What we didn't learn from Depp v. Heard

Exactly three years ago, I took the subway into 30 Rock to do a T.V. interview about Depp v. Heard. I was there to talk about how YouTubers profited from the ongoing trial by making content that attacked Amber Heard in support of Johnny Depp, while jurors 250 miles away deliberated whether she had defamed him in an op-ed that did not include his name.

Shortly after the interview wrapped, I got a news alert on my phone. The jury had made its decision. They ruled unanimously in Depp’s favor, awarding him $15 million and determining that Heard acted with actual malice when she wrote “I had the rare vantage point of seeing, in real time, how institutions protect men accused of abuse.” 

To the contrary, the grim spectacle of the trial and what was happening online proved her statement to be true. Heard was the one whose life had been unraveled by lies, but Depp was rewarded for dragging her through court cases on both sides of the Atlantic.

I wasn’t surprised by the verdict. A part of me had hoped, naively, that justice would be served. But deep down, I already knew that it hadn’t.

There was a pit of dread in my stomach that day. As Depp’s supporters cheered outside the Virginia courtroom, I knew the world had changed for the worse. In many ways, it was an ancient cycle of misogyny and violence repeating itself. But there was a new dimension in how it happened online.

I didn’t set out to cover Depp v. Heard in 2022. I was blissfully unaware of how impactful the trial would be until it was already happening and impossible to ignore. Within days of it starting, you couldn’t open TikTok, YouTube, Reddit, Twitter, Instagram, or any social media platform without being bombarded with content that smeared Heard. It was a firehose of misogynistic abuse and lies directed toward one woman, and algorithms seized on the writhing, frothing rage of the internet to maximize the popularity—and therefore profitability—of undermining Heard’s credibility.

Here’s the truth: what happened to Heard was textbook. When she met Depp, she was a largely unknown actress in her early twenties. He was two decades older than her and one of the biggest movie stars in the world. Their relationship started out great, but Heard alleged that one day, she made a joke about one of Depp’s tattoos, and he slapped her. From there, she said, the abuse escalated. She said it often occurred while Depp was using drugs and alcohol. She said his team of Hollywood handlers enabled him, while their mutual friends said they tried to intervene. Eventually, she took out a restraining order against him and filed for divorce.

Initially, Depp said in a joint statement with Heard that neither party had made false allegations for financial gain. But as she moved on from him, he became vengeful. In violently misogynistic text messages, he promised to deliver “global humiliation.” And with the help of a lawyer with ties to Vladimir Putin’s inner circle, he did. Together, Depp and his lawyer Adam Waldman concocted a new narrative, one where Heard had lied to cover up her own abuse. It was part of a larger narrative that flipped the Me Too movement against victims, positioning them as the powerful villains and the abusers as the weaker, wronged party. This is a strategy abusers use called DARVO, which stands for Deny, Attack, and Reverse Victim and Offender. Simply put, it’s victim-blaming.

I didn’t know any of this when viral content calling Heard an abuser flooded my feeds. The sentiment that Depp was a victim of Heard’s abuse seemed to be universal, and even people I liked and trusted were saying it. Looking back, it’s obvious that Heard never had the power to abuse Depp. But there was so little information about what had actually happened in their relationship and so much information that was intended to make Heard look as bad as possible. Still, I had reported on several cases involving viral allegations, and I had never seen so much unified support for an alleged victim. It made me suspicious, and I decided to dig deeper.

How I wish that some legitimate news organizations had done this before the trial, back when the “Justice for Johnny Depp” campaign was ramping up on social media in men’s rights circles that had previously been part of Gamergate and Comicsgate campaigns. Unfortunately, mainstream news has largely abdicated its responsibility in informing the public about these types of misogynistic campaigns. From my own experience, I think the industry tends to minimize the significance of attacks against women and gender-based violence victims. And it is loathe to come to conclusions about how institutions like the legal system and court of public opinion can get it wrong. Talking about this in a way that’s actually productive is considered too opinionated. That’s one reason why I wanted to go independent so badly—so I wouldn’t have to neuter my language and aid abusers in their DARVO campaigns in the process.

During Depp v. Heard, if you just consumed news and social media, you would only get Depp’s revisionist history. But I’ll never forget the night I learned the truth.

I was sitting at my desk in my old apartment and it was late. My neon pink string lights gave my laptop screen a rosy hue. While searching for information, I stumbled across the judge’s decision in the previous U.K. trial about Heard’s allegations. Depp had lost that one. I read the 129-page document in one sitting. Heard testified to 14 incidents of abuse, and the judge found that there was enough evidence for 12 of them. As I read through the horrifying details, there was single moment when I realized the extent of what was happening. I believed Heard, and so did the judge in the U.K. That meant she was being gaslit and abused again, this time by the entire internet. In a second, my entire worldview shifted. I broke down and sobbed.

Believing Heard changed my life—first for the worse, but over time, for the better. I chose to speak out about the disinformation, DARVO, and misogyny that had defined the case and its eventual verdict, knowing I would be punished for doing so. To this day, searching my name on YouTube retrieves pages of videos slandering me for daring to believe Heard. And other journalists were surprised by how I argued in Heard’s defense. Some of them admired me. Some of them judged me. But I have never been more confident in knowing that something was the right thing to do.

I wish more people had learned the same lessons from Depp v. Heard, because the dread I felt on June 1, 2022 has come to fruition over and over again. More women have been shredded in this online DARVO machine. It’s happening to Megan Thee Stallion because Tory Lanez shot her. It’s happening to Cassie because she accused Diddy of domestic and sexual abuse. It’s happening to Blake Lively as her sexual harassment and retaliation lawsuit against Justin Baldoni works its way through the courts. And it’s happening to everyday women, because internet virality can pluck anyone from obscurity and thrust them into infamy.

Depp’s decade-long campaign against Heard has become a well-worn playbook for other men, an accelerant for far-right politics, and a warning to victims of what they will endure in coming forward. It was part of the pendulum swing that led to Donald Trump’s re-election. It will keep happening until a vocal majority of people finally choose to hate the abusers and not the victims.

What gives me hope is that there are other people who see what I saw. There is a growing resistance to these DARVO campaigns. I have had people tell me in person that they, too, realized the truth about Depp v. Heard and changed their minds. I have seen many more post about doing so online. I talk about this cycle frequently during podcasts and interviews and conversations, and I’ll keep talking about it for the rest of my life if given the opportunity. But for now, I’ll leave you with a few recent examples.

I was lucky enough to join three of my favorite content creators this week to talk about the Lively and Baldoni case, tying it back to the impact of Depp v. Heard:

• Ophie Dokie and I talked about Baldoni’s pseudo-feminism and how he used it to bolster his platform and promote his religion.

• Taylor Lorenz and I joined Olayemi Olurin’s podcast to talk about what people are getting wrong in the Lively case.

• I went on Caroline Kwan’s Twitch stream to talk about the endless smear campaigns and the online ecosystem that fuels them.

And finally, a couple more conversations I wanted to plug:

• I went on Taylor’s podcast to talk about ChatGPT and why students are relying on AI to get through school.

• CBC’s Commotion brought me on to discuss my Bella Ramsey piece.

• Jessica Grose featured me and Spitfire News in her New York Times op-ed about Cassie and victim-blaming.

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