". . . in our time, when a man dies--if he has had wealth and influence and power and all the vestments that arouse envy, and after the living take stock of the dead man's property and his eminence and works and monuments--the question is still there: Was his life good or was it evil? . . . Envies are gone, and the measuring stick is: "Was he loved or was he hated? Is his death felt as a loss or does a kind of joy come from it?"
. . . In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world."
- John Steinbeck
I have to believe that by now, any and all of you reading this knows that Michael Jackson is dead. I'm writing this to share how I'm responding to the news of the end of his life. I'm not paying tribute, not making a case for how I think anyone else should feel about Michael, and definitely not trying to simplify or understate his story and his character. Just sharing how I feel.
When I was a kid, there were two living Superstars in their prime: Madonna and Michael Jackson. This is back when the word Superstar had meaning, and Michael was the biggest Superstar the world had ever seen. The influence and popularity of Madonna and Michael was unprecedented, and I'm confident will never be repeated. I remember that everything they released was pure magic, and I was wasn't even alive when "Thriller" was released. So one could argue that Michael was even past his popularity apex when he came in to my awareness. I remember watching in awe those first minutes of his 1993 Super Bowl Halftime performance, while he just stands still, with the crowd going absolutely bananas. I remember imitating his dance moves, his unique hiccuped-inflections, his funny speaking voice. I remember my mom crying to "Will You Be There" after watching "Free Willy." I remember that the video for "Scream" was like nothing I'd ever seen before--the music video equivalent of when I saw "The Matrix" for the first time. I remember that for several months, I just couldn't get "You Are Not Alone" out of my head. I remember finding his work released in the '80s, his Jackson 5 collection, and just loving all of it. He was relentlessly popular when I was a kid, spitefully popular when I was teenager, ironically popular when I was getting in to college, and even today he is somehow the most enduringly popular of any Superstar I've seen. His influence bleeds through nearly every artist who has come since. The work he did and the details of his life we saw as I grew up are a fixture in what it meant for me to grow up in my generation.
Growing up, Michael Jackson and his life have also been well-worn punchlines for some of my favorite comedians. Norm MacDonald's famous "Jacko on his Backo" routine on Weekend Update, and all the not-so-tongue-in-cheek nods to pedophilia from Conan O'Brien and Dave Letterman. Even black apologists Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle took their cracks at the pedophilia specualtions. I remember laughing at the jokes when I was younger. I ignored most of the tabloid-ish news about Michael, I didn't pay much mind to the pedophilia jokes (really? Pedophilia jokes?), and mostly I just wished everyone would leave him alone and let him make some more music. Regardless of what I saw in mass media, I always felt that there was residual genius in Michael, and he would always be a captivating and inspiring entertainer. It always felt a little dirty to laugh at Michael's expense, though we all did.
Now that he has died, I hope that the folks who knew Michael personally can sincerely believe it within them that his life brought Good, not evil, in to the world, and that his death brings the world no pleasure. I won't pretend to know anything about the inner-workings of his mind, his life, or his behavior, but I do know that as any and every other man does, Michael has the right to be honored in his death for the good he brought during his life.
Yesterday I heard Rev. Al Sharpton (a friend of Michael's since the '70s) tell a story about Michael. When Michael's idol James Brown died, Michael returned to the States for the funeral. He was devastated and reluctant to speak at James' service, but ultimately he was persuaded and shared that he only hoped that James would receive his due in death that he did not receive during his life. Rev. Sharpton echoed that sentiment on Michael's behalf, acknowledging that many of those praising Michael now were far less than gracious or kind to him while he was alive.
As Steinbeck illustrates in the words I began with, we are all subject to the tension of living a life that will either be remembered as Good or Evil. I don't know how You feel about Michael, and frankly--how you feel about him has no effect on how I feel about him. I don't know how much Good or Evil he brought to the people who knew him personally, and I won't discount the impact he has made on the familes who have accused him of abusing their sons, whatever that impact may be. One thing I do know is that while this man lived 39 of his 50 years in the public eye, and the general public will now be casually contemplating whether his life brought more Good or more Evil to the world, I contend that we ought to have no voice. Only his family, his friends, his associates, his personal acquaintances, his children--these are the only ones who may decide--and they are entitled to the privacy of their judgment. If you must opine, I do suggest watching any public address Michael makes to his fans and tell me if you see any insincerity, any malice, any unkindness, any self-idolatry. Tell me if you find one where he doesn't tell everyone in the room how much he loves them. Tell me if you think he's lying.
When I consider all my memories, and all the ways to respond to Michael's death, I feel only loss. The entertainment-cultural world has lost (in my personal opinion) the 2nd-greatest entertainer I've seen (behind only the above-mentioned James Brown). The pop-music artistic world has lost its greatest triumph. The world of charity has lost its greatest giver. And most importantly, the Jackson family has lost a brother, a son, and a father.
All that said, I just hope that those who knew Michael believe in his goodness, and will carry out any of his lasting goodness as purposefully as he'd hoped to.