The news of Michael's death has caused me a lot of grief. Now before you fall of your stool, wondering how the death of Michael Jackson has caused someone like me grief, please re-read the previous sentence. (Let me help you: I said the "news," not the death itself, caused me the grief.) And the fact that I can still write about it ten days after fact (on the day of his funeral), and that you can read a week and ten days after the fact, reveals a lot about the state of the news these days.
Tehran is battling civil unrest, with protesters being arrested or worse, shot or hanged. North Korea has launched yet another series of missiles, perilously close to both South Korea and Japan. And there is a drought plaguing the prairie provinces. But these stories (and many others) have taken a backseat to Jackson's death.
My first awareness of Jackson was when he was a cute little kid, singing with his brothers as part of the famed Jackson Five. Over the past four decades he has morphed into something very, very different. Despite our pronounced different tastes in music, dancing and values, I actually feel sorry for him, now that certain facts are being made public.
Where does one start - His horrific drug issues? His money mismanagement? His cosmetic skin changes? And those are the one I know of. However, as sorry as feel for him, I draw the line at the public outpouring of grief, starting with the media. He has been presented as some sort of hero, some sort of cultural treasure. An icon, in his own way, perhaps, but, please, spare the platitudes.
A clever and creative dancer, granted. A good and innovative singer, that's arguable. Was there anything wholesome about his public performances? Hardly. (That could be said about a whole host of widely-accepted entertainers.)
From Michael Jackson we shift to Steve McNair, erstwhile quarterback of both the Tennessee Titans and the Baltimore Ravens. He was shot at close range, including two bullets to the head. McNair's body was found alongside that of a much younger woman, one that he had been dating; she had also been shot. They were found in McNair's condo, which was not the home of his wife and four sons. You connect the dots: It has been ruled a murder-suicide, with McNair as the "murder" part of the equation.
Heroes. Celebrities. Rich. Popular. And now dead. Dead too soon, who can say? As I am not Giver and Taker of Life, I leave that up to Him. What saddens me, if you have any sense of where I am coming from, is the fact that both Michael and Steve were (likely) just regular guys like you and me at one time. But over the years, money, fame, and power crept in, and in the long haul they became victims of their own status. The are part of a long list of entertainers, athletes, and even politicians that have fallen under the siren spell of sordid success.
As a committed creationist, I believe we are created (read: wired, made, constituted) to live lives that are measured and accountable. By that I do not mean pre-programmed: I simply mean that we are destined for a certain type of significant and meaningful living; when we go beyond that, we are in serious trouble. I cannot see how we can ever succeed when we are elevated to a level of overwhelming popularity and unchecked desires. Without any exception, lives that are lived with no restraints – be they moral, financial, or physical – frequently end in tragedy.
Jackson was talented, no doubt about it; McNair was gifted, that's obvious. But I for one would never consider them heroes of mine, nor would I ever shove every other worldwide news event aside for day after day to follow every twitter of their demise.
Heroes? Let's hear more about the soldiers in Afghanistan and Iraq, or the business people who are struggling to keep their companies solvent during these dark economic times. Let's hear more about the moms and dads today who are leading their families in measured, accountable ways. Let's hear it for the regular working stiffs who are the backbone of this society.
Now that would be news!
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