Why should she be crucified for her son’s callous actions? He is fifty-six years old. He was more than financially able to get the best therapy and counseling money can buy. None of us had a perfect childhood. At some point, we must be responsible for our own actions, take proper accountability for them and break generational cycles.
Furthermore, how many times do mothers have to tilt their head to the side and sincerely ask their child, “Why did you do xyz? You weren’t raised that way. I taught you better than that!” My son is only six and I constantly get compliments on him from flight attendants on airplanes to restaurant waiters. There have also been several occasions when I’ve had to shoot him a stern look (Y’all know that Black Mom look!) to get him all the way together when he begins acting out. Regardless of how carefully and positively you pour into your children, many things related to how they turn out are beyond parenting.
And why is the commentary surrounding the ways Black women mother so vastly different than other mothers? Was there ever an attempt globally to scrutinize the mothers of Jeffrey Epstein or Bernie Maddoff? Ever? Why is that?
Mothering ain’t for the weak and being a mother to a Black son in America can be both beautiful and terrifying. You wanna tear into Puffy for all of the hideous allegations connected to him right now? Okay. But attempting to rip his mother apart and blame Puff’s behavior for how she reprimanded him or entertained in her home when he was a child is a dangerous reach. Regardless of how we feel about Sean “Puffy” Combs, his mother Janice Combs, or the documentary, I hope that we can collectively recognize this is not a fair opportunity to pick apart of choices of a Black mother who was likely doing the best she could with what she had. Flaws and all.