Llanor Alleyne
Writer | Editor | Artist
The whole world is mourning Michael Jackson today and with good reason. The grief that his sudden death evokes has everything to do with his musical presence in our lives and how his songs defined some aspect of our coming of age, at least for my generation (born in the 1970s).
Everyone has at least one Michael Jackson-infused memory. One of mine is of my younger sister and I standing in front the massive chest of drawers in our Crown Heights apartment, only a couple of months into our living in the U.S. in 1984, and singing “Beat It” at the top of our lungs. Two years after Thriller was released we, at ages 5 and 7, had just discovered the energy that song can bring out in our little selves. It was around that time that my mother allowed us to view the “Thriller” video for the first time. Like many other young’uns we were scared shitless, but still madly in love with Zombie Michael.
Who else remembers the primetime event that was the debut of the “Bad” video in 1987? My sister and I rushed to finish our homework and to eat dinner. Then we turned on ABC, I believe it was, and sat slack-jawed for the entire “West Side Story in the Subway” mini-movie. Michael Jackson was a god. Period.
In more recent years, I have been disappointed and baffled by Michael Jackson; an unease that slowly developed as he got lighter skinned and more plastic looking. For black children who grew up with Michael Jackson, his evolution from stunning black man (look at that fro, those expressive eyes!) to knifed up white mannequin was a metaphoric scalpel to our own feelings of self worth. Many of us explained away his physical alterations as eccentric, but if we are being honest, his ever fairer skin and alienesque face was one of the most visceral acts of self-loathing allowed to be committed in public view. To not acknowledge that and the latter day molestation accusations is to rewrite history.
All of that said, I am thankful that Michael Jackson was here. He was undoubtably one of the most talented human beings to ever live. That many of us once worshipped him (and many still do) is testament to his boundless talent and what his moonwalking, schamon-ing, crouch-grabbing, spinning, gold-throated self brought to our individual worlds. He will be dearly missed.
AMEN. R.I.P. Black Man. ONE