I know a few years ago when I started this WordPress blog, I was really heavy on Michael Jackson. He had been one of my childhood idols or seemed to be. I don’t know, my memories on MJ are more dazed compared to say, Janet (who I’ve also fallen out of favor with), Tina Turner, Whitney, Madonna, George Michael and Prince.
I guess you can say compared to those I mentioned, I couldn’t really connect with MJ on a personal level. In fact, few could.
Up until the early months of last year, I had this supposed “loyalty” to MJ. Every time something bad would be reported, I’d chose to ignore it or even joke about it. When the whole issue with Wade Robson came up, initially I just didn’t wanna believe it, like I didn’t wanna believe all of the other stuff said about Michael.
But as time went on, I don’t know, something came over me. Like someone had hit me squarely in the head with a bat and told me to simply “wake the eff up” basically.
It was around June of 2013, almost a couple of weeks until the 4th anniversary of Jackson’s death, that I finally and officially cut ties with Jackson fan forums. And when that went, so did my desire to be a fan of Michael Jackson anymore.
Things finally came to ahead when I read the documents and what was found when MJ was investigated for child abuse claims. It was a combination of a lot of things: the $25 million settlement, the ambiguous statements MJ made to the press about his dealings with children, feigning sympathy, fans threatening accusers’ lives, the extortion plot that turned out not only to be a bust but also very untrue (even if MJ was an extortion target, it didn’t seem likely Evan Chandler was on some kind of plot), and then the reports of MJ and another boy making “questionable noises” at a train heard by a Canadian couple who reported the incident to social workers and then MJ’s need to be near boys and what he’d do to get what he want and I got sick to my stomach.
I was a fan of a manipulative con man. All of a sudden, any good memory I had attached to Jackson was gone for good. All of a sudden, it made sense that Jackson would be seen as a pedophile, a drug addict and someone who clearly hated who he saw in the mirror. All those years I was blind.
I’m glad I was able to wake up but many other fans remain in denial. It’s their only weapon to shield themselves from the truth. I know this post is gonna rub a lot of my blog’s viewers funny because years ago I was praising this guy like he was Jesus.
But the truth is the truth: he was inappropriate with kids. Even if he wasn’t guilty of abusing Gavin Arvizo (and even I’m having second doubts about that now), he still was negligent to his well being just like he admitted in the Jordan Chandler case (of which most believed something sinister was going on, i.e., sexual abuse). So in essence his not guilty verdict on June 13, 2005 (just like R. Kelly’s, whose own verdict came three years to the day of MJ’s) was a hollow “victory” and no one said Jackson was innocent.
Not only that but Jackson turned out to be a habitual liar.
For years, Jackson had came up with this fantasy image, of wanting to be like Peter Pan, to “live forever”, and to have people understand why children “slept over”.
Over and over again, he stated that the reason he was around children (for the most part it was boys) so much was because he wanted “to fulfill a childhood that I missed”. And this is what really had me pissed off at him, even during the “fan years”.
I’m 29 years old. I grew up in a house where I had all these brothers and sisters and of all of them, only ONE of them really paid attention to me (and still does). The ones that were living in the house didn’t wanna play with “some spoiled rotten kid” so I was left to my own devices. I didn’t really see joy in playing toys. My parents would discover I usually would play toys one minute and not play them the next. Over time I played with blocks and even carried the blocks wherever my family would go. Most of the time I played outside by myself. I had no friends, really, until I entered fifth grade. I was already reading at a eighth grade level at five. In essence, I never really had a childhood either. But I knew one thing I didn’t do: I didn’t seek children when I became a grown up for “sleepovers” like a rich, thirty, forty something-year-old celebrity did.
I’m sure at 12, 13, I would’ve outgrown the pretentious Disney-like atmosphere of Neverland Ranch. I could never imagine my parents, despite the fact I was a fan, would even let me go to Neverland much less sleep with a grown ass man that should’ve known better.
I think of all the kids in the streets that didn’t have a good childhood either and all those kids overseas who were taught to fight like soldiers at five years old and then I think of Michael and go “you doofus, if you really knew what not having a childhood really looked like, you wouldn’t be complaining about having no childhood. And most child stars didn’t. But you don’t hear of Drew Barrymore sleeping with 12-year-old girls. You don’t see Leonardo DiCaprio flaunting his “special friend” for cameras to see. And you don’t see anyone having an amusement park and a zoo in their backyard to entice the children.
Matter of fact while some child stars actually experience adulthood and some becoming more well adjusted than others, Michael Jackson only regressed.
And let’s not get started on the plastic surgeries, the made-up tabloid rumors in the ’80s, his fake child’s voice, and him stealing off of others (Bob Fosse, Cooley Jackson, Jeffrey Daniel, songwriters, etc.). It’s clear Jackson never took responsibility for his actions.
Like a spoiled child, he often complained that he didn’t get his way and somehow convinced zombies to believe that a conspiracy was going on. Even his family repeated that same nonsense until they were blue in the face. But there was no conspiracy to be had, just an angry rant from a man who for two years had ruled pop music and then struggled the next 25 years trying to reclaim it.
He claimed he only had two surgeries and it was on his nose. But as the autopsy concluded, he had a bandage tip on his nose and later reports said the right side of his nostril had “caved in”. He also had a cleft on his chin and had his hairline, lips and eyes tattooed.
He claimed his fast and rapid skin change was only due to vitiligo. While that may have been true somewhat (the autopsy concluded he “suffered from vitiligo”), it’s also true Jackson used bleaching creams (which he denied on and on and on…) and also true, according to producer Quincy Jones, that he used chemical peels on his face (check out Jackson’s photos from 1985 and 1986, he appeared reddish on his face and from research, it looks similar to chemical peels to me).
He also claimed he didn’t own any nude photography books that included children when in fact he was in possession of two of them. He inscribed one of them with his own handwriting. He also claimed the photos didn’t match Jordan Chandler’s description of Jackson’s penis but police and detectives concluded it did match (and this was the major reason behind his $25 million payoff to Jordan Chandler and his parents).
Which leads me to a conclusion: Michael tried so hard to fulfill a happy and beautiful fantasy but was hiding a sad and ugly reality.
As I think of it, this has let me to delete Michael Jackson from my life. I might be able to listen to other artists’ music in spite of their indiscretions but it’s just something about a man who basically lied for sympathy that gets at my skin.
For years I had felt funny about Michael Jackson but after what I experienced the last few months, I had good reason to feel that way.