Vulture's Eye
Media in a Predatory System
Introduction: Ida B. Wells and the Origins of Investigative Journalism
In the United States, one of the earliest and most fearless investigative journalists was Ida B. Wells. Born into slavery in 1862, Wells pioneered investigative reporting at a time when Black voices were violently suppressed. In the 1890s, after the lynching of three of her friends in Memphis, she embarked on a relentless mission to document and expose the true nature of racial violence in America.
Her work, published in Southern Horrors: Lynch Law in All Its Phases (1892) and The Red Record (1895), was groundbreaking in both subject matter and method. She gathered evidence, conducted interviews, and used data to dismantle the myths justifying racial terror. She set a standard for investigative journalism that still resonates today.
Yet, as investigative journalism became an institutionalized profession, white reporters and mainstream outlets claimed its prestige while excluding the very communities that pioneered it. Mainstream muckrakers like Ida Tarbell, often credited with founding investigative journalism, built their reputations on techniques Wells had already perfected. While Wells investigated systemic racial violence, white journalists focused on industrial corruption—an issue deemed “legitimate.” At the same time, racial injustice was framed as too radical, too personal, or too dangerous to expose.
The result? Wells was actively suppressed, her contributions relegated to the margins of journalistic history. Even today, investigative journalism is framed as a white-dominated field, despite Black women pioneering and continuing to lead some of its most impactful work. Black journalists, especially Black women, remain locked out of traditional investigative roles, and their work is delegitimized when it exists outside of mainstream institutions.
This article is both a critique and a call to action. The exclusion of Black voices in investigative journalism mirrors broader systemic gatekeeping in media, particularly within the criminal justice system.
Just as lynching was once a form of extrajudicial punishment, today’s justice system functions as an institutionalized form of racial violence—one that extends beyond the courtroom into the court of public opinion.
Using A$AP Rocky’s trial as a microcosm, this piece will explore how the press profits from the spectacle of Black criminality while Black journalists remain locked out of the institutions that shape the story.
Just as Ida B. Wells used investigative journalism to expose racial violence, we must rethink what justice-oriented journalism could look like today—one that resists spectacle and interrogates the system itself.
The Scene at the Courthouse
When I arrived at the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center for A$AP Rocky’s trial, the power dynamics of press approval were immediately apparent. The approved press held prime positions. Those of us operating outside of mainstream institutions had to navigate a different reality. There was no reserved seating, special access, or digital devices to take notes. Approved press access disproportionately favors white-run institutions.
Prominent celebrity press outlets had overwhelmingly chosen non-Black reporters to cover this trial. When I inquired, a representative from People claimed that their music team had no Black journalists at all. That feels hard to believe, but if true, this meant that an all-white or white-passing team was covering a trial involving a Black rapper within a legal system that has historically targeted Black men. Independent journalism isn’t exempt from similar power dynamics.
Take Meghann Cuniff, for example. She is a widely respected legal journalist covering high-profile legal cases. Her professional rise has been fueled by Black celebrity trials, which she covers almost exclusively. I doubt this is by accident. Cuniff’s coverage choices align with the reality that Black people and culture are major engines of online engagement. Whether intentional or not, her rise reflects how white journalists are elevated by mainstream media institutions while Black reporters covering similar topics struggle for legitimacy. The way mainstream white journalists profit off Black controversy without meaningfully engaging with Black culture or communities is a textbook example of cultural extraction. As valuable as her work is, it still exists within an institutional framework that prioritizes and elevates certain voices over others.
While she can record and report from inside the courtroom, independent creators—many of whom are Black women—are systematically denied the same privileges. And yet, despite these barriers, Black women continue to do the work—on their terms.
This brings me to my own experience investigating the proceedings. That lack of Black presence wasn’t just about numbers—it shaped the entire courthouse atmosphere, from who got access to how Black people were treated within the space.
A Personal Encounter
As an independent content creator, my access was different. I wasn’t walking in with the institutional backing that guaranteed a reserved seat or special privileges. I arrived early, surrendered my devices, and entered the courtroom on the same terms as the public. There were no exceptions for independent media—no digital note-taking, no accommodations, and no legitimacy granted. I felt, in a very literal way, stripped down.
That feeling only deepened when I spoke casually with two journalists from TMZ and People. We were passing the time, making small talk, when I offhandedly joked, “Man, I feel kind of naked without ChatGPT.” I had grown used to it as a quick tool for drafting and refining ideas. Being without it suddenly felt like losing an extra limb.
One of them chuckled. “Oh yeah, we don’t use AI.”
That caught me off guard. Really? I thought. I raised an eyebrow. “Wow, that’s incredible.” AI had become an essential tool for me—refining, editing, and expanding my work in ways that saved time and sharpened my thinking. “Honestly, it’s better than humans,” I added, half-joking but also half-serious.
One of them immediately disagreed. “No way,” they said, shaking their head. “AI could never edit better than a real person.”
At first, the disagreement was respectful. Then, it turned condescending.
“Yeah, I would disagree because I think the human perspective is critical. And as journalists, we’re not even allowed to use AI.”
Then she added something even more ridiculous.
“And in any case, I can always tell when a writer uses AI because I’m just so familiar with reading and writing all the time.”
The implication was clear—she assumed she had a more refined eye, a more developed skill set, and greater exposure to reading and writing than I did. The assumption that I, standing right there as a fellow writer, somehow lacked that skill was more than just arrogance. It was anti-Black. It suggested she had no reason to believe I read or wrote as much as she did.
I let a beat pass. Then I responded,
“That’s so strange because I just submitted my dissertation for a PhD. Used AI to support the writing of that dissertation. Huh. But I guess journalists can’t use it.”
Her energy shifted immediately, and I could feel her retreat. But I wasn’t done.
“Speaking of human perspective,” I continued, “I’m curious about the demographics of your respective institutions or teams.”
They both looked confused. I elaborated.
“You know how people talk about jury composition and its impact on trials, right? Well, media institutions function the same way. Who tells the story affects how the story is told.”
The woman from TMZ was quick to respond. “Well, we know TMZ is diverse.”
The People rep, on the other hand, got defensive. “Well, I’m full Mexican, first of all.”
White-passing, mind you. And how she phrased it made it clear she knew exactly what I was getting at. She was scrambling to prove diversity, as if throwing out an ethnicity absolved the institution of critique.
Then, she started listing her colleagues. Notably, no Black people. No Black representation on the music team at People, yet they were here covering A$AP Rocky’s trial? The erasure was undeniable.
At that point, I decided the conversation was over. Their unspoken alliance, condescension, and lack of critical thought made it clear that I had no interest in engaging with them further.
Because this is the core of press gatekeeping—exclusion isn’t just about credentials; it’s about culture. Even when Black people gain access to these spaces, we are met with dismissal, skepticism, and the expectation to prove ourselves in ways white journalists never have to.
The interaction exposed three fundamental ways that exclusion operates beyond just press passes and reserved seating:
Condemnation of new tools that democratize access.
AI and other emerging technologies are resources that independent creators use to compete. Instead of curiosity about how independent journalists navigate the space, the response was immediate rejection.
Casual condescension and assumptions about who is skilled and knowledgeable.
The assumption wasn’t just a passing remark—it was the default. A Black woman before them couldn’t possibly have a sharper editorial eye.
Diversity-washing as a defensive tactic.
Instead of engaging with the real question—who gets to tell stories about Black people?—the People rep deflected, tokenized, and leaned on her own identity to avoid critique altogether.
This isn’t just about representation—it’s about whose perspective is centered, whose voice is heard, and whose presence is constantly called into question.
Black Women & Investigative Journalism in the Digital Age
Since the mainstream press refuses to center Black women in investigative journalism, Black women have created their own spaces. Digital platforms like YouTube, Twitter/X, and independent Substacks have become sites of serious investigative work, yet these spaces are routinely dismissed as “unprofessional” or “gossip.”
The irony is that Ida B. Wells faced the same resistance. When she published her investigations into lynching, white newspapers discredited her, calling her work inflammatory and untrustworthy. Today, Black women investigative journalists online face similar erasure. Their work is dismissed—even as it drives major conversations and forces mainstream media to follow their lead.
Black women are key contributors to investigative journalism and the primary drivers of digital culture. From shaping internet trends to conducting rigorous research on pop culture and social issues, Black women have led conversations that only later become mainstream. Independent content creators on YouTube and TikTok have been at the forefront of uncovering major scandals—often long before traditional outlets catch up.
Take the recent exposés on Nickelodeon and Diddy. Before mainstream media even noticed, Black women online were uncovering evidence, connecting the dots, and providing critical analysis—work that traditional journalists later followed. The fact that these platforms are still dismissed as less rigorous isn’t about quality—it’s about misogynoir. The work of Black digital investigators is not only thorough but actively shapes public discourse and holds powerful figures accountable in ways traditional journalism fails to do.
As mainstream media continues to discredit digital journalism—where Black women thrive—it's worth asking: Who benefits from that erasure? By dismissing independent investigative spaces, legacy media maintains control over whose narratives are considered legitimate. But the truth is clear: digital investigative journalism isn’t secondary—it’s leading the way.
Investigative Journalism as a Radical Act
The current media landscape prioritizes profit over justice, perpetuating systemic violence through sensationalism and exclusion. Shifting this paradigm requires reimagining media practices—centering equity, accountability, and truth-telling over spectacle.
Imagining a Radical Media Approach
Investigative journalism began with a Black woman exposing racial violence—yet today, Black women continue this work in digital spaces, facing the same institutional erasure. Recognizing this history is essential to shaping a media landscape that serves all communities.
A radical media approach means:
✔ Centering justice-impacted voices and prioritizing community-led narratives.
✔ Rejecting surface-level reporting in favor of depth, historical context, and systemic analysis.
✔ Amplifying independent Black voices, particularly those leading digital investigative journalism.
Call to Action: Developing a Critical Relationship with Media
✔ Challenge Narratives: Question the stories mainstream media tells, especially about justice, race, and systemic violence. Ask: Who benefits? Whose voices are missing?
✔ Evaluate Media Intentions: Look beyond headlines. Support outlets that prioritize accountability over profit.
✔ Demand Better Practices: Hold media institutions accountable for representing marginalized communities.
✔ Empower Personal Engagement: Seek diverse perspectives, support independent platforms, and reshape the media landscape.
Ida B. Wells once said: “The way to right wrongs is to turn the light of truth upon them.” That light still shines brightest through the work of Black women today.
And to the woman from People magazine—if you’re reading this, I hope you enjoyed it. And in case you couldn’t tell, this was written with the help of AI.