Integritus Prime

Something bizarre happened last night. I went to bed and fell asleep easily but woke up at 2.47am. Wide awake, I decided to listen to Solfeggio music to clean my mind. Then, I did what I usually don’t: I went on social media. For some reason, the algorithm sent me a song by Michael Jackson – one of his duets, called I Just Can’t Stop Loving You. I enjoyed that.

I realized I have so many memories of Michael Jackson that are associated with his music, music videos, and his supreme talent. All those memories have always been positive.

In the next several moments, something disturbing settled into my mind. As a trauma coach and integrator of different ways of knowing and working, I tend to do a ton of pattern recognition. The patterns began emerging and I quickly did a search on whether Michael Jackson had been abused. Somewhere in my mind I had registered long ago that he wasn’t happy with himself, as evidenced by how miserable and haunted he looked as he aged. On the internet, I learned easily that he was beaten by his Dad, Joe, and called names for having a big nose.

Then, I began reading about the allegations of child abuse. I read for the next four hours. I learned about the accusers, the lawsuits, the inconclusive evidence, and the documentary, Leaving Neverland, which I now want to watch.

Despite the endless debates and continuing speculation, and the new film being done about, one thing I sense that I cannot now unsee, is the emerging pattern. It’s so clear to me. This is what I think happened:

Michael was sexually abused by someone close to him, likely around the age of 7 – 10 and for several years. He was told he was black and ugly with a big nose, but he was also told that this is how love works – through molestation and rape. He was made complicit in the abuse, and taught to like it. He was beaten by his father as a form of discipline. Michael was also limitlessly talented when it came to singing. He was also a gentle and sensitive, and vulnerable soul.

As Michael became an adult, the impact of his abuse began to take shape. His appearance, for various reasons, began to change and he became whiter and his nose also changed its shape. He wanted to be beautiful but he looked tormented. He began to groom and abuse children the same age as when his abuse began. It was compulsive because it was so ingrained in him – a norm that no amount of money or talent could heal. His wealth made it possible to do this at Neverland and groom the victims and distract the parents with money. His romantic interest was strongest with young boys. His victims were fair-skinned, not black – they represented the beauty and innocence that was idealized for him by his abuser or abusers.

He built Neverland Ranch as a way to try and capture and relive his childhood that he didn’t really get to live, but it ended up being a repetition of his own childhood, complete with the sexual abuse.

Do I know if it’s true? Do I know that this is what happened? No. But I am left with the same question that documentary maker Dan Reed asks of those who are making a documentary to glorify Michael Jackson:

To the film-makers, I say: how will you represent the moment when Jackson, a grown man in his 30s, takes a child by the hand and leads him into that bedroom? How will you depict what happens next? By sidestepping the question of Jackson’s predilection for sleeping with young boys, you are broadcasting a message to millions of survivors of child sexual abuse. That message is: if a paedophile is rich and popular enough, society will forgive him.

These are the thoughts that came to me in the wee hours, and it has changed the way I see Michael Jackson forever. I can no longer just listen to the songs and have the same pleasant memories. Now, whenever I hear one of his songs, I will hear and feel the anguish. Now, when I look at his pictures, I see how tormented he was. I am shocked that I didn’t see it sooner. That I didn’t connect the dots. I suspect this was due to my own pristinely positive childhood memories of his music. We want to believe our childhoods were great, and hold on tightly to the good parts. Sometimes reality just isn’t what we want to see. I don’t want to believe he was abused. I don’t want to believe he abused those little boys.

I have compassion for the victim, and I want accountability for the abuser. So often, they can be the same person. Ultimately, I feel the horror and endless sadness about what I see. I cannot change what I feel or unsee what I see. I grieve for all of us who have been abused. As a survivor of child abuse, I support all who are working to heal and help others. We must never allow ourselves to create the same world that we were born into, and yet this is never easy, especially because whatever we experience early in our lives becomes our norm.

When Michael Jackson died in 2009, I was at a friend’s wedding. I remember being gutted. I grieved like millions of other fans. Today, I grieve for what he may have suffered, and what others may have suffered because of him. I am not in a position to judge, but to grieve. Grief is, after all, another form of love.

It is our responsibility to create a safe world for all children. Perhaps a first step is being honest. In this post, I am taking a step of being honest about my grief. The next step is to take action. I help adults process and heal their trauma safely. We are all agents of healing – if we choose.

Disclaimer: The thoughts in this blog are my own speculations. They are not intended to harm anyone, only to explore trauma patterns as I see them.