Because the Universe is Confusing
Archive for June, 2009
Redemption
Jun 29th
To follow up on my thoughts about the way Michael Jackson inspired people, I thought I’d share this video of the Filipino inmates once made famous by their incredible rendition of “Thriller.” They apparently worked through Friday and Friday night to prepare this incredible tribute. Amazing the people he inspired. The tribute:
The Thriller video that made them famous:
The inmates worked hard for the tribute performance. HuffPo reports:
After being told of Jackson’s death Thursday in Los Angeles, the 1,500 inmates at the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center hit the exercise yard, practicing for nine hours Friday night — and into the wee hours of Saturday morning — for the show. They took breaks only to eat or when it rained, said professional choreographer Gwendolyn Lador, hired by the prison to teach the inmates the dance.
It's So Hard to Say Good-bye
Jun 28th
I remember when people said that Boyz II Men were bringing Motown back to life. Songs like “It’s So Hard to Say Good-bye” were indeed reminiscent of the sound that the label brought to the public. But nothing. Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing will ever be like what the Jackson 5 were. And no one will ever approximate the enormity of Michael Jackson.
From moments like this one at Motown 25 when MJJ globalized the Moonwalk:
To songs like “We Are the World” (co-authored with Lionel Richie) that raised money for famine victims in Ethiopia:
Michael Jackson rocked our world and urged us to rock it too.
Michael Jackson has been the soundtrack of the two deepest forces in my life: dancing and making change. In 1984, I was wandering around the wedding of two family friends carrying a copy of “Thriller” on tape and saying to everyone, “Mika Jacks.” A year later, at age 3, I started watching MTV. Watching Michael Jackson’s incredible videos for “Billy Jean” and “Thriller,” I learned my first dance moves.
My earliest memories of Disneyland include repeated viewings of MJJ’s captivating sci-fi dance thriller “Captain Eo”: (the following two videos contain the entire 16 minute feature)
It’s Sunday now, and I still can’t listen to “Man in the Mirror” without crying. I’m thinking of Tehran and the people who are following his words to the letter. I’m thinking of “Earth Song” and his words urging us to remember the children dead from war. I’m thinking of Iraq. I’m thinking of the indigenous people in Peru fighting for their land right now. I’m hearing “We Are the World” and remembering that we are the ones who make a better place. I’m feeling “Heal the World” and remembering that Michael always seemed to remind us that ALL our lives depended on making the world better. This wasn’t charity. It was self-preservation.
As the child of a Black Caribbean mamma and a white Jewish father, I remember being stunned as I watched MTV’s World Premiere of “Black or White”: “If you’re thinking of being my baby, it don’t matter if you’re Black or White.” It was the first time I had ever seen anything in the popular media that validated what my family looked like.
And say what you will with madcap theories about his skin color: the man was not afraid of his African roots or color. Just have a look at the video for “They Don’t Really Care About Us,” featuring Brazil’s Oludum drum troupe. The video is a rare opportunity to see Michael freestyling his dance moves. (embedding this video isn’t possible, so follow this link.) Also have a look at the end of the full version of the “Bad” video where MJJ performs a traditional call and answer, inspired by centuries of African American musical innovation. The man was Black, and he sure wasn’t afraid to show it and LOVE it.
But Michael, like his music, transcended Black and white. Michael became an embodiment of the other world that was possible: the one where we enjoyed who we were and loved what was unique about everyone else. As he sang in “Another Part of Me”:
This Is Our Planet
You’re One Of UsWe’re Sendin’ Out
A Major Love
And This Is Our
Message To You
(Message To You)
The Planets Are Linin’ Up
We’re Bringin’ Brighter Days
They’re All In Line
Waitin’ For You
Can’t You See . . .?
You’re Just Another Part Of Me . .
One person on facebook said, “I’m not sure I’m ready to live in a world without Michael Jackson.” I know I’m not ready. But I know I’ll have to make do. And I think that’s what Michael would want. He would want us to keep dancing. He would want us to keep loving. He would want us to keep trying to change the world. He would want us to see ourselves in each other.
So I’m going to keep talking to that woman in the mirror, and make a change, always thankful that Michael Jackson made sure that a new generation watched MTV and saw Martin Luther King and Gandhi setting an example for all of us:
As Captain Eo sang to me all those years ago, We Are Here to Change the World.
Farewell, Michael.
The Case for Some Old Fashioned Moral Absolutism
Jun 17th
Now there’s a title I never thought I’d take seriously. But, because of a few things I’ve recently seen and heard in my life and also the lives of others, I’ve really started to think about “what is it okay to fudge?”
So I am making a list:
1. Rapists can go to hell, thank you very much.
2. Ditto for people who are physically abusive.
3. By extension, people who are willing to offer love and support to people who commit either of these crimes and who have not sought to change themselves or make amends: you can also kiss my ass.
4. And everyone should feel that way.
I am tired tired tired of a society that seems to sort of condemn these acts of heinous, hateful violence but is unwilling to fully, openly and brazenly tell these assholes to go to hell.
I don’t care if the person is behaving like a real fuck. You are not allowed to persistently physically abuse them in response. An eye for an eye makes everyone a violent asshole, not someone shining the light of justice on a situation.
And moreover, I am sickened by a society that compounds the scars these crimes leave by taking a light attitude toward them.
Give up calling that shirt a “wife beater.” Don’t say that to the woman who was a beaten wife/girlfriend/lover. Don’t be a fucking asshole.
Rape jokes are simply not fucking funny people, especially for those of us who have been raped. But yeah, thank you very much for reminding me that my trauma is your laughter, you sick jerk.
I will not apologize for believing there is no debate here. These things are unacceptable, and it’s time everyone accepted that.
How else can we possibly minimize their occurrences? We have to be willing to take these things seriously and to be vigilant about them.
I've Been to the Mountain Top
Jun 5th
For Friday night, some lovely soul music. Kim Weston singing “Lift Every Voice And Sing”, the Black national anthem, at the Wattstax music festival:
And the beautiful ending words of MLK’s final words to us:
And they were telling me, now it doesn’t matter now. It really doesn’t matter what happens now. I left Atlanta this morning, and as we got started on the plane, there were six of us, the pilot said over the public address system, “We are sorry for the delay, but we have Dr. Martin Luther King on the plane. And to be sure that all of the bags were checked, and to be sure that nothing would be wrong with the plane, we had to check out everything carefully. And we’ve had the plane protected and guarded all night.”And then I got to Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers?
Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.
My Compassion is the Enemy
Jun 2nd
Today the headline Guantánamo Detainee Kills Himself sits rather small on the NY Times website. Bigger things have happened, perhaps. Over 200 people went to a watery grave in the Atlantic, a tragedy of immense proportions that may have been caused simply because pilots are losing the right to control their own planes. An immense tragedy yes.
But this story about the Gitmo detainee is a tragedy of extraordinary proportions in its own way. The loss of life should always make us pause, and if it actually did, maybe there would be less of it. And a scenario where someone is willing to take their own life should give us even greater pause. For it is not the barbarism of murder or the tragedy of accident: it is the loss of all hope. A quitting. The giving up of life. And what if we all did that? There would be nothing left.
So, perhaps this man who killed himself was a murderer. Perhaps he was the worst kind of human who deserved to spend decades in jail. But perhaps not. Perhaps he was just a Yemeni who got swept up in the wrong search at the wrong time. Or had the wrong name. I don’t know the details of his detention. I do know that the Founding Fathers, despite the bullshit of their racism and their sexism, in their wisdom, designed a justice system that allowed a defendant to present his case. To have hope for freedom if he deserved it. Indefinite detention is the opposite of hope. It is the end of it. And it is antithetical to the ideas that America supposedly stands on and for.
From the NY Times article:
After three detainees committed suicide at the same time in June 2006, the commander at the time, Rear Adm. Harry B. Harris Jr., drew international attention by challenging the suggestion that the suicides had been acts of desperation. ” This was not an act of desperation,” he asserted, “but an act of asymmetrical warfare waged against us.”
If I understand Harris correctly, if I take his words to heart, then I must learn to make an enemy of my compassion. Because that is what I feel. If this man killed women and children of any color or nationality, then I am happy to see him in prison. And I would be even happier to see him seeking redemption. But that is impossible if he does not have the possibility of hope. If he does not have his life.
Does it make me anti-American to feel compassion for people who lose hope? I hope not. I hope it makes me pro-American. I hope it makes me pro-Yemeni. Pro-Israeli. Pro-Human. If it makes me anti-anything, let it be anti-war. Anti-hate. I can live with those “negative” labels.
Don’t let Rear Adm Harris convince you that hate is a way of survival. It is the end of survival.
My hope is that this suicide melts the hardened hearts of Americans. I hope it wears down the hatred that so many of them have breathed in. I hope that this man’s death reminds everyone that the so-called enemy is a human, just like your next door neighbor.
This hope is small. But I am allowed to have it. And my suspicion is that all our lives depend on this kind of hope. So let’s cultivate it in ourselves and in each other. A little compassion goes a long way.
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By the way, The Disordered Cosmologist experiment over at IGT is over. Expect more regular updates here at Disordered Cosmos from here on out.
