In his essay entitled “The Ben Ishmael Tribe: Fugitive Nation of the Old Northwest,” Virginia historian, Hugo Prosper Learning, discusses the history of African Americans in what eventually became the state of Indiana in the late 18th century. Learning wrote about how Black runaway slaves from Kentucky fled to what was then a sprawling wilderness in the Mid West before they interbred with the Pawnee Native Americans whom they encountered there. Upon settling, these so-called former slaves are said to have appointed their own king and queen, known respectively as Ben and Jennie Ishmael. With time, the Ishmael clan cultivated a reputation for being fine artisans, musicians and dancers.
How conceivable is it, how fitting would it be, if Michael Jackson—the seventh of nine children born to Katherine and Joseph Jackson in the town of Gary, Indiana—were a direct descendant of these Moorish prisoners of war? Like those pioneering Moors, who may very well be his forbearers, Michael knew what it felt like to be on the run from smooth criminals for much of his life. For the Ishmaels, the crooks took the form of shotgun-wielding rednecks accompanied by slave-sniffing bloodhounds. For Michael, however, they came in the guise of a hounding news media equipped with electric eyes and flashing cameras to scrutinize his every move.
Since Michael—the Arch Angel of Pop (“Will You Be There,” “Earth Song,”)—died in the City of Angels on June 25th 2009, (the same day as Farrah Fawcett of Charlie’s Angels fame) there have been numerous newspaper and magazine articles indicating that during a brutal bout with prescription drugs, painkillers dealt him a crushing blow. Meanwhile, the internet has been crawling with all sorts of creepy, yet elaborate conspiracy theories to explain the Gloved One’s sudden demise.
By no means am I a knee-jerk debunker of conspiracies. My dedicated study of world history has convinced me that history is, to a great extent, the study of conspiracies. Unfortunately, they are not formerly acknowledged as such until long after the fact. Nevertheless, I am also a firm believer in the idea that sometimes the best explanation for an unfortunate occurrence is also the simplest one.
Michael had long identified with the character Peter Pan from the J.M. Barrie play/novel Peter and Wendy. Like the mythical character in the story, Michael was a magical, yet mischievous individual (close friends and family members say he loved to play practical jokes on people) who never wanted to grow up. The extent to which you identify with something or someone is the extent to which you become that person or thing. Michael identified with a fictional character that never got old, so like his timeless music, he never did. He died at 50, a relatively young age, after living a life that was as fascinating and as riveting as any character’s from a fictional tale. Through his exceptional body of work, Michael has defied death, much like the ghoulish characters who danced alongside him in his music video for “Thriller.”
As a matter of fact, as I type these words Michael is probably dancing with zombies, nimbly moonwalking his way through astral portals of infinity. “For every album that I record, I write like, literally—I’m telling you the truth—I write at least 120 songs every album I do,” said Jackson during a June, 15 2002 speech at his “Killer Thriller Party” where he launched a scathing verbal attack against Tommy Mottola and his then parent company, Sony Music. Whether or not these songs were recorded remains to be seen, but don’t be surprised if MJ has enough posthumous album releases to rival the late Tupac Shakur.
Michael cloaked himself in mythology and in the process he fashioned a fascinating legacy, one that will go unmatched for many generations to come: Over 750 million albums sold worldwide, 8 Grammy Awards in a single year (1984), 13 number one hits on the Billboard Hot 100, the biggest recording contract of all time ($890 million). And the clincher? Well, Michael also owns the Guinness Book of World Records distinction of being the man who has given to more charitable organizations (39) than anyone else on the planet. Like his final studio album Invincible, Michael’s resume isn’t Bad. In fact, it’s kind of Off the Wall.
Although Michael may not have been pleased with The Man in the Mirror as evidenced by his numerous plastic surgeries, his critics—particularly those in the Black community—must remember that no Black person on the planet, no matter how enlightened they may be, has completely escaped the noose of Willie Lynch. In spite of it all, Michael did more to promote Black pride in nine minutes than many Blacks will do in a lifetime. When the music video for his single “Remember the Time,” aired on prime time television to millions of viewers across the nation in 1992, it was the first time anyone ever saw the ancient Egyptians as they actually looked on national television. Before that video aired, Micael could do no wrong in the white media’s eyes. After it aired, he couldn’t do anything good.
Michael may have had his share of personal issues, but we all do. Our pathologies are a byproduct of Western civilization So now that his birthday is here, it is important that we acknowledge his flaws while celebrating what defined the man, which is the fact that he is the single greatest entertainer that the modern world has ever known.
How conceivable is it, how fitting would it be, if Michael Jackson—the seventh of nine children born to Katherine and Joseph Jackson in the town of Gary, Indiana—were a direct descendant of these Moorish prisoners of war? Like those pioneering Moors, who may very well be his forbearers, Michael knew what it felt like to be on the run from smooth criminals for much of his life. For the Ishmaels, the crooks took the form of shotgun-wielding rednecks accompanied by slave-sniffing bloodhounds. For Michael, however, they came in the guise of a hounding news media equipped with electric eyes and flashing cameras to scrutinize his every move.
Since Michael—the Arch Angel of Pop (“Will You Be There,” “Earth Song,”)—died in the City of Angels on June 25th 2009, (the same day as Farrah Fawcett of Charlie’s Angels fame) there have been numerous newspaper and magazine articles indicating that during a brutal bout with prescription drugs, painkillers dealt him a crushing blow. Meanwhile, the internet has been crawling with all sorts of creepy, yet elaborate conspiracy theories to explain the Gloved One’s sudden demise.
By no means am I a knee-jerk debunker of conspiracies. My dedicated study of world history has convinced me that history is, to a great extent, the study of conspiracies. Unfortunately, they are not formerly acknowledged as such until long after the fact. Nevertheless, I am also a firm believer in the idea that sometimes the best explanation for an unfortunate occurrence is also the simplest one.
Michael had long identified with the character Peter Pan from the J.M. Barrie play/novel Peter and Wendy. Like the mythical character in the story, Michael was a magical, yet mischievous individual (close friends and family members say he loved to play practical jokes on people) who never wanted to grow up. The extent to which you identify with something or someone is the extent to which you become that person or thing. Michael identified with a fictional character that never got old, so like his timeless music, he never did. He died at 50, a relatively young age, after living a life that was as fascinating and as riveting as any character’s from a fictional tale. Through his exceptional body of work, Michael has defied death, much like the ghoulish characters who danced alongside him in his music video for “Thriller.”
As a matter of fact, as I type these words Michael is probably dancing with zombies, nimbly moonwalking his way through astral portals of infinity. “For every album that I record, I write like, literally—I’m telling you the truth—I write at least 120 songs every album I do,” said Jackson during a June, 15 2002 speech at his “Killer Thriller Party” where he launched a scathing verbal attack against Tommy Mottola and his then parent company, Sony Music. Whether or not these songs were recorded remains to be seen, but don’t be surprised if MJ has enough posthumous album releases to rival the late Tupac Shakur.
Michael cloaked himself in mythology and in the process he fashioned a fascinating legacy, one that will go unmatched for many generations to come: Over 750 million albums sold worldwide, 8 Grammy Awards in a single year (1984), 13 number one hits on the Billboard Hot 100, the biggest recording contract of all time ($890 million). And the clincher? Well, Michael also owns the Guinness Book of World Records distinction of being the man who has given to more charitable organizations (39) than anyone else on the planet. Like his final studio album Invincible, Michael’s resume isn’t Bad. In fact, it’s kind of Off the Wall.
Although Michael may not have been pleased with The Man in the Mirror as evidenced by his numerous plastic surgeries, his critics—particularly those in the Black community—must remember that no Black person on the planet, no matter how enlightened they may be, has completely escaped the noose of Willie Lynch. In spite of it all, Michael did more to promote Black pride in nine minutes than many Blacks will do in a lifetime. When the music video for his single “Remember the Time,” aired on prime time television to millions of viewers across the nation in 1992, it was the first time anyone ever saw the ancient Egyptians as they actually looked on national television. Before that video aired, Micael could do no wrong in the white media’s eyes. After it aired, he couldn’t do anything good.
Michael may have had his share of personal issues, but we all do. Our pathologies are a byproduct of Western civilization So now that his birthday is here, it is important that we acknowledge his flaws while celebrating what defined the man, which is the fact that he is the single greatest entertainer that the modern world has ever known.
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