I found the case for Michael Jackson the child rapist and paedophile too convincing and compelling to ignore. I believed Robson and Safechuck’s accounts that he raped and assaulted them in a pattern of seduction and grooming and brainwashing that continued for years. But by the third hour, that wasn’t an excuse I could swallow anymore. That he had probably been abused, that he was mentally ill because of the damage and childhood sexualisation inflicted on him. In the first hour or so, I told myself that he had had an abusive childhood himself. Well, this is what I thought before I watched the documentary. Who am I to judge the people in my record collection? People f*** up that’s what they do. I’m uncomfortable with the role of moral arbiter. Also, I find the general “can you separate the art from the artist?” debate difficult and confusing. It didn’t tally up with the way his music made me feel. I didn’t want to believe the man who made the greatest pop tunes could commit the most abhorrent crime possible. I loved his music, especially as a child, and part of me wanted to look the other way. People are innocent until proven guilty, after all, and Jackson is dead, having been tried and acquitted. I didn’t want to watch it at first, for a few reasons.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |