Basil Jarrett |That Diddy documentary

Netflix documentary The Reckoning, which traces the rise and fall of Sean ‘P-Diddy’ Combs from Harlem party promoter to billionaire music mogul, and follows the wave of abuse allegations and federal charges that ultimately led to his 2024 conviction on prostitution-related offences.

If you grew up in the 90’s, the documentary is a nostalgia-tinged soundtrack of your childhood. A reminder of a time when we still made good music and didn’t know, or didn’t want to know, what some of our favourite artistes, actors and sports heroes were doing when the cameras stopped rolling.

The Reckoning feels less like a trial documentary and more like a seat in the war room of a man who has spent three decades mastering image, power and social media algorithms. It doesn’t just tell you who Sean Combs is, it shows you how carefully he has curated who he appears to be: The camera-friendly mogul, the victim of “jealous haters”, the misunderstood genius.

CONTROLLING NARRATIVES

But beneath the documentary’s sampled melodies, shiny suits and Ciroc toasts, lies a deeply uncomfortable question: when jurors go home to the same social media as the rest of us, who really has the last word in court? The judge, the jury, or the algorithm?

You see, once you move past the more salacious allegations and the bottles of baby oil in the documentary, there’s a more deeply troubling story. In one early scene, Combs is sitting nervously on the edge of his hotel room bed, plotting strategy with his lawyers. He tells them that success lies, not with the lawyers and judges who watch CNN, but with the Tik Tok-ers and Instagram-ers who are the real shapers of public opinion. Combs instructs them to get off the phone and go figure out how to convince the billions on social media that he is just another black male victim of the system. Or words to that effect. By episode four, we get the verdict: Not guilty of racketeering conspiracy or sex trafficking but guilty on two counts of transportation to engage in prostitution. He is sentenced to 50 months in federal prison and handed a paltry US$500,000 fine. Based on what Combs was facing, this is an emphatic win.

THIRTEENTH JUROR

The Reckoning takes great pains to emphasise however, that despite this being the latest televised “Trial of the Century” the jury is, quite curiously, not sequestered. They go home, scroll, swipe. Legal commentators have already questioned whether leaving the jury free to roam the wild-wild-west of social media during such a high-profile, emotionally charged trial was a mistake.

To be fair, most modern juries in the US and in Jamaica, are not sequestered and yes, the judge would have told them not to read about the case, Google the witnesses, or go on Twitter and TikTok. But that’s like telling a teenager, “Don’t touch your phone ‘til exams done.” Technically possible. But practically? Well, you and I know better.

Jurors in the case admitted that they Googled Combs, looked up legal terms, and read posts about the case on Facebook and Instagram. Combs’ lawyers counted on this and facilitated it by not only providing social media influencers with daily transcripts from the trial, but also highlighted the parts that they wanted to be emphasized. Combs is a man who has always understood the value of controlling the narrative, carefully uploading Instagram posts that framed him as the victim of a witch-hunt. When those narratives collide with a jury that swims in the same cesspool of carefully curated content as everyone else, you have to ask if social media has become a silent thirteenth juror.

COURT OF PUBLIC OPINION

To be clear, there is no hard proof that Combs’ verdict was influenced by his social media tactics. In fact, one juror insisted that he hardly knew who Combs was and that his ruling was on the evidence and the judge’s directions. Fair point. But as Jamaicans love to say, “what don’t go so, nearly go so”.

The Combs trial, the verdict and the suggestion that social media played a key role in the outcome should be concerning to us because our own justice system is not insulated from this type of activity. Far from it actually as we’ve already seen judges and attorneys here publicly warn vloggers, activists and talk-show commentators that their running commentary outside the courthouse can poison a jury pool and trigger a mistrial.

Accused persons have always faced two trials: one inside the court of law and the other in the court of public opinion. But as the Combs documentary has shown, or rather suggested, the line between those two courts have never been blurrier.

CASE TO BE STUDIED

Scandalous celebrity gossip aside, the trial is a case study in what happens when the most powerful person in the room is not the KC or judge or juror, but the man who has spent his entire life learning how to bend public opinion, own the headlines, and weaponise his fan base. Whether or not you think he pulled it off, you’d be naïve to think the next wealthy or politically connected defendant won’t try.

So what does that mean for us?

For one, it means that our legal system has to stop pretending that a simple warning from the judge not to look up the case online, is enough. Courts in the US are already grappling with jurors who research or quietly absorb social-media narratives before verdict. If advanced jurisdictions are struggling to police this, what do you think will happen in Half-Way Tree and downtown Kingston?

The Combs saga should force the Jamaican legal fraternity to confront the raw power of social media, not just as a public-education tool, but as a shadow courtroom where guilt and innocence are tried in real time. In that arena, the best “lawyers” are often content creators with ring lights, not people who’ve actually read the Evidence Act.

Is that fair? No. But is it real? Absolutely.

Major Basil Jarrett is the director of communications at the Major Organised Crime and Anti-Corruption Agency and Crisis Communications Consultant. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com