Messed-up-tid-ness

"Dang, that's messed up." That's all I could think about after staying up all night reading Michael Jackson articles, watching ALL of his music videos and his Martin Bashir interview.

Before re-watching the interview, I found that my new attitude of trying not to judge and moralize Jackson greatly enhanced my appreciation and understanding of the man. I was particuarly struck not only by his genius, but by the oppressive forces that attempted to control him and created him into both an intelligent and idyllic personality a mix of psycho-social disorders. I came to find that the disorders to be a reflection of oppression that he did not seem to bring on himself.

I can't imagine the horror of growing up with Joe Jackson as a father. He physically abused and beat his children. He provoked enough fear in Michael that he would vomit at the mere sight of him. He did not allow his children to call him "daddy." He verbally assaulted a growing adolescent enough that he "wanted to die." He stole childhood from him and forced him to work. He exploited his son's talent and made him feel shame and guilt by making him the model for his older, less talented brothers (at least in that arena of talent). He thrust his internally wounded child into the spotlight--one which he was gifted for, but definately did not ask for. Imagine having your entire life open to the public beginning at age 10--especially if you are a shy and sensitive child?

Socially, Michael was surrounded by people who might turn on him at any point. It could be his father, record labels, the press, etc. That would drive a person to question most social relationships. The disease vitiligo further affected his understanding of his appearance and created many complex questions about his race--questions that are hard enough to deal with, but to find your identity change before your eyes and have others make accusations that you are uncomfortable with your identity could only be disastrous to one's self-concept. Ironically, for one who could dance insanely sexy, he was incredibly shy and innocent of sexuality off stage. This brings many questions, but I wonder about the impact that "sleeping" in the same room where his brothers had sex on tour would only exacerbate these issues for him.

No wonder Jackson sought to get away from the horror of his world through plastic surgery, Peter Pan syndrome and "love" crusades. Maybe there is an intelligence from his brokenness that reveals why he argues on the bizarre Bashir interview that "the family unit has been broken down and needs to be restored to love" and when questions are put to him about his skin color he says, "if you want to ask why I have vitiligo you better go and ask God." No wonder he had totally given up on trying to please the media anymore. His eccentricities are a result of him finally letting himself become unglued.

There is still much more I could scrutinize, but there must be more depth to this man than we would like to admit. Last night I was able to experience the beauty and pain of sitting in the confusion. The hurt and pain that Jackson experienced and the disturbing reality of his personality and behavior. The depth of that kind of messed-up-tid-ness is the kind of stuff that Christ said he came to die for--the sick who needed a physician. To Jesus he would not be Wacko Jacko, but the one that Jesus loved.