Michael Jackson's tragic story is as important to us as his tremendous legacy

By A. David Dahmer

It can’t be true.
There's no way.
He's too young.

Millions of people around the world were in denial late last week when the word came through that Michael Jackson had died. But as Facebook statuses lamented the news at a breakneck rate never seen before in the young history of Facebooking, and as the Internet actually almost came to a complete hault because of overload, it was looking more and more dismal.
Still, we held out hope. What if it was all a big hoax? Jackson's gigantic 50 concerts in London's O2 Arena needed some buzz, and this could very well be a gimmick to promote it, right?
But then it came down like a hammer: All major news outlets brought the crushing news almost simultaneously — arguably the single most famous entertainer the world has ever seen was gone. The King of Pop was dead at just 50 years old.
In cities around the world from New York City to Los Angeles to London to Paris to Shanghai to Mumbai to Sydney and to Moscow and beyond, stunned fans started huge impromptu vigils and sang the many Michael Jackson songs that they grew up with and loved. In some places, words from Jackson's songs are among the only English known by millions globally, a testament to his enormous talent.
And as more and more people remembered and reflected, it was strange to see the different reactions among different generations. Today's kids got to know Michael Jackson far after he was relevant to the music world and even farther after his musical peak. For most, he was just a strange freak show and a bogeymanish character. When he died, most knew that something momentous had just happened, but they didn't really understand it.
Older folks, of course, appreciated Michael's talents, but would just as soon list how much better the many fine musical artists and groups were in the 1960s and 70s. Already in or approaching middle age when Jackson took over the music world in the 80s, they could appreciate Michael, but he wasn't really theirs.
For us children of the 1980s, Michael was the greatest thing we've ever seen. He was our own and we cherished him like no other. He made us love music at a time when we were all just learning about what music was.  He revolutionized the dance and music video mediums and as Quincy Jones put it, "he was pure expression who propelled his craft of lyric and dance beyond fashion." Up until the release of the video for “Thriller” in 1982, most videos were low-budget soundstage works, with bands lip-synching their latest hit. Jackson remade the music video into an art form, complete with big budgets, creative effects, and compelling storylines.
Yet for the unmistakable spot that Michael has in our heart, he wasn't beyond criticism. We did realize that there was a cruel irony of a man who — along with Stevie Wonder — made Black music mainstream and opened many doors for Black artists slowly morphing from a handsome young Black man to a pale, weird-looking White man. The gradual whitening of his skin, the thinned lips, and the multiple-reworked nose did not sit so comfortably with Michael's claim to being a proud African American. And more than one Black friend of mine has questioned why the man who sang "It don't matter if you're Black or White," was so desperately trying to become White. And, further, why don't those lyrics hold true in real America even if we wish it did?
But it's true that Michael lived his life in a fantasy world. His whole adult life was spent trying to live out the childhood he never had the first time around. Behind the scenes, it's well documented that Michael's life was a horror story. Not only was he performing since the age of six, but he was driven at a maddening pace by his father, Joe Jackson, who would beat him incessantly and constantly threaten him and his brothers with violent repercussions for poor performances. In a 1993 interview with Oprah Winfrey, Jackson said that he would sometimes vomit when he saw his father.
And even after total of 750 million albums sold around the world, Michael died in debt, surrounded by “enablers” who provided him with the drugs he needed to escape from the fame all those record sales brought him. It was recently revealed that during the last weeks and months of his life, Jackson made desperate attempts to prepare for the concert series scheduled for next month — a series that would have earned millions for the singer and his entourage, but which he could never have completed — not mentally, and not physically.
It was recently also revealed that Michael Jackson suffered from severe bouts of insomnia and pleaded for a powerful sedative despite knowing its harmful effects, according to a nutritionist who worked with the singer.
And as more and more of these terrible problems of his life were revealed after his death, it became  crystal clear that while Michael Jackson had a lot of friends, none of these "friends" cared enough to step in to save Michael's life when it was obvious that he needed it so badly.
Most everybody believes that if he had not been driven — by a group of bankers, agents, doctors, advisers, and “friends” — to commit to the grueling 50 concerts in London's O2 Arena that he would still be alive today. And it has become more and more apparent that he was in no condition to do a single concert, let alone 50. Yet nobody in his inner circle would say a word. They remained silent until the end. It turns out that all this time, all Michael Jackson needed was a true friend.
For me and most people my age, Michael Jackson represents a gigantic part of our childhood. He is an instant flush of good memories that can never be taken away from us. We began to come into our own right along with him.
But as the details of his death become more and more laid out, Michael Jackson represents something much more ominous — he represents a fragile, sad, depressed man forever screaming for help in an extremely crowded room that might as well have been empty.
His music is pure genius, his talent was unbelievable, and he will live on inside of us forever. But the lesson that played out in his tragic life should be something that is much greater than all of that to us: How am I really treating the ones I love? Who in our lives is screaming out for help? Am I being a friend or am I being a "friend"?
Are we really looking at the man in the mirror, or just singing it?