The First Time We Lost Michael Jackson

The world gave up on the King of Pop, but did he give up on us first?

One

In May 2002, journalist (I use the term with little weight) Martin Bashir and his film crew were allowed to follow Michael Jackson for a few months in anticipation of an in-depth story. What followed was Bashir’s sensationalized Living with Michael Jackson. This radicalized documentary showed the King of Pop holding hands with a twelve-year-old boy, as well as talking about sharing a bed with the child. Jackson stated he saw nothing wrong with sharing a bed with someone and that it was an act of love and kindness. Others didn’t see it that way. The documentary raised the ire of the public. It led investigators to charge Jackson with seven counts of child molestation and two counts of intoxicating a minor with an alcoholic beverage. Jackson was unanimous in his denial of the charges. He pleaded not guilty. If convicted, he could have faced up to twenty years in federal prison.

Michael Jackson was as private of a person as he was a public figure. Jackson always seemed to be readjusting the balance of those two things. Michael never really knew the same level of privacy most people enjoy as much of his life, since age five, had been filled with the business of show. Jackson often spoke about his lack of a childhood and how the imbalance affected him throughout his adult life. Building an amusement park on his massive property, called Neverland Ranch, in Los Olivos, California, seemed like a no-brainer for someone who didn’t get summer vacations with the family or school field trips. When talk show host Oprah Winfrey visited Neverland a dozen years prior, Jackson proudly showed his amusement park area, the movie theater with regular seating, and private viewing rooms for children confined to a bed because of medical issues, the train station and the main parts of the house itself. Viewers watched in shock and awe at the extravagant and sprawling estate. It was television at its best, two of the most significant people in media — and both were African-American baby boomers — talking about life, wealth, hard work, and success. Neverland was Jackson’s secluded home where he could walk outside, ride an ATV or just sit and enjoy the day. He felt safe knowing he wasn’t going to be hounded by a paparazzi’s telephoto lens. It wasn’t just a big house; it was a massive plot of land. Acres and acres of open land hid the house from the public. Visitors got as far as the first gate on the road with no hope of viewing the house from a distance. From the entrance on Figueroa Mountain Road to the main house was a mile of winding road through trees and over a hill. If Jackson wanted privacy, Neverland Ranch was it. The whole of the Jackson family also enjoyed Neverland regularly. There are many videos of Janet, the brothers, the nephews and nieces, and the Jackson parents mulling around the grounds, enjoying the amenities that Jackson employed.

Thanks to vindictive and white supremacist law enforcement officials like then-attorney general Tom Sneddon, the public received a much more tainted view of Neverland Ranch and Jackson’s life in it. It was a view of constant pedophilia, rape, grooming, lying, and everything short of child trafficking. Sneddon threw the heft of his department into investigating Michael Jackson head to toe, once requiring Jackson to allow photos to be taken of his naked body parts so the plaintiff could identify them. Whether Sneddon was trying to make a name for himself, make some money, or he was just a racist, we can’t be sure. I would put money on a mix of all three. The constant attacks, leaks to the media, and trial in the public court chipped away at Jackson’s mental health and overall well-being. Jackson often showed up for court dates wearing a jacket with pajama pants, sometimes seemingly half-awake, groggy, or in an incoherent daze. I’ve no doubt Jackson was probably medicating himself during these times to escape the pressure of the trial and public scrutiny beyond anything he’d experienced. Sneddon’s team threw in everything they could during the trial from accusing Jackson of viewing pornography (last I heard, that wasn’t against the law) to God knows what else. It was a classic case of, “Let’s run it up the flag pole and see who salutes it.” No one in the jury bought anything. They could smell the desperation from their seats. The jury deliberated thirty-two hours over seven days.

In the end, Michael Jackson was acquitted of all charges. Sneddon made the excuse that Jackson’s celebrity status may have played a part in the acquittal. His white supremacist tendencies continued to blame Jackson for things he never did, or otherwise used Jackson as a scapegoat for what he perceived as an unfair trial. Sneddon couldn’t even conceive that maybe, just maybe, Michael Jackson was innocent of the charges. He couldn’t comprehend that maybe, just maybe, Michael Jackson never hurt a child in his lifetime. Sneddon’s reasoning was, “Michael Jackson was black and a freak, so why wouldn’t he be abusing children?” However, the jury saw it differently. In subsequent interviews, they spoke about the prosecution’s weak case. They also noted how the timeline was very problematic because the prosecution stated the molestation happened after the Bashir documentary. Another juror said they felt the child’s mother was a scam artist, an opinion that has since been proven. After Jackson died, the FBI released files about the case. The records showed there were no significant or outstanding leads or any items of evidence worthy of review. The case was a farce on Sneddon’s part, wholly rooted in systemic racism. He wanted to shoot now, ask questions later.

Michael Jackson walked out of the courtroom, and soon moved to Bahrain, as a guest of Sheikh Abdullah. Jackson lived there for a few years before returning to the U.S. in 2009. Because of the pillaging and upheaval of Neverland by the police, Jackson never returned to his Los Olivos home. He felt the Sneddon team’s lack of concern or care for Jackson’s home left the property tainted. The magic was gone. Jackson wanted no part of it. If we’re playing doctor, what was once Jackson’s home would have become a constant reminder of the hatred that was reigned down on him by Sneddon’s office. Every corner he turned at Neverland would no doubt spark a memory of an FBI investigator or policeman sifting through his items like they were at a yard sale in Compton.

Jackson had always been distrustful of media and the public. When one achieves that level of fame and stardom Jackson did, there are gaggles of yes-men and money suckers that glom on to the celebrity to get something from them. Most celebrities have to face the constant challenge of vetting who’s good and who’s not, who can be a friend, and who is out for themselves. Everyone’s agenda comes under harsh scrutiny. So for Jackson to hold everyone up to a certain standard of vetting isn’t unusual. There have been people that have used Michael Jackson, and he’s ousted them from his life. The hurt and betrayal of human vultures were constant and oddly familiar to Jackson. The list of former “friends” or employees is longer than the list of people he may have ever considered true friends.

There is no doubt that Sneddon’s sharp one-two punches were a new level of fuckery for Jackson. The press had long called Jackson names, attacked his character, his music, every step he took, but never had there been someone so evil and vengeful as Tom Sneddon. Sneddon had also sought to file charges against Jackson in 1993 for an almost identical case of child molestation. The suit settled out of court — a move many saw as a quiet plea of guilt by Jackson — and Sneddon never got the chance to go prosecute the King of Pop. At least not until the Bashir documentary aired. Sneddon took the bull by the horn and drove deep into Jackson’s life, doing everything short of dissecting him on a table in the middle of a courtroom with Jackson being kept alive. (If you ever saw Eli Roth’s Hostel, you know what I’m talking about.)

Jackson saw Sneddon as someone who went above and beyond doing their job. Sneddon wanted to destroy him. Again, we don’t know if was Sneddon “just doing his job,” or if he had a more personal vendetta against The Gloved One. I believe it was during this trial that Jackson saw just what evil men can do and how easy it is to do it. It put nothing but distrust in Jackson’s heart. Sneddon pushed Michael Jackson out of the United States, out of ever trusting anyone again (outside of Prince, Paris, and Prince Jr.), and out of humanity itself. Jackson had surely faced white supremacy antics throughout his life as a Black man in America, but Sneddon took his racism to a whole new venomous level. That’s the first time we lost Michael Jackson.

Two

It reminds me of Tina Turner moving to Switzerland. She enjoyed great success when she made her post-Ike comeback with “Let’s Stay Together” and “What’s Love Got To Do With It” (the latter her first number one song as a solo artist). Throughout her career, she noticed how Europe always welcomed her a bit harder and loved her a bit longer. She filmed her Wildest Dreams concert video in Amsterdam, One Last Time was filmed in London, and Tina Live was shot in the Netherlands. In recent years, Turner gave up her citizenship in the United States, surrendering her American passport, and became a full-fledged citizen of Switzerland by the end of 2013. It puzzled me the first time I heard her talk (to Oprah, no less) about Europe having a bigger heart for her than America. How could that be? Had we not given her a number one hit? “What’s Love Got To Do With It” didn’t hit number one anywhere but the U.S. and Canada In Switzerland, it reached number eight. How could she not love the United States? Perhaps I was projecting my own need to stay close to my roots onto her. She had no ties to Nutbush or anywhere else that she felt worthy of any sort of allegiance. She moved where she was loved. Tina Turner went where she could just be herself, be loved, and live an uncomplicated life from paparazzi, media, and the need to tour or perform. There’s even a sign on the front gate to her and husband Erwin Bach’s estate that says no deliveries before noon. Why? Because she just wants to sleep in with her husband. (Get it, girl!) Michael Jackson did the same thing. He fled to a place where someone cared about him. His host didn’t want anything from him other than friendship. Jackson’s move to Bahrain could be equated to the same mindset; no one can blame him for it.

Sign at Tina Turner and Erwin Bach’s front gate in Switzerland

Even when Jackson returned to perform the This Is It residency in London, he seemed half interested in the process, at best. Producer and choreographer Kenny Ortega seemed to go above and beyond to appease any request Jackson had for the show. The band hung on every note Jackson sang, every breath he exhaled, and every word he spoke. It was his show, after all. They all seemed to want the show more than Jackson did, actually. One could almost get the sense that Michael could have walked off the stage, gotten in a jet with his children and flown wherever and not given one shit about what he left behind. Jackson’s finances were rough during this time. He had refinanced and remortgaged his stake in the Sony/ATV publishing catalog multiple times to the point that he could never repay the debt. He just kept borrowing against it to live. His back catalog sold, but it wasn’t enough to ever sustain his lifestyle (whatever that looked like). Jackson seemed to be uninterested in the United States and its people. When he died in 2009, he was renting a mansion in the Holmby Hills section of Beverly Hills. The rent was $100,000 a month paid by AEG Entertainment, who was producing This Is It. Jackson could have pulled out at any time, yet he forged ahead. Did he do it for the fans, the money, or pressure? Jackson was just shy of turning fifty-one when he died. He didn’t have to do anything unappealing to him. But watching the This Is It videos, it just seems he lacked any real passion for the gig. Maybe he was just trying to pay some bills. The sting of the trial and Sneddon’s venom still seemed to burn Jackson’s proverbial skin. It almost felt like Jackson was a foreigner visiting us. He no longer felt like an American man. He felt like an outsider.

Sneddon succeeded on some level in destroying Michael Jackson. I give him no credit or kudos for anything other than being a white supremacist cretin. He took the luster and the shine from Jackson’s eyes. The only time we saw Jackson light up about something was when his children were in tow. He loved being a father to his children, giving them rich experiences in other countries, keeping them safe in public, and allowing them to explore whatever they wished to see, hear, feel, taste, or touch. Had a conviction been handed down in the trial, it seems Sneddon gave no thought as to what would happen to Jackson’s children. It was none of his concern. His goal was to hurt Michael Jackson, and he did.

We forever lost the mysterious, quirky, unusual yet normal, funny, and amazing side of Michael Jackson. Sneddon didn’t take Jackson’s soul, but he crushed his spirit. I don’t believe Jackson walked around as a wounded individual, but the stress of the trial irrevocably changed the Michael Jackson we knew. That’s also part of white supremacy, to mentally beat down a black man to the point he has no motivation to do anything but what his master says. Sneddon saw himself as superior over Michael Jackson. And while Michael wasn’t playing the role of enslaved that day or any other day, his mindset had undoubtedly changed. Michael was also angry. After the 1993 case was settled, Jackson had already felt Sneddon’s wrath and hatred. Jackson called out Sneddon on his white supremacy. On his album HIStory Book 1, Jackson’s song, “D.S.” is about Tom Sneddon. “They wanna get my ass ead or alive/You know he really tried to take me down by surprise… You think he brother with the KKK?/I know his mother never taught him right anyway/He want your vote just to remain DA.” D.S. stood for Dom Sheldon, but clearly we knew better.

Maybe if Jackson hadn’t passed away in June 2009, he’d have been able to heal more from the hurt. Perhaps, with more time between him and Sneddon’s fangs, Jackson could have reformed his life in the United States. When Jackson removed himself from the hatred of Sneddon and the scandalous gossipy American media, he seemed to leave those parts of himself here. He started fresh abroad. His time in Bahrain formed a different Michael Jackson than we know. He reserved his authentic side for family and a few friends. His gaunt appearance in This Is It seemed to be evidence of the toll hatred can take on a human body. It was just shy of four years since the acquittal until his death in 2009. I don’t believe that was long enough for Jackson to heal. His old skin was gone, but the new surface was still pink and fresh. It was too soon for him to come back.

We lost Michael Jackson wanting to be Michael Jackson. We lost him having a passion for music and a zest for life inside the United States. I don’t mean to be bleak. We had his music — Off The Wall, Thriller, Bad, Dangerous, HIStory, Invincible — and other projects. We had the videos, his cameos in movies, Moonwalker, tour videos, and our memories. We had all we needed from the King of Pop. We’d never have the same Michael Jackson again, though. One doesn’t go through a trial as he did and come out the same person. It changes a person. It changed Michael Jackson.

We lost him for good on June 25, 2009, dying from cardiac arrest. It was the last time we’d lose Michael Jackson.

Sneddon died in 2014. He remained district attorney, unchallenged in every election until his death. His story was always that he was protecting children and that Michael Jackson was a pedophile. But his legacy will be one of white supremacy, system racism, and hatred of a black man.

I’d like to believe that somewhere in there, the parts of Michael we loved were still there albeit guarded. Maybe they would never see the light of day again, maybe he would’ve given folks one more change to see the real him again. But as long as the real Michael was in there, that’s okay. Sneddon didn’t get the best of him. The best part of Michael Jackson was the love he gave people and the world. Through anything, Michael Jackson always spoke with love.

And in love, we’ll always have him.

Ernest Sewell was born & raised in Oklahoma. After living across the U.S. in places like Philadelphia, Los Angeles, and Minneapolis, he’s settled in upstate New York for the past twenty years. He’s authored and published two books and is working on a smattering of new material, including a new horror novel. He shares his home with a friend, three cats, and his vinyl collection, all of whom have the same level of love from him. When he’s not causing an uproar on Prince forums or social media, he enjoys reads (a lot), trying new recipes, and prank calling people.

“Don’t take yourself too seriously. No one else does.”