I watched Diddy on trial, but found myself guilty

“Abandoning my phone was worth it,” I thought, staring at a world-class view of Sean Combs (or, at least, the back of him). 

My phone was confiscated as part of the court security process, meaning no pictures or videos. All I had to rely on were my notebook and my memory, so I anxiously took in every single detail I could. And there was so much to take in. 

On the twenty-sixth floor of the Daniel Patrick Moynihan United States Courthouse, in the courtroom gallery, I sat boxed in. On my left, Combs’s publicist. On my right, his civil attorney. Directly in front of me, Janice and Justin Combs (his mother and son, respectively). And a little further back, the press. I didn’t find out until later that even Kayne West wasn’t allowed to sit where I was (instead, he got stuck in the overflow room, watching the trial via feed from the only security camera in the courtroom). Thanks to my summer research advisor at UR, I was lucky enough to have a connection to Brian Steel — Young Thug’s attorney turned Combs’s — which afforded me front-and-center access to the real-life courtroom drama of the summer.

Being in court mostly felt like a daze, but I remember being jolted from that trance when Combs twisted around in his chair and turned to look at the gallery. At first, I thought he was staring at me. In actuality, he was looking at his mother. He began blowing kisses and mouthing, “I love you.” 

Just moments before, he’d entered the court and hugged his attorneys. His demeanor and appearance were a far cry from the celebrity who seemingly had the music industry in his pocket. He let his hair go gray, and was dressed in a light blue sweater. It was the kind of look you might expect from the sweet, frumpy grandpa you pass on the street, not from the man charged with sex trafficking. The energy radiating off of him screamed harmless. I don’t doubt that those who saw Sean Combs’s charming-elder image were put under his spell. 

It’s a reality that has plagued the justice system for decades. From race to attractiveness, how a defendant looks matters to juries. Defense teams and defendants often have to work against stereotypes about appearances to ensure a fair trial, but prosecutors work against them in attempts to expose and emphasize them instead. Prosecutors’ intentions are reflected in Alan Jackson’s infamously racist piece about prosecution strategies: “Perhaps the most crucial element of a successful prosecution is introducing the jury to the real defendant. Invariably, by the time the jury sees the defendant at trial, his hair has grown out to a normal length, his clothes are nicely tailored, and he will have taken on the aura of an altar boy. But the real defendant is a criminal wearing a do-rag and throwing a gang sign.”

Combs, of course, with the power of some of the most expensive attorneys and analysts in the game, could easily fight back against appearance-based stereotypes. Combs’s persona in the courtroom was carefully crafted and calculated. That was something I realized on Thursday, June 5. The day Combs was admonished for nodding eagerly at the jury. To the judge and jury those moments were nothing more than the defendant (inappropriately) bobbing his head up and down at testimony, but my view was different. From my seat, I saw something that broke my attention from the brutal cross-examination of Bryana Bongolan, a witness called by the prosecution accusing the defendant of hanging her off a balcony. Combs’s nodding motion exposed a tattoo on the back of his neck that was previously hidden. That moment reminded me of exactly who was standing trial, not Sean Combs, but P Diddy. 

Suddenly, though, I felt shame wash over me for even thinking such a thing. Judging by ink on skin is no proper way to determine a defendant’s guilt, and certainly not a way to expose “the real defendant.” Despite what prosecutor Jackson has said about tattoos being a “rich source of insight into the personality of the defendant,” I thought I should know better.

Through my work with Rap On Trial, I’ve learned how the smallest, seemingly unrelated factors can impact verdicts and fairness in criminal trials. This summer I catalogued over 150 cases from 2022 to 2025 in which rap lyrics or videos were used against defendants as evidence of their guilt. In many cases, the rap “evidence” was not even remotely related to the charges brought against the defendant. Just like how Combs’s neck tattoo wasn’t related. Tattoos, just like rap lyrics, are no real indication of someone’s character. 

But still, like a juror, I found myself falling into the trap of stereotyping defendants based on appearance. It makes sense why Sean Combs’s team would have him cover up tattoos. He hired professionals who knew the type of reaction Combs’s “normal” appearance might cause. But most defendants don’t have access to such expensive resources and counseling. The average defendant cannot craft a foolproof trial persona with the best lawyers money can buy. How can that defendant expect to have a fair trial if they are being judged by their attractiveness? By how many tattoos they have? By the color of their skin? Or by their rap career?

The truth is, they can’t. While a fair trial is guaranteed to all of us by the Sixth Amendment regardless of guilt or innocence, too many people don’t receive one. The government, judges and lawyers should all be held responsible for that injustice, but so should we. Just as I should hold myself accountable for thinking Combs’s tattoo changes a thing about his character, so should we as a nation about the appearance of a defendant holding no relevance to guilt.

 Juries are composed of our peers. That means jurors are composed of people like you and I. Once we recognize the implicit biases we hold against our fellow people we can recognize that a tattoo is just a tattoo. 

Contact contributing writer Mina Ghani at Mina.Ghani@richmond.edu