July 2, 2009
I am starting to get irritated by the whole Michael Jackson thing.
The man was a child mollester.
The only reason he got away with it is that he paid one boy $25million, terrorized the other one, and was clever enough to get rid of conclusive evidence.
But it’s not his fault, we keep hearing, his childhood was stolen. He was just trying to recreate it.
Because we all know that’s what kids do in their spare time. Jet around the world drinking wine in Coke cans, swallow pills and play doctor doctor with adults in plush hotel suites.
What about, say, watching Disney Channel and eating peanut butter? Fully dressed, may I just add. Would that do, as a childhood re-enactment? Do we really need the rest? No, because, personnally, I am just saying: if this is Michael Jackson’s idea of kids activities, well, maybe we’re happy his own childhood was cut short.
Now, I hate to bother you with my rantings about someone who, despite his revolting, criminal behaviour, has become a semi-god after his death. But living in India, here is what I see everyday: children begging in the street, children working as sweepers, children sold off to factories. Children, I think we can fairly say, whose childhood has been stolen.
And not by fame.
Well, strangely, they don’t become child mollesters. They don’t go around traumatizing little boys because that’s their own fucked up idea of kids play.
I don’t feel sorry for Michael Jackson’s “stolen” childhood.
But when I see a 3-year-old trotting around cars at a red light, his outstretched hand not even reaching the window, yes, when I see this, indeed, it breaks my heart.