Michael Jackson

It was terrifying at best to watch the circus that ensued after the death of Michael Jackson and the resounding sameness that dogged the zeitgeist love-hate relationship of his story. The result was a schizophrenic wave of grief and awkward media moments. Joe Jackson promoting his record company on the red carpet without someone cutting the microphone for decency. It was the drugs, no it was exhaustion. Baby mama wants money, no she wants custody. The BET Awards “Tribute” Show. Latoya thinks it’s murder. He was still broke. They weren’t his children. Pick your story, pick your poison. It was an embarrassment of riches and Michael Jackson somehow morphed into OJ Simpson.

Amidst the noisy media coverage, though something else happened. Car radios began blasting “Thriller” regularly as I walked to the subway every evening. The Harlem street vendors made way for Michael amidst the Obamamania. Facebook profile pictures released Fierce Michael, Jackson 5 Michael, Jeri-curl Michael, Bad Michael, Dangerous Michael. The array was endless and we washed ourselves in it. Washed ourselves clean of those years of forgetting, those years of shame because you thought at least one person would respect your sparkling gloves for Halloween.

It has been a long time since it was cool to like Michael Jackson. That pride in Michael’s singular accomplishments were feared forever ravaged and every vulture it seemed could come and pick at the remains; this or that tabloid with another “exclusive” interview with Michael’s latest “best friend;” a certain factually-hazy documentary that earned its creator a primetime slot on Nightline. Michael seemed lost a long time ago and since a lot of people are not prepared to lose him twice, a divide is growing. Michael’s death draws a clear line in the sand.  Some say let him finally rest in peace, this far with your derisive words, and no farther. Others seem to think even in death another Michael Jackson joke harms no one. Despite it all, Michael’s was a beautiful story. He came, he had not, he believed, and as Maya Angelou’s poem recounted beautifully, “he gave us all he had been given.”

As the first Latina woman nominated for the Supreme Court walks her plank toward the bench, and Barack Obama finds yet another American genius with a moving story for Surgeon General in Regina Benjamin, now more than ever we remember that story is everything. The story of Michael Jackson is one of many I’ve been thinking about recently, along with that of Barack Obama, Michelle Obama, Regina Benjamin, Sonia Sotomayor, Eric Holder, Charles Bolden. These are all names of people who will not sell platinum records, appear at the BET Awards, ever be arrested with guns in the trunk, and God-willing, never find themselves on a red-eye to Argentina to meet a mistress. These are American stories too, and for once they come with faces of color. It was a pleasure to have Michael Jackson, but only because it meant a future that could look like this. This is what his advocates celebrate when they wear a T-shirt, update a Facebook status, download that song they had forgotten they liked.  So stop asking them when it will be “OK” to go back to making fun of Michael Jackson. The answer is never.

A friend recently said to me that America is “balance in absurdity;” you take the good with the bad because at the end of the day that means every American story matters. True to that absurdity, the Obama Show of Inspiring American Stories appears alongside news cycles such as the story of a pool in Pennsylvania where children were turned away by the bigotry of adults, simply for the color of their skin. As the parents of these children try their hardest to explain to them why, and how exactly, America has changed since the same thing happened to their grandparents, one hopes they will have more stories to pull from. It does not have to be the story of Michael Jackson, although a worthy one, it can be the story of a wise Latina Supreme Court nominee, or a mustachioed attorney general.

Yes, the American story is wonderful. Or at least it can be. Don’t let the chatter distract – when Barack Obama says empathy, some say prejudice, when Sonia Sotomayor says wise Latina, some want you to hear an oxymoron. But it is only birth pains. Into the official story of America is being woven new heroes, in real time, with stories as bold as any other involving cherry trees or liberty bells. It is not an easy process. America as the proverbial man has only just begun to look in the mirror, the scary thing is he’s trying to drive forward, save the economy, fight a war, and avoid a shameful legacy of leadership at the same time, so it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

But don’t worry, you can play Thriller all the way to the other side. There are seven hit singles on that thing!