Six years ago this month, Bill Cosby was sentenced to prison. For some, it was the spectacle of a fallen idol. For others, it was the raw proof that this nation, still drunk on its own lies, can summon racism from the judge’s bench, let it seep into the prosecutor’s chair, and finally stain the jury box. What was lost, what was deliberately hidden, is that Cosby—blind, wealthy, eighty years old—could have walked out untouched if he had only bent his back, signed a paper, confessed to a sin he swore he did not commit.
