Shot entirely in Jamaica, the series delivers raw authenticity and a powerful showcase of local talent. Share The Sky series Possession has landed with a gravitational pull that’s hard to ignore, and audiences have wasted no time giving their stamp of approval — especially for its unapologetic embrace of Jamaican talent and culture. What makes this series truly seismic is not just its setting on the island, but the way it allows Jamaica to breathe, pulse and speak through its actors. This isn’t a backdrop; it’s a beating heart. And at the centre of that heartbeat are Sheldon Shepherd and Shantol Jackson, two Jamaican performers whose presence elevates the entire production. As one viewer put it online, “This is the first time I’ve seen Jamaica portrayed with this level of authenticity — absolutely gripping.” A commanding force in Jamaican cinema, Sheldon Shepherd has carved out a reputation for performances that feel volcanic in their emotional de...
For decades, Black women across Britain have shared a quiet, devastating truth: every Black woman knows a Black woman who has been abused. A sister. A cousin. A friend. A colleague. A woman from church. A girl from school. A neighbour who stopped coming outside. A woman whose laugh changed. A woman whose confidence vanished. A woman told to pray harder, forgive faster, stay quieter, protect the man, protect the home, protect everyone except herself.
Yet, despite this widespread reality, many Black men insist they do not know any abusers. The numbers, and the lived experiences, tell a different story. What is framed as ignorance is, in many cases, a deliberate lie.
The Numbers Don’t Add Up
Domestic abuse is not rare. According to the Office for National Statistics, 2.2 million women and 1.5 million men aged 16 and over experienced domestic abuse in England and Wales in the year ending March 2025. The NHS defines domestic abuse as physical, emotional or sexual abuse, as well as coercive or controlling behaviour.
If Black women know the survivors, the rumours, the warnings, the bruises, the disappearances, the emergency calls, the sudden personality shifts, then Black men know too. They know which cousin is violent. Which friend “gets like that” when he drinks. Which uncle women avoid. Which man’s ex-partners all seem traumatised. Which brother punches walls, checks phones, controls money, stalks women, humiliates women, then turns up to family events smiling as if butter wouldn’t melt.
They know. The issue is not knowledge, it is loyalty.
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Male Loyalty Over Women’s Safety
At the centre of this silence lies a harsh truth: many Black men choose male approval over Black women’s safety. They are not confused about abuse; they are socially invested in protecting abusive men. “Not getting involved” is not neutrality — it is complicity. Silence always benefits the abuser.
Male loyalty functions like a social currency. A man can be dangerous to women and still be funny to men. Still be useful in the group chat. Still be invited to birthdays, still receive business support, still be defended publicly and privately. Abusers survive not because nobody knows, but because too many people know and decide the woman is easier to sacrifice.
The Language of Protection, For Men Only
The community’s language reveals its priorities:
He is “troubled”. She is “dramatic”.
He has “anger issues”. She is “bitter”.
He “made a mistake”. She is “trying to ruin his life”.
He “needs support”. She “should have chosen better”.
Nuance appears instantly when a man needs protecting. Judgement appears instantly when a woman needs believing.
Misogynoir Makes the Silence Easier
Misogynoir — the intersection of racism and misogyny — shapes how Black women are treated. They are seen as less innocent, less fragile, less believable, and less deserving of protection. Their pain is interrogated more harshly than the violence inflicted upon them. Their survival is used as proof that the abuse “couldn’t have been that bad”.
A Black woman can be harmed and still be cross‑examined as though the bruise must provide its own witness statement.
Specialist organisations such as Imkaan have repeatedly warned that Black and minoritised women face unique barriers when seeking protection. Its Life or Death? report, produced with the Centre for Women’s Justice, highlights how institutional failures compound the danger.
Does Jonasi from the polygamist portray real men?-The Polygamist exposes the hidden brutality faced by women trapped in abusive marriages, showing how families look away, protect reputations and help bury the truth — a reality that has viewers furious and unable to stay silent.
Black women are often trapped between several betrayals at once:
the man harming them
the men protecting him
the relatives minimising him
the friends doubting her
the institutions failing her
Racism in wider society does not excuse misogyny within the community. Police racism does not justify Black men shielding abusers. The fear of “making Black men look bad” cannot be used to abandon Black women to men who are already making themselves look bad through their own actions.
Black men know abusers.
They know them in their families, their friend groups, their churches, their workplaces, their music scenes, their sports circles, their barbershops, their WhatsApp groups. They know the men women warn each other about. They know the names that come with a pause.
When they pretend not to know, they are not protecting Blackness.
They are protecting patriarchy dressed in Black skin.
Accountability Starts With Honesty
Not all Black men are abusers. But too many:
laugh with abusers
defend abusers
platform abusers
invite abusers into safe spaces
and then act shocked when Black women say they do not feel protected
Every Black woman knows a Black woman who was abused. And Black men know the abusers. The lie has expired.
