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We were part of his torment when he was alive — yes, by laughing, we are guilty — and we are part of his mourning when he departed. For all his musical genius, Michael Jackson was on the wrong end of many cruel barbs, not least because of his extreme cosmetic surgeries and alleged molestation of minors. But the King of Pop is a sociological thriller of royal proportions.

Race and Ethicity

It’s easy to berate MJ for his skin bleaching. Over the past four decades, we watched in horror as the cute little black boy in “The Jackson 5” turned into a white man. But beneath the surface, it is perhaps a story about the racial inequality that exists.

What was it like growing up in a time where Rosa Parks had to fight for her right — and the rights of all African-Americans — to have a seat on a public bus? What effect did it have on a boy, who despite being celebrated as one of the greatest performers of all time was a racial minority, in a country which only recently saw its first black President?

Michael evidently felt strongly about the colour of his skin when he released this 1991 hit, Black or White.

It don’t matter if you’re black or white, the king sang. It shouldn’t matter. But it did. And it still does. Singapore celebrated its first Malay military general last month to much media fanfare. Why should it matter his race, so long as he is capable? But the truth is: racial inequality still persists, in Singapore, in the United States, in every corner of society.

I was watching Adam Sandler’s “You Don’t Mess With The Zohan”, where Israeli migrants to America had their dreams dashed because their racial/national identity dictated that they worked in electronic stores. Zohan and his Palestinean nemesis “The Phantom” shared a bond in that they both wanted to do something outside of their assigned boundaries by dreaming of cutting hair and selling shoes, respectively.

What about the Malay boy in Singapore who dreams of being a pilot? Or the African-American who wants to do more than excel in sports?

Then you remember Michael was a star in a white-dominated industry. (I bet you can’t name 5 African-American artistes outside of rap, soul, or rhythm and blues).

We can only imagine MJ’s loneliness.

Gender

Days after his death, Michael’s ex-wife Lisa Marie Presley once again emphasised their marriage was not a sham to cover-up his sexual orientation. Believe her or not, it doesn’t matter. The real question is: why does he need to hide anything?

The problem is not Michael, but the social construct of gender norms.

So what if MJ — or anyone else, for that matter — was male, female, bisexual, gay, or androgynous?

Apparently, it matters to people. People like Thio Su Mien, who engineered a takeover of women’s rights group AWARE because the group had “pro-gay” tendencies.

Sometime in history, some guy decided there are 2 genders — male and female — and everything else was deviant. Oh, if only life were so simple. For the record, academics argue that there are 5 sexes. And who are we to judge anyway?

Deviance

I noticed a strange phenomenon when I was an undergraduate. At the first class of each semester, the lecturer invites each person to introduce himself. And it doesn’t take Columbus to quickly discover that we try very hard to be different, to stand out from the rest of the class. Without exception, someone would point out that he was, in the words of a famed Bangkok T-shirt, “same same, but different”. There’s nothing wrong with being “complicated”, or “a contradiction”, or having “taken a different path” from others to have gotten a seat in the lecture room. In a country where the majority of the population lives in indifferent pigeon holes, we yearn to be different — be it via brightly hued hair, body piercings, or distinguishing tattoos. In a sense, it is our way of saying: “I don’t want to be categorized”. I am not just “a shy boy”, or “daddy’s girl”, or “a scholar”; I am all of the above, perhaps none, perhaps some. I am me.
And yet, when push comes to shove, the piercing glances and whispers — ironically because you are different — get too much to bear, and give in to the urge to dive away from the limelight and be “normal”.

Michael Jackson was different. He was special. And we couldn’t handle it.

Rest In Peace, Michael.