My View of Michael Jackson on the Day of His Death
Michael Jackson was one of the glittering music gods of my childhood, shining in a constellation that came to include Prince, Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Tina Turner, Boy George, Billy Idol, and many other fabulous musicians and showmen. These were truly "glitterati," covered in brilliant makeup, wild hair, glimmering jewels and flashy fabrics. How they shine in the multicolored lights of memory! "Larger than life," everyone says, and that's how they seemed to my tender young mind. They were the people that helped me keep living through the darkest days by giving me a heaven of sound in which to escape my daily hell.
Following years taught me that those gods were indeed mortal, and not just getting older - Michael Jackson's story grew darker with each new chapter. He revealed how he was mistreated as a child, driven right out of childhood and into the fast lane of success by his father. His plastic surgery grew more evident and more disturbing, and gone was the face of the sweet young black boy he'd been. His marriages and the births of his children were painfully awkward, but none of that impinged much on his appeal. The real divide between Michael and his public was the one thing that will never be resolved for many, and something that was difficult for me to consider: the allegations of child abuse.
My mom watched Michael Jackson grow up, and I watched him ascend to his height. And we knew he was a target for all kinds of trouble because he was so very wealthy. We listened silently to the case as it was displayed in the news and what disturbed us most was that we couldn't simply dismiss it. We couldn't trust the allegations entirely but we couldn't trust Michael entirely, either. It was particularly difficult for those of us who lived through the 80s, when abuse of all kinds was being thrust out of silence into the light. Did a child molester's voice soothe the damage of other abusers? Was one of our Olympians related to the monsters of our youth?
What to do? I think my mother and I both decided, without really having to say it, that Michael Jackson's art would always be acceptable even if his actions were suspect. His art would necessarily outlive and outshine him, until it was outside of him altogether - and that was as it should be. That is one of the greatest miracles of artistic endeavor. We made our peace with Michael Jackson long before his death. His talent could never absolve him of his sins, whatever they might be, but his sins could never erase the sheer fact of his talent.
The gods of the ancient Greeks seem all too human to us now, their divine abilities tarnished by their vices. How can we put our faith in beings as fallible and ugly as ourselves?
I ask, how can we afford not to? Before the joy or salvation or forgiveness of heaven, we have each other, and we can make all of those things together, here on earth.
I hear people on the radio and television waving aside any mention of indiscretions, but that's not necessary. Listen to "Man in the Mirror" sometime. It's not the song of a perfect man in a perfect world, but the song of an imperfect man wanting to make things better. And Michael Jackson uplifted many of us at crucial moments, even as we listened with flawed ears, hearts, and minds.
Following years taught me that those gods were indeed mortal, and not just getting older - Michael Jackson's story grew darker with each new chapter. He revealed how he was mistreated as a child, driven right out of childhood and into the fast lane of success by his father. His plastic surgery grew more evident and more disturbing, and gone was the face of the sweet young black boy he'd been. His marriages and the births of his children were painfully awkward, but none of that impinged much on his appeal. The real divide between Michael and his public was the one thing that will never be resolved for many, and something that was difficult for me to consider: the allegations of child abuse.
My mom watched Michael Jackson grow up, and I watched him ascend to his height. And we knew he was a target for all kinds of trouble because he was so very wealthy. We listened silently to the case as it was displayed in the news and what disturbed us most was that we couldn't simply dismiss it. We couldn't trust the allegations entirely but we couldn't trust Michael entirely, either. It was particularly difficult for those of us who lived through the 80s, when abuse of all kinds was being thrust out of silence into the light. Did a child molester's voice soothe the damage of other abusers? Was one of our Olympians related to the monsters of our youth?
What to do? I think my mother and I both decided, without really having to say it, that Michael Jackson's art would always be acceptable even if his actions were suspect. His art would necessarily outlive and outshine him, until it was outside of him altogether - and that was as it should be. That is one of the greatest miracles of artistic endeavor. We made our peace with Michael Jackson long before his death. His talent could never absolve him of his sins, whatever they might be, but his sins could never erase the sheer fact of his talent.
The gods of the ancient Greeks seem all too human to us now, their divine abilities tarnished by their vices. How can we put our faith in beings as fallible and ugly as ourselves?
I ask, how can we afford not to? Before the joy or salvation or forgiveness of heaven, we have each other, and we can make all of those things together, here on earth.
I hear people on the radio and television waving aside any mention of indiscretions, but that's not necessary. Listen to "Man in the Mirror" sometime. It's not the song of a perfect man in a perfect world, but the song of an imperfect man wanting to make things better. And Michael Jackson uplifted many of us at crucial moments, even as we listened with flawed ears, hearts, and minds.