Editorial Columns Archive

Rest in peace Michael Jackson
Staff Report
07-03-2009

Friends are a peculiar commodity in contemporary times. Easily obtained it seems, yet exceptionally difficult to retain for the rest of one’s days. We humans are armed with the fatal flaw of being mercurial creatures that can shift as easily as the winds when it comes to our commitment to our friends and even our idols. Can we really separate idolatry and admiration from true friendship? We may have to in the examination of Michael Jackson’s life. His legacy will never be black or white, and his death will be far more controversial in debate than his life was. And one curious question comes to mind: Can a human being gain more friends by their death than they ever retained while they were alive?

And so it is with Michael Jackson. Growing up, Jackson was a polarizing navigator to my generation that was reared with his electrifying videos and prodigiously alchemic talent. His musical ability was transcendental, and his ebullient on-stage persona was magnificently contrasted to his fierce dedication of his Garboesque privacy. We wanted to get closer for a more privatized viewing of who Jackson was away from the Illuminati and touring phenomena. And when we did, a voracious public was exposed to shocking and devastating details of a man whose personal life was convicted as abhorrent and repulsive by the same culture who took the bait of the glittering mirage ... hook, line and sinker. Above all, Michael Jackson was a man, not a flawless human being. Such entities do not exist in the realm of imperfect creations.

Like Mozart, Jackson was suspended in a neverland of childhood ardor while simultaneously attempting to shield himself from inevitable wounds life is so reliant on administering. Prodigious children may exhibit godly gifts, but when they are under the watch of guardians who exhaust those talents in the name of financial security and advancement, the child’s youth is sacrificed forever in favor of fame and fortune. The real tragedy of Jackson’s life is that his musical offerings were encrypted cries for help to anyone who would take the time to listen to anything other than the notoriety that his persona emanated. Yet, we looked away from him in 1993, when he was accused of inappropriate relations with boys at his Neverland Ranch. Although acquitted, the damage was done to Jackson’s career and personal life, collectively. He was persona non grata in our eyes, and therefore sustained a castigatingly painful and harrowing social crucifixion for the last 16 years of his life.

“Love you when you’re standing tall ... but nobody knows you when you’re falling.” Richard Marx said it best of all in his song “Silent Scream.” We sit in worship of those in our lives whose lives are luminous and admirable; yet the slightest misstep, however grave, is usually unpardonable by humans who refuse to be guilty by association.

The tributes will pour in from thousands who continually convicted him in thoughts that were silent and far from the microscope that Jackson lived under. The family will pick up the pieces and wonder how the road ahead will wind without him. After a crystalline career that defied the ages, the man has earned every tribute, memorial and honor that comes his way. Finally, he’s earned the peace he so desperately couldn’t find while he was here. We should all pray he finds it.

After all, we’ve preyed enough.