It’s been a year since Michael Jackson died. I imagine there are memorials — both organized and informal — being planned across the globe today.
When I first heard the news of his death, I didn’t react with shock or horror. Instead — and please don’t take this the wrong way — I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
It was over.
The pain, the controversy, the hounding, the anger.
For years, I’d not been able to listen to Michael Jackson’s music, even though I’d been one of the excited fans of “Thriller” when it first came out. The years of allegations of child abuse, of court trials, of just all the negativity and suspicion…. that’s all I heard whenever the familiar strains of “Beat It” or “ABC” came on the radio. I had to change the station.
In that moment of learning of his passing, I felt relief for Jackson, that his suffering was finally over. I believe he was a very troubled man, hunted and harassed by the press, and that he was in a great deal of personal and spiritual pain. I felt relief for his alleged victims, that there couldn’t be any more wrong done to them (real or imagined), at least not by Jackson himself. I felt relief — and sympathy — for his family and friends, who no longer had to watch this man that they loved endure such a tortured existence.
I don’t pretend to know what went on behind closed doors in that man’s life. I’m not sure that every claim of abuse (sexual, drugs, etc.) was true, but I do believe there was something very dark at work. Maybe it was the pressure of fame and the demands of his self-created role in the world, or the lasting impact of overly ambitious and hard-driving parents. Maybe he suffered abuse himself that had remained unhealed. Maybe he was simply idiosyncratic and misunderstood.
Even before such controversy surfaced, Jackson was obviously an eccentric and overly indulged personality. I couldn’t separate this distortion from Jackson’s music.
But immediately after his death, I was able to appreciate the entertainment genius that he was. I could enjoy Jackson’s music again. It was over.
I have no idea if history will ultimately take a more forgiving approach to Jackson’s life than he experienced while he was living it, or if the “truth” — whatever that turns out to be — will at some point be laid bare for all to see. What I do know is that while many across the globe — family, friends and fans who knew him only through his music and dancing — continue to mourn the King of Pop on this first anniversary of his death, I am instead remembering that moment of release when (I believe) both Jackson and the world found some peace.
