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With a few simple words, Michael Jackson’s daughter does more to rescue his legacy than all the sermons and tributes delivered in his memory.
"Ever since I was born, Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine. And I just wanted to say I love him so much."
—Paris Jackson at the Michael Jackson Memorial
When Paris Katherine Jackson tearfully spoke those 26 words at Michael Jackson’s memorial service, she did more to humanize him than any other speaker at the service. But she also turned on their heads the uncomfortable public conversations Americans have been having these last two weeks about Michael’s complicated relationship with his blackness and black folks’ complicated relationship with him.
Suddenly, once seemingly pertinent questions—Are those children really his? Are they even biracial?—no longer mattered. Well, at least not as much. What mattered was that a child, clearly in pain, stood before 20,000 people and millions of television viewers, and expressed in a profound and simple way that Michael Jackson was her dad, that he loved her and that she loved him. We could see that her love for him was real; that she probably couldn’t care less that he could moonwalk, that he sold millions of albums, that his performances made young girls around the world faint and cry with joy, or that he could probably afford to buy her anything she wanted and probably did.
“… And I just wanted to say I love him so much.” Paris buried her head in Janet Jackson’s chest after uttering these words. Hearts melted. She became everyone’s child. The Jackson group-hug on stage showed a real family in real pain. We all wanted to hug her, to wrap her in a “We Are the World”-type collective embrace.
The sight of a young, white, or cream, or olive, or tan-colored girl—it’s a matter perspective now, I guess—being comforted by her very brown uncles and aunties was something that seemed at once unsettling and perfectly normal. At that moment, I was struck by the thought that perhaps Michael Jackson had finally accomplished, in death, what he’d tried so hard to do throughout much of his life—to blur racial lines, to make them so amorphous that they no longer act as barriers to people seeing each others’ humanity. Maybe it was only in that moment, but what a powerful moment it was and who knows what kind of lasting effect it might have.
I still have to admit that it bothered me that Michael didn’t choose a black woman to bear even one of his children. I know I wasn’t the only one who was disappointed. It was a decision that signaled he had no interest in dark-skinned babies. (And to think I considered myself his secret girlfriend for much of my adolescence.) He sang “It doesn’t matter if you’re black or white,” with such unmitigated joy that you almost believed he meant it, even though you knew better. How could he when he seemed to so badly crave a Eurocentric facial aesthetic, a white visage?
And yet I never doubted Michael loved black people. I just never believed Michael loved his black self. I know, we all know, that the reasons are varied and complex, and we don’t need to belabor them anymore. It’s not like we are going to wipe away those sweet memories of young Michael in bell-bottoms and suede vests belting out “Who’s Loving You?” and “ABC” and “Rockin’ Robin” and other hits with so much heart.
That’s why on Tuesday, with young Paris’ help and hearts heavy with loss, black people had a collective racial reconciliation with Michael and gave him a pass for not being more like his musical hero, James Brown, who told the world in song and deed “I’m Black and I’m Proud.”
Paris being comforted by her black family helped us see that her father had not really “transcended” race—not that most black people believe such a thing is even possible—but that the love he poured into his music and showed his family and friends was truly transcendent. I hope Michael left the world knowing that he was loved by his diehard fans of all colors and nationalities, but that he was especially loved by an extended black family of millions who grew up on his songs and embraced him long before he became world famous and colorless.
Maybe now his tortured soul can finally rest in peace.
Marjorie Valbrun is a regular contributor to The Root.
Comments
Paris Jackson at the Michael Jackson Memorial free online games
WE ALL have to meet up with the ONE who'd blessed us here on this beautiful planet that we're destroying. ALL will be told to the world, and YOU CAN"T HIDE FROM IT THEN.
Blessings to all, and let's try living like we have some COLOR sense about us before HE return again.
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My post kept acting like it wasn't posting, and here it is 3 different times. So Sorry!
All this talk about how Michael wasn't comfortable "with his black self" or "in his black skin" escapes me. He stated loud and proud to Oprah exactly the contrary, in front of millions and millions of people. Did everybody miss the line in "Black and White" that says, "I ain't scared of your sheets"? Has everyone forgotten that James Brown was his idol, and it was his dance moves that Michael patterned his own after? And the list goes on.
I think what's truly obvious here, at least to me, is that Michael had a clear-cut case of Body Dysmorphic Disorder and it began manifesting itself with his obsession with his nose. He HATED his nose. Why? Paging Joe Jackson! Do I think his father had any idea how he tortured his son's soul? No I don't, and that should be a lesson in "think before you speak" to all of us. Having said that, however, I have only the most microscopic modicum of respect for the man: nothing more than he is due simply by virtue of the fact that he shares the planet with me. I just don't think he's a nice person at the core of his being.
The majority of us thought Michael was breathtakingly beautiful, but he couldn't see it. It's like the anorexic who looks in the mirror and sees nonexistent fat where healthy eyes see nothing but a living skeleton and imminent death.
And the point of all this? If, in fact, Michael is not the biological parent of any of his kids that should come as no surprise. I suspect his self hatred precluded him from taking a chance on his kids inheriting any of his features. Horribly sad to the rest of us, but perfectly understandable when considered from his very sad point of view. Although honestly, I see a resemblance between young Michael and Blanket (you can see a pretty good comparison at http://lauratrojan.com, filed under "Who Is Omer Bhatti?"). And the most striking similarity, oddly enough? Their noses. Seriously.
As for why Michael chose white women to produce children with, who knows? Why did he like Kentucky Fried Chicken? I personally find it nasty, but that's me. Neither one of us is "right" about KFC, we just each prefer what we prefer.
Ultimately it's not the color of skin we should worry about. It's the color of our hearts.
All this talk about how Michael wasn't comfortable "with his black self" or "in his black skin" escapes me. He stated loud and proud to Oprah exactly the contrary, in front of millions and millions of people. Did everybody miss the line in "Black and White" that says, "I ain't scared of your sheets"? Has everyone forgotten that James Brown was his idol, and it was his dance moves that Michael patterned his own after? And the list goes on.
I think what's truly obvious here, at least to me, is that Michael had a clear-cut case of Body Dysmorphic Disorder and it began manifesting itself with his obsession with his nose. He HATED his nose. Why? Paging Joe Jackson! Do I think his father had any idea how he tortured his son's soul? No I don't, and that should be a lesson in "think before you speak" to all of us. Having said that, however, I have only the most microscopic modicum of respect for the man: nothing more than he is due simply by virtue of the fact that he shares the planet with me. I just don't think he's a nice person at the core of his being.
The majority of us thought Michael was breathtakingly beautiful, but he couldn't see it. It's like the anorexic who looks in the mirror and sees nonexistent fat where healthy eyes see nothing but a living skeleton and imminent death.
And the point of all this? If, in fact, Michael is not the biological parent of any of his kids that should come as no surprise. I suspect his self hatred precluded him from taking a chance on his kids inheriting any of his features. Horribly sad to the rest of us, but perfectly understandable when considered from his very sad point of view. Although honestly, I see a resemblance between young Michael and Blanket (you can see a pretty good comparison at http://lauratrojan.com, filed under "Who Is Omer Bhatti?"). And the most striking similarity, oddly enough? Their noses. Seriously.
As for why Michael chose white women to produce children with, who knows? Why did he like Kentucky Fried Chicken? I personally find it nasty, but that's me. Neither one of us is "right" about KFC, we just each prefer what we prefer.
Ultimately it's not the color of skin we should worry about. It's the color of our hearts.
All this talk about how Michael wasn't comfortable "with his black self" or "in his black skin" escapes me. He stated loud and proud to Oprah exactly the contrary, in front of millions and millions of people. Did everybody miss the line in "Black and White" that says, "I ain't scared of your sheets"? Has everyone forgotten that James Brown was his idol, and it was his dance moves that Michael patterned his own after? And the lists go on.
I think what's truly obvious here, at least to me, is that Michael had a clear-cut case of Body Dysmorphic Disorder and it began manifesting itself with his obsession with his nose. He HATED his nose. Why? Paging Joe Jackson! Do I think his father had any idea how he tortured his son's soul? No I don't, and that should be a lesson in "think before you speak" to all of us. Having said that, however, I have only the most microscopic modicum of respect for the man: nothing more than he is due simply by virtue of the fact that he shares the planet with me. I just don't think he's a nice person at the core of his being.
The majority of us thought Michael was breathtakingly beautiful, but he couldn't see it. It's like the anorexic who looks in the mirror and sees nonexistent fat where healthy eyes see nothing but a living skeleton and imminent death.
And the point of all this? If, in fact, Michael is not the biological parent of any of his kids that should come as no surprise. I suspect his self hatred precluded him from taking a chance on his kids inheriting any of his features. Horribly sad to the rest of us, but perfectly understandable when considered from his very sad point of view. Although honestly, I see a resemblance between young Michael and Blanket (you can see a pretty good comparison at http://lauratrojan.com, filed under "Who Is Omer Bhatti?"). And the most striking similarity, oddly enough? Their noses. Seriously.
As for why Michael chose white women to produce children with, who knows? Why did he like Kentucky Fried Chicken? I personally find it nasty, but that's me. Neither one of us is "right" about KFC, we just each prefer what we prefer.
All I know is that the man rocked my world, and I'm glad I lived in his era.
I have read these comments and want to say first and foremost that I love Michael and have since the first time I layed eyes on him as a child. He was 10 and I was 7 when he popped up on my television screen. I agree with swtom. We need to pass on Michael's legacy of love by treating all people with kindness and unselfishness and to be more tolerant and respectful in our dealings with others.
I was born with skin light enough that I have been labeled "white" and so are my parents. My great-great-great grandmother came into this world as a slave because her father who was in love with her mother, but was never allowed to marry her by the church, wanted to protect them. It is something that I have really struggled with. I asked how could you love someone and leave the label of slave on them. I grew up believing slavery only happened in the South. They lived in Connecticutt. I never knew about them until I was an adult. Prejudice comes from ignorance and I have had to deal with it repeatedly in my life. I do not understand how slavery being in the North was omitted from the history books that I learned from as a child.
As a child we had children from NYC come to our home as part of the Fresh Air Program. I was only 5 when my sister Sandra came for the first summer. Yes, she is my sister because we became blood sisters and because of who she is in my heart and soul. She came every summer to stay with us until her grandmother died and my mother brought someone else in who I completely rejected through no fault of her own. To this day I think of and pray for my sister even though I do not know where she is. I have asked God for forgiveness for mistreating another person and I also pray for my younger sister who came to spend the summers with our family in later years.
One of the things that I remember very clearly as a child was my sister Sandra's love of the color red. Her mother wouldn't let her wear red because it was a streotype. One of the reasons I love Michael's red jacket is because to me it said "I am black and I choose to wear red". It was bold defiance with class and it gave everyone the ok to wear red. Michael gained the respect of white people who were ignorant about people of other races. Through his music and his talents he made "white" Americans stop and rethink their views. I think people are forgetting just how bad things were when the Jackson Five hit the spotlight. It is good to let hate die and move forward, but everyone's love for Michael had so much to do with it's passing.
Yes, there are still prejudiced people out there and there always will be. but I also know life is about choices and I can choose to feel, think, and act according to my own conscience. I have always felt a pull towards people with beautiful brown skin. I was baptised into a "black" church. Abiah means "God is my Father". If God is your Father too, then that makes us family no matter what the color of the skin, hair, or eyes. It is the color of your hear and soul that makes you who you are.
I believe that Michael was a messenger from God/Allah sent here to start the healing of this world. I believe that he was used by God to lay the foundation and that now it is our responsibility to continue the work that he started. We may do it in remembrance of Michael, but it is really God/Allah and the future generations we are doing this for.
Every day I struggle with people's disrespect for Michael with the speculation of his children's heritage rights. Michael told us they were his and Debbie Rowe's biological children. That is good enough for me because anything past that is none of my business. As for "Blanket" how many children are in this world and no one knows who their father is, so why target him? Let these precious children who have lost the only parent they have known grow up in peace, surrounded by the love they so deserve.
Geez pretty eyes, who you mad at, why you yellin? Youre even yelling at getting a query error? Yikes. Okay since 'root' wont explain, I'll try to save you more yelling later.
You usually get the error when you enter your comments on any page but the first one. Even though you get the error, if you go back to the first page of article, you'll see your comments are there.
hope that helps, and calm down my sista, no point 'n raising you blood pressure.
In the meantime, come on Root, where are your IT people? A little programming fix needed here....you know y'all raising people's blood pressure now and you know what the middle passage already done to us.