Now that the Pope is dead, we can finally get back to what’s really going on in the world. No, I’m not talking about the war in Iraq, Bush’s stance on social security reform or even that finger found in a bowl of Wendy’s chili. The news that I’m following more closely than anything is the goings on in the Michael Jackson trial.
I’m rooting for Jackson’s attorney, Tom Mesereau. I’m trying to forget about that 1993 multimillion-dollar civil settlement. I don’t want to see a pattern in Jackson’s behavior. I will never watch that 2003 television documentary in which Jackson states he shares his bed with children. I want to think that the boy and his family who are accusing Jackson of this most recent sexual molestation are simply opportunists looking for an easy mark.
I think I’m blinded by the light, the star light of Michael Jackson.
I’ve always thought of him as a strange fellow, this guy who sometimes sleeps in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber and who once was trying to buy the Elephant Man’s bones.
But I think he deserves the right to be bizarre if he wants to. After all, he’s spent his entire life on stage and being in the pubic eye. How abnormal is that? So, if he wants to wake up every morning in an amusement park, let him; that’s his business. I’ll give him some slack, because I’m a fan.
I remember The Jackson 5 back in the late ’60s. His Thriller album wore out my turntable in the early ’80s. I remember watching television and seeing him sing on an awards show on which he did his famous “moonwalk.” I was totally capitulated by his talent. I guess I still am.
But while I’m a fan of Michael Jackson, that shouldn’t mean I think he walks on water.
In my view, the worse thing that an adult can possibly do is to hurt a child, and Jackson’s celebrity status is forcing me to examine my own double standards.
I followed the case of the missing Florida girl back in February and was grief-stricken when her body was finally found. The parents of 9-year-old Jessica Lunsford want the death penalty for John Evander Couey if he’s found guilty of sexually assaulting and murdering their daughter. Hell, he’s already admitted that he did it. As far as I’m concerned, dying is too good for him. Let the bastard rot in prison; let him think about what he did to that little girl every single day for the rest of his miserable life.
But how am I going to feel if Michael Jackson is found guilty of molesting a 13-year-old former cancer patient? Reality is I’m not going to feel the same way about Jackson as I do about Couey. At least Jackson hasn’t killed a small child. But am I going to feel sorry for the King of Pop? Am I going to let myself go on believing that he really didn’t do it?
Perhaps it’s normal for us little people to hold any kind of celebrity in high esteem.
I was certain Pete Rose hadn’t bet on baseball. Boy, was I wrong about that. I think we all know that O.J. Simpson killed his wife and murdered that waiter but golly, what a great football player he was. It’s hard for me to believe that actor Robert Blake didn’t have something to do with the killing of Bonnie Lee Bakley, but I was a fan of his television show Baretta and felt relief when he was found not guilty.
While I do see a pattern in Michael Jackson’s behavior, namely liking small boys, I also see a pattern in my own. Celebrities should be held to a higher standard and I want to let them off easy.
Stars are human beings and fuck up just like the rest of us. I need to see that more plainly. If Jackson is found guilty of sexually molesting that little boy, then he should go to prison; he should pay for what he’s done. I shouldn’t feel sorry for Jackson; I should feel anger and disappointment.
I need to get those stars out of my eyes.
This article appears in Apr 20-26, 2005.