"The King of Pop"
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***** The first article, it's a hypothetical letter from a fan of Michael, at Attorney Tom Sneddon, who died on November 2, 2014
A Letter….A Difference In Death And Life
by Sandra Sasvári
Dear Tom Sneddon,
I woke up today to the news of your passing. Right now, the news have yet to properly break, so I am writing this now, before the Internet erupts with people’s comments – not about you, but about Michael Jackson.
You see, people can’t think of you without also thinking of him. You made sure of that. For twelve years, you dedicated your life to crucifying a man who not only was innocent, but who had never done anything to you. You searched the world to find people who were willing to say he hurt them, not because you believed it to be true but because you wanted it to be true. And you wanted the general public to believe it was true, too. Why? That is the part I have yet to understand. But no matter your reasons, the results were this: an innocent man broken and forever tarnished by your lies and your falsified evidence.
He was never the same after that, you know that? His friends would mention it repeatedly, and we all saw it. That twinkle in his eye that was so evident even at the tender age of eight and that made an entire world fall in love with him…it faded. In fact, I dare say it died completely. He used to move from point A to point B softly, but with a stride, dignity and quiet strength and confidence that turned kings and world leaders into star struck kids in his presence. But after what you put him through in 2005, he even WALKED like he was broken. Like any moment he may fall to the ground because the strength of merely standing up was too much for him to muster. He was a ghost of his former vibrant self and it was evident.
And if we, strangers around the would, could see this, you must have been able to, as well. And I wonder: how does that make you feel? Do you harbor any regret at all, or do you just not care? Are you too busy checking your bank account and feeding your ego by playing God with people’s lives in the courtroom to give a damn? It must be nice, being so focused on yourself. So oblivious and completely unaware of the suffering of others.
Because the truth is, caring about other people is hard work. It’s frustrating, time-consuming, and, to be honest, painful. Being aware of the suffering in the world places an unimaginably heavy weight on your mind, because so much is wrong and so many people are hurting and you don’t know how to stop it because no matter how much you try to help it’ll never be enough. That way? Being cold and selfish is probably a blessing.
But Michael wasn’t like that.
Michael was a warm person, with a heart as vast as the planet he traveled many times over on his mission to heal the world. He gave not only his money, but his time, care, concern, and compassion to millions of people when he could have just sat back and enjoyed his fame. He could have stayed in all those luxury hotels and signed a check or two, but he did not. Instead, he visited dirty hospitals and run-down orphanages where the children were tied to their beds. Walked through thousands of cancer ward doors, arms full of stuffed animals and toys for the struggling kids inside, monitored shipments of aid and equipment, paid for new hospital beds, and demanded that they be immediately installed, or he would not perform that night.
And although these are beautiful things, they are also very tragic. Seeing so much pain everyday…hurts. Michael often cried at the state of the world and, I imagine, probably still felt inadequate in spite of doing more for others than most people do in ten lifetimes. I am sure there were times where he wished it wouldn’t hurt so much. But here’s the thing: it wasn’t about him. Michael recognized fully that whatever he was feeling paled in comparison to the feelings of the sick and impaired human beings that he helped. So he continued, despite his own pain. He was THAT selfless.
 
When Michel died, the world came to a halt. News broadcasts were interrupted, traffic came to a standstill , and people left their homes and took to the streets as if pulled by some invisible force – or maybe just a desperate need for support and togetherness. They grabbed sheets of cardboard to craft signs of love, or placed balloons and flowers at locations he had visited. Many lit candles in front of framed photos in their living rooms, and celebrities, world leaders, and ordinary people alike poured their hearts out. Shock. Disbelief. Pain. Michael Jackson? Dead. Gone. Forever.
 
In all countries on all continents, people mourned his passing. No matter race, creed, social status, ethnicity, or origin, people were joined in the process of missing him. This is the impact Michael Jackson had on the world. In a sad twist of fate, his death ended up being the one thing that, at least temporary, ended up unifying people the way he had always worked so hard for in life. For a few short, sweet, glorious hours…the world was as one.
As I search the Internet for a confirmation of your death, so far only local Santa Barbara site Noozhawk has picked the story up. Someone edited Wikipedia; presumably the same people who wrote the short text briefly describing your life and death. Your affiliation to Michael was the only thing they mentioned. Through the eyes of the world, that is what you’re known for – and not even the tabloids; the vultures that were so quick to swipe down on Michael’s misfortune all his life, and before his body was even cold in death, have picked up on the fact that you’re dead yet. The world hasn’t come to a halt. No news casts have been interrupted, traffic hasn’t stopped dead on Times Square. You were here, and now you’re not. That’s it. It’s not making a difference, to anyone. And it should make me happy, should make me gloat and sneer and say look; see how no one gives a damn?
But it just makes me sad. It makes me sad that you spent 72 years on this planet – much more than millions of people get – and you are remembered for nothing but hatred and pain. What a complete waste of time, and what a waste of a life.
The short article in Noozhawk said you died surrounded by your family. I’m glad you got to have that. No one deserves to die alone. It is my hope that you were a better father, brother, son, husband, and friend than you were a District Attorney and a human being, so that the people who were around you in life aren’t going to continue your tirade of hate in death. I hope they loved you. If they did, that means they’re hurting right now. My heart goes out to them. And in the end? I want to thank you. I want to thank you because through your actions, your callousness, and your hate, you have shown me exactly who I do not want to be. You have fueled my need to help the hurting and support the broken, to feel a renewed sense of urgency about the way the world is going. We are running out of time, and we must act now, because none of us never know how log we have. You were lucky; you had seven decades. But I may not.
So, I will turn every day into an active choice: I choose kindness, forgiveness, serenity, and compassion. I choose to lift people up instead if tearing them down, I choose selflessness, and most of all: I choose love, every single time. Michael taught me that.
May you rest in peace, Mr. Sneddon. I hope at last you’re free.
http://allforlove1970.wordpress.com/2014/1...sandra-sasvari/
Edited by ArcoIris - 15/4/2018, 00:41
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