Opinions
Johnny Depp, Amber Heard and the deeply unsatisfying matter of re-litigating their trial
The series was panned by critics
On Aug. 16, Netflix released a three-part docuseries revisiting last summer’s televised civil litigation over allegations that Amber Heard had defamed ex-husband Johnny Depp by claiming to have survived sexual violence and domestic abuse during their four-year relationship.
Rather than offering anything new by way of insight or analysis from anyone with relevant qualifications or experience, each episode features clips from some of the online “creators” who turned their hot takes on the trial into a veritable cottage industry of amateur legal commentary and courtroom conspiracy theories, feeding the rapacious demand for anti-Heard and pro-Depp content. (As if to underscore the project’s unseriousness, these included a men’s rights YouTuber who wore a Deadpool mask and was surrounded by Spider-Man costumes.)
Worse still, “Depp v. Heard” director Emma Cooper fails not only to answer but also to even ask the obvious questions that have lingered since a verdict was returned more than 14 months ago by seven jurors in northern Virginia who were not sequestered as the case became, by far, the most popular topic on social media and online platforms.
At the same time, however, the episodes include footage of courtroom testimony that offer a glimpse, though incomplete, into some of the trial’s more salient and dispositive moments that I otherwise would never have seen (with neither the time nor the inclination, either last year or now, to follow 120+ hours of argument by the parties presented over the course of a seven-week trial.)
Do these scenes redeem the series? Hardly. But that does not mean they offer nothing of value, especially considering that while this was not the retelling of last summer’s events that we deserve, it remains the only one we’ve got. At least, for now.
Susan Sontag, in her 1977 collection of essays “On Photography,” proclaimed “The camera makes everyone a tourist in other people’s reality, and eventually in one’s own.”
In “Depp v. Heard,” the cameras facilitate a very specific kind of tourism that feels both exploitative and voyeuristic, because the reality in which we find ourselves trespassing is dark: the unraveling of a relationship between movie stars through patterns of dysfunction and abuse both familiar and alien, knowable and unknowable, like a city you have visited but never called home.
Especially when coupled with the more outrageous moments from trial that made headlines at the time – such as the debate over whether Heard defecated on Depp’s bed and blamed his teacup Yorkshire Terrier – there is a temptation to treat footage of testimony concerning the smashing of liquor bottles and hurling of wine glasses, the shoving and taunting and threats, even the physical and sexual violence, as though it were pure spectacle.
However, this would suggest, wrongly, that the painful realities of the actors’ relationship are so far removed from our lived experiences that we do not, cannot, or should not relate to them. As if a seven-week trial adjudicating the conflicts in our own intimate relationships or those involving the people we love would not turn up evidence of trouble and dysfunction, or worse.
Considering that we are primed to pick winners and losers and heroes and villains, perhaps it was unsurprising that incomplete and selectively edited footage from the case provided ample fodder for Instagram reels and TikTok videos that were created in the service of narratives that, most often, favored Depp and vilified Heard.
For me, witnessing these scenes in their proper context revealed a picture so much more complicated and, frankly, ugly that the prospect of framing the case in this manner seemed as preposterous as the idea that audiences leaving a production of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” should find themselves allied with either Martha or George.
To take just one example: From the witness stand, Heard recounted how she would often return home to their shared Los Angeles penthouse to find Depp nodding off in a chair because he had washed Roxicodone down with whiskey, or lying supine on the sofa fully unconscious with melted ice cream pooled in his lap. Worried about her husband’s apparent substance use disorder and unsure how best to help, the actress admitted she would sometimes take photos of him and share the pictures with a trusted friend.
Or, Depp’s attorney asked, was she just trying to humiliate him? Or, online commentators asked (often rhetorically), was this a calculated and premeditated move to collect evidence she would use against Depp in litigation or for purposes of extorting him?
As if these motives are mutually exclusive.
Having experienced the pain of watching loved ones spiraling in the throes of drug and alcohol addiction, I can tell you why I suspect Heard took the photos, but of course the reality is neither I nor anyone else – perhaps not even she – has any clue.
Last year, so much of the online noise about the trial came from content creators who made specious arguments to poke holes in the credibility of Heard’s testimony or alleged ulterior, sinister hidden motives based on the actress’s countenance, demeanor, speech, and other behavior.
For example, in clips that were often selectively edited or presented outside of their proper context, Heard might have seemed to cry more hysterically upon realizing the cameras were trained on her, which were used as supposed proof that her claims of suffering abuse at the hands of her ex-husband must therefore be fabricated.
Watching the footage in the manner presented on screen in “Depp v. Heard,” it becomes even more obvious how silly these interpretations were. In reality, of course, no one – not even police officers, trial court judges, F.B.I. and C.I.A. agents, trial lawyers or forensic psychiatrists – can reliably spot when someone is lying to them.
However convincing some YouTuber may have been, and however comforting the idea that we are able to see through the lies of others, I’m sorry to tell you the research on this is overwhelming and uncontested.
As Malcolm Gladwell observes in “Talking to Strangers,” Amanda Knox was falsely convicted for a murder she did not commit because “much of the prosecution’s case…rested on the allegedly strange, guilty behavior she exhibited,” which “the public deemed not in line with typical responses to grief and trauma.”
The cameras did not tell the complete story.
Well before 2022, private details about Depp and Heard’s troubled relationship had spilled onto the pages of tabloids like The Sun, which called Depp a “wife beater” in a 2018 story alleging that “overwhelming evidence was filed to show Johnny Depp engaged in domestic violence against his wife.” After he sued the paper for defamation, London’s High Court of Justice ruled against the actor in 2020, concluding the claims at issue were “substantially true.”
Still, last summer’s litigation between the actors earned far more public attention and unearthed far more (and far more titillating) private information, causing, therefore, far more damage than the supermarket rags and gossip blogs – as well as, ironically, the financial and reputational damage resulting from the very defamation claims that were adjudicated at trial.
As a reminder, Depp sued his ex-wife for a 2018 opinion article in the Washington Post in which she had written, “two years ago, I became a public figure representing domestic abuse, and I felt the full force of our culture’s wrath for women who speak out.” Heard was referencing the backlash against, essentially, identical claims she made in a statement after securing a restraining order against Depp following their divorce in 2016. (“During the entirety of our relationship, Johnny has been verbally and physically abusive to me,” she wrote.)
In so many cases including this one, intimate partner abuse is messy. An audio recording of one of the couple’s arguments shows Heard acknowledging she had struck her ex-husband but denying that she punched him. Her testimony, meanwhile, detailed serious violent crimes, including that Depp had thrown her into a ping pong table and repeatedly hit her in the face before sexually assaulting her with a liquor bottle that may have been broken.
Of course, assuming their sworn testimony to be true, it must also be said, domestic violence is a gendered crime. And the imbalanced power dynamics within their relationship put Heard at a disadvantage, including in this respect. While both are famous actors, the wealth, power, and fame wielded by Depp was then (and remains, now) much greater.
The disparity was evident from the outset. In the Netflix series, throngs of fans are shown cheering the Pirates of the Caribbean star and booing Heard on the first day they were sighted arriving separately to the Fairfax County Circuit Court. Meanwhile, online, evidence of a sustained and coordinated character assassination of Heard had just begun to emerge.
The smear campaign would persist through the trial and beyond. The actress was called a manipulative liar, a gold digger, an abuser, a violent psychopath, a drug addict, and worse. Some of the most outrageous claims were among the most widely circulated: She snorted cocaine on the witness stand, killed her own mother to conceal testimony that would have exonerated Depp, plagiarized lines from the film The Talented Mr. Ripley.
Creators mocked Heard by lip-synching over audio of her testimony about suffering violent abuse in videos that went viral on TikTok along with hashtags like #JusticeForJohnnyDepp, which was seen nearly 3 billion times on the platform. (#justiceforamberheard earned just 25 million views.) One-sided articles and videos, many containing false and misleading claims, were promoted by Ben Shapiro’s conservative media outlet The Daily Wire through its estimated $35,000 and $47,000 purchase of Facebook and Instagram ads.
“Depp v. Heard” was panned by critics.
“If ever a true-crime documentary needed the usual collection of talking-head interviews with esteemed journalists, law enforcement veterans and legal experts to put things in perspective,” Richard Roeper of the Chicago Sun Times wrote, “this is it — but that never happens.”
Others, like CNN’s Brian Lowry, agreed: “How much is gained from listening to a guy in a Deadpool mask offering extensive trial takes is a question ‘Depp v. Heard’ should have contemplated and apparently didn’t,” he wrote.
Several reviews added that part of the problem was that not nearly enough time had elapsed between the events and their retelling. Bustle’s Scaachi Koul pointed to other recent projects involving the private lives of public figures (especially women) that, with sufficient space and distance, found new and interesting things to say about their subjects and opportunities to tell their stories anew.
Ryan White’s excellent documentary “Pamela: A Love Story,” which was released by Netflix in January, manages to find plenty of material about actress and model Pamela Anderson along with the broader sociocultural forces of the 90s and early aughts that helped shape – and were shaped by – the era’s most enduring sex symbol.
The film would have been nothing, however, without Anderson. Listening to her tell her own story, one realizes how poorly suited everyone else was to the task – particularly the leering talk show hosts and journalists who treated her as nothing more than a sex object.
And maybe that, above all else, is the lesson to be gleaned from “Depp v. Heard”: Let’s come back to this story, sure, when we’re ready to cut through the bullshit, reframe the conversation away from the “him vs. her” framing, stop relying on provably unreliable evidence, and consider the broader context of their relationship and the impact of the trial that happened on TikTok and YouTube. And let’s definitely listen to Heard if and when she’s ready to talk about this again.
Until we get that docuseries (or documentary, scripted series, film, book, whatever), I fear everything else will be deeply unsatisfactory and unsatisfying.
Opinions
D.C. has a chance to lead on equitable transit through AVs
Waymo never drives drunk, distracted, or enraged at fellow drivers
As a child, my relationship with cars was defined by instability and fear. That changed when I got to ride in an autonomous vehicle (AV) for the first time in 2024.
Growing up my father was obsessed with cars and he purchased and leased more than 30 vehicles. Unfortunately, this obsession ultimately drowned our family in unsustainable debt. Worst of all, my childhood was marked by the terrifying reality of riding in vehicles driven by family members under the influence. No one should have to face the fear of consistently having to put their life in the hands of a driver who simply should not be behind the wheel.
Unfortunately, that trauma shaped much of my life. It is one of the reasons I chose to move to a city to build roots and start a family. I intentionally chose multimodal cities where reliance on a personal vehicle wasn’t necessary to live a meaningful and enjoyable life.
However, in 2024, while living in Phoenix, Ariz., my relationship with transportation changed, for the better. I was introduced to Waymo, a fully autonomous ride-hailing service. What began as a curiosity quickly became a revelation. I fell in love with the service and what it offered: safety, comfort, and remarkable reliability. In fact, I valued the experience so much that I ranked in the top 3% of all Waymo riders nationwide that year.
For someone who grew up terrified by the unpredictability of human drivers, riding in a vehicle programmed never to drive drunk, be distracted, or enraged at fellow drivers was transformative. It wasn’t just transit. It was peace of mind.
Now, as a Ward 6 D.C. resident, I am urging the Council to bring this technology to our nation’s capital through the Autonomous Vehicle Deployment Authorization Amendment Act of 2026. With rising crash related fatalities and a transit system working to meet growing demand, the case for bringing AVs to the District has never been more urgent.
In the D.C. area, pedestrians are twice as likely to be killed than they were a decade before, despite many efforts to make streets safer. Beyond safety, there is a glaring equity gap in the District’s transit options, particularly for communities East of the River, who routinely face agonizingly long travel times and service delays. Ride-hailing wait times are also getting worse in the District and these residents remain among some of the most severely impacted.
I don’t view these gaps through an abstract or distant lens. I have biked more than 1,500 miles across the District, logged more than 600 rideshares, and ridden the infamous X2 bus route for several years. I’ve seen the absolute best and worst of our transit ecosystem. In my work supporting at-risk and homeless LGBTQ+ youth, I have also seen firsthand how transportation gaps can become barriers to basic survival. Getting across the city can take at least two hours by Metro. This isn’t a minor inconvenience — it’s the difference between making a job interview, a therapy session, or a medical appointment.
In a city striving for Vision Zero to eliminate all traffic fatalities and seeking to deliver equitable transportation, ignoring a technology that systematically eliminates the deadliest variables of driving is a policy failure we cannot afford.
Several organizations representing affected communities, including Mothers Against Drunk Driving, already recognize the immense potential of AVs to eliminate human error and curb the crisis of impaired driving on our roads. Now is the time for the Council to act.
Together, Council members Charles Allen, Brooke Pinto and Matt Frumin have a unique opportunity to implement one of the most innovative AV regulations in the country.
The Autonomous Vehicle Deployment Authorization Amendment Act of 2026 isn’t about replacing public transit; it is about building on it. By passing this bill, D.C. can join forward-thinking cities like San Francisco, Los Angeles, Phoenix, and Miami in delivering safe mobility to its residents. Every day we delay, lives remain at risk.
Beyond safety, this bill represents a real chance to make autonomous transit an accessible and affordable option for residents and help close the gap for communities long underserved. To better meet this goal, the Council should consider expanding the bill to offer transportation support programs, drawing on models in other cities like Los Angeles’ Mobility Wallet.
The next stop? Safer, fairer, transportation for D.C. that is built for the city’s evolving needs. The Council’s decision to hold a hearing is a step in the right direction. Residents East of the River, and across the District, deserve a real public forum. And it’s on the Council to turn that momentum into meaningful, lasting progress. It must act now.
Cesar Toledo is a first-generation queer Latino and an Out magazine Out100 honoree. He led the largest LGBTQ+ mobilization program in presidential campaign history for Harris-Walz.
Commentary
The boy they refused to forget
Jonathan David Muir Burgos released from Cuban prison after participating in protest
When the Washington Blade first reported the story of Jonathan David Muir Burgos, the news centered on a 16-year-old Cuban teenager who had been sent to prison after taking part in a public protest in Morón, Ciego de Ávila. At the time, the facts were straightforward. A minor had lost his freedom, and his case was beginning to attract attention beyond Cuba’s borders.
Today there is another fact that deserves to be recorded with the same rigor.
Jonathan is no longer in prison.
His release, confirmed by multiple news organizations, closes one chapter of a story that, for months, was followed by journalists, human rights organizations, religious communities, and countless individuals who refused to let his name disappear from public view. Each of them became part of a much larger effort to ensure that the imprisonment of a Cuban teenager would not fade into silence as the news cycle moved on.
That collective attention does not explain every decision that ultimately led to Jonathan’s release, and it would be irresponsible to suggest otherwise. Judicial processes are rarely shaped by a single factor. What can be said with certainty is that Jonathan’s story never disappeared. It continued to be documented, discussed and followed long after the initial headlines were published.
Behind every widely reported case there is a family living a reality that rarely appears in the news. In Jonathan’s case, there was a father who also serves as a Protestant pastor and who spent months speaking publicly about his son while asking others not to forget him. There was a mother enduring the uncertainty familiar to any parent separated from a child. There were classmates, friends, and neighbors waiting for the day when Jonathan would no longer be known as the teenager behind bars, but simply as the young man returning home.
The image of a prison gate opening often marks the end of a news story. In reality, it marks the beginning of something far more difficult. A teenager must resume an interrupted education, reconnect with friends, rebuild ordinary routines, and recover a sense of normalcy after months in confinement. Those experiences seldom become headlines, yet they are part of the true cost of imprisonment.
Jonathan’s release is therefore more than an update to a story previously reported. It is a reminder that public attention has value. Journalism matters because it documents. Human rights organizations matter because they investigate. Communities matter because they refuse indifference. Families matter because they continue to wait, even when the waiting becomes unbearable. None of these efforts should be viewed in isolation. Together they ensure that a person’s story does not disappear simply because time has passed.
Many people leave prison after being forgotten.
Jonathan David Muir Burgos walked out of prison knowing that, throughout those months, thousands of people had continued to speak his name, follow his case and hope for the day when this story could be told differently.
Today, that day has arrived.
Opinions
Is Pride over at the end of June?
A reminder that we must be vigilant, visible all year long
Pride month was first celebrated in June 1970, one year after the Stonewall Riots of 1969. Pride month commemorates the Stonewall Riots, which occurred on June 28, 1969, at the Stonewall Inn in New York City’s Greenwich Village. The first organized Pride marches were held on June 28, 1970, in New York City, Chicago, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, marking the first anniversary of the Stonewall Riots.
In June 2000, President Bill Clinton officially designated June as Gay and Lesbian Pride Month, and in 2009, President Barack Obama updated the designation to Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month, recognizing the contributions and struggles of the LGBTQ community. We have fought a long time to be able to be open and out. Activists since Stonewall have fought so we can live with the promise of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” as promised in the Declaration of Independence. We just want to be recognized, and accepted, for who we were born as, or for who we are.
For me, and so many others, Pride is not only something we celebrate for the month of June, but we celebrate it all year long, for our whole lives. I am not denigrating the month of June celebrations. They are important, and bring visibility to our community. The diversity represented in D.C. Pride is wonderful. There is Trans Pride, Black Pride, youth Pride, among other events. We all have one thing in common, and just want to live our lives in peace. We want to enjoy our families, the ones we were born into, and those we choose. We want a good job, good friends, and good health, like everyone else. But because we are still seen as ‘different’ by so many, we have had to fight for our rights, and ask the government to grant them. When marriage laws were first promulgated, they didn’t include us, we had to fight for marriage equality. When healthcare is given to everyone, it was denied to trans people, and we have to fight for the government’s approval. When government gave the right to others for jobs, and housing, we were often denied. We still have no guarantees for either in 27 states. These fights go on.
I recognize we were not the only ones who had to fight for our rights. This country was founded by white Christian men, and they didn’t offer the rights they guaranteed themselves, to anyone else. They discriminated against women, Black people, and so many others, as they have discriminated against the LGBTQ community. So, we all had to fight for our rights, and today, are all still fighting for them.
While they did not mention religion, it was mentioned in the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment, which states: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.” This clause has been interpreted to mean the government cannot favor one religion over another, or establish a national religion, thereby ensuring a degree of separation between religious institutions and government.
It is sick, very sick, that today, we are faced with a lying felon in the White House, who once again is sanctioning discrimination against every group that is not white, Christian men. Through his attack on Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, he has set the fight for equality for all back a couple of hundred years. Nowhere can it be seen more clearly than in the Department of Defense where his stooge, Pete Hegseth, is trying to fire, and in any way he can, rid the military of women, Black service members, and members of the LGBTQ community. He is doing it so blatantly no one can deny it is happening. The felon is doing this across the government, and coercing those in the private sector to do the same.
So, in the month of June, here in D.C., in the home of our federal government, and in front of the people’s house, the White House, we in the LGBTQ community are all out. We share our parade, our festival, our parties, our experiences, our friends and lovers, husbands and wives, in public. We do so, and demand, that we can do it all year long, without being afraid. We do it so those who have yet to come out — young people maybe living in rural Virginia, or rural Maryland, those who still feel unsafe coming out — know there is a large community here who will welcome them with open arms and who will support them if their families and community don’t. We do it so they see they have heroes to emulate and can have a positive vision of their future.
So, we celebrate Pride in June, so we can celebrate our pride in who we are, all year long.
Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.
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Comings & Goings
