I’m a bona fide stargazer. Be it a red carpet Instagram carousel, an extremely out-of-touch Architectural Digest home tour, or a provocative magazine profile, I will gleefully drink all of Hollywood’s Kool-Aid. But despite this—or maybe because of it—it vexes me when celebrities, especially ones I love, appear unbothered by the social and political issues that dominate our news cycles.
Now in an election year, with less than one week to go before the Big Vote—and with the fate of abortion access and gun control on the line—plenty of big names have loudly backed presidential candidates. Taylor Swift and Billie Eilish have thrown their names behind the Harris/Walz ticket, and people like Amber Rose and Bryce Hall are all in on Trump/Vance.
For months, I’ve been patiently waiting for someone else to join the conversation: the most Grammy-award-winning artist of all time. One of the biggest stars in the world. One Beyoncé Gisele Knowles-Carter. Then, last Friday, there she was at Vice President Kamala Harris’s Houston rally. The blazer dress, the perfectly curled honey-blonde barrel ringlets, the inspirational quips about how “it’s time for America to sing a new song”—here, finally, was Mrs. Carter at her most political.
And therein lies my gripe.
Because it actually wasn’t very...political. I recognize that just by appearing onstage, she helped mobilize voters and publicize the Harris/Walz platforms. But she’d shown up, she told the crowd, not as a celebrity or a politician but “as a mother.” An incredibly important role, of course, but still a way of distancing herself from the urgent crises we’re facing—the decimation of affirmative action in college admissions, violent anti-immigration rhetoric, a conflict that has killed more than 40,000 Palestinians, and much more. To me, Beyoncé's presence just didn’t feel like enough.
I have adored Beyoncé since before I could read. Projects like Black Is King and Cowboy Carter are proud declarations of her Blackness and artistic tributes to her ancestry. They aren’t overtly political, but they each made clear statements that credit Black culture for defining American art. With these albums, it felt like a superstar was willing to sacrifice the support of her white fan base to stand fully in her identity. (See also: Beyoncé at the Super Bowl halftime show in full Black Panther garb; Beyoncé on Black Parade, igniting a revolutionary spirit so strong that even the awards-bait highlight reel brings tears to my eyes.) It all made me feel like I could take similar risks in my own, admittedly lower-profile life.
My love for and faith in Beyoncé mean I’ve always been ready to defend her against scathing takedowns that explore her political tepidness. But let’s be real: More often than not, when abuse, harm, or injustice occur on a large scale, Bey has remained silent. Her silence is even more glaring when other high-profile performers go out on a limb to draw attention to (and raise money for) issues that keep me up at night.
Back in September, superstar on the rise Chappell Roan told the press that while she’s voting for Kamala Harris, she doesn’t plan to endorse a candidate this election because “obviously, fuck the policies of the right, but also fuck some of the policies on the left.” She also donated a portion of the proceeds from her UK tour to Palestinian aid charities and advocacy groups for trans rights. To me, this feels spot-on in a moment when thousands of people are taking to the streets to fight for their beliefs. It shows Chappell’s paying attention and not just parroting carefully planned statements. And it’s helped me realize that I want—maybe even need—to know where my faves stand on tough and controversial issues, and that I want them to use their platforms to fight injustice.
Of course, I know why major players like Beyoncé hesitate to take a splashy public stand. Why risk isolating audiences who might disagree, inciting social media backlash, or jeopardizing lucrative brand partnership deals? To be honest, even I fear a bit of the same on a (significantly) smaller scale in airing out my irritation like this. But it’s hard to accept silence from people who make millions marketing their projects as direct extensions of their experiences, beliefs, and moral standings. When they then don’t denounce the subjugation of marginalized people, it starts to feel like they simply can’t look outside of themselves.
One of my biggest frustrations with pop culture in general is the way we fawn and cheer when celebs do the bare minimum, especially when their takes only arrive after insistent pressure from their fan bases to speak up. (Like when Taylor Swift got hype for simply attending a comedy show whose ticket proceeds were donated to humanitarian relief efforts. Come on. She sat in a chair and clapped.) And when it comes to A-listers who do “take a stand,” these days we can be overly generous when we call them “slash activists.” The singer/activist or actor/activist used to feel like someone who didn’t just leverage their platform but risked losing it. I’m talking about Marlon Brando, who refused to accept the Oscar award in 1973 to protest media portrayals of Native Americans. Or Sinead O’Connor, who bravely ripped Pope John Paul II’s picture to shreds in 1990 on Saturday Night Live as a statement against child sexual abuse by members of the Catholic Church.
“Artist/activist” should mean putting aside the likability game and standing behind your beliefs even when the mainstream media drags your name through the mud as a “coward” or “colossal bore.”
At the same time, as I give props to Marlon, Sinead, and Chappell and call out Beyoncé, I understand that there’s a clear racial discrepancy at work here. Years of research has shown that Black women are judged more harshly and face greater professional consequences than white colleagues when they show anger or express strong opinions. Because of this, Black women don’t have the same freedom to speak their minds in professional settings. And when we’re talking about Beyoncé, a woman who is known in the most remote corners of the earth, the scrutiny is even higher.
But still. My love and respect for her—and her art—has me hoping that someday she’ll speak out, even if it means facing tougher consequences. Until then, I’ll take solace in the lyrics to “American Requiem.” Because it’s my number-one girl who sings: “Can we stand for something? Now is the time to face the wind.”
Annabel Iwegbue is a culture editor at Cosmopolitan, where she primarily covers pop culture, lifestyle, relationships, and digital trends. She previously wrote for Harper's Bazaar, The Knockturnal, and Black Film. She's originally from Charleston, South Carolina, and is currently based in Brooklyn, New York. She holds a B.A. in Journalism and Cinema Studies from New York University. You can check out some of Annabel’s work here and also find her on Instagram and Twitter.
