‘But something touched me deep inside,
The day the music died.’-Don McLean
Michael Jackson died on the 25th of June, 2009.  I remember that day as being one of the saddest in my life, although it has taken me the full year since his death, the anniversary of which was two weeks ago, to fully come to grips with the why of my sadness. I think I’ve figured it out; but before we come to that, I think I should give a little background into my admiration for Jackson. I remember the first time I heard “Man in the Mirror” was while watching his 1988 Grammy awards performance. Few events have touched me so personally and profoundly as that did; so much so that I became one of the founding members of what I believe was the first (and probably only) Michael Jackson Fan Club in Guyana. For me, that was a testament to the sort of influence he had on us, that we didn’t just become a fan of his music – we were inspired by it to contribute in whatever small way we could to what that music was exhorting the world to do, that is, try to make a change.
At its peak, the Michael Jackson Fan Club had some 72 members, and its primary work wasn’t an idolization of Jackson as most fan clubs were. We organized and raised what we could to give to those in need, like the children of Joshua House, for example. For us, this was the best way to pay tribute to the man who did not need to donate so much of his wealth to charity, but did anyway. What was astounding was that most members of the club were in their mid-teens, yet the charitable work that was undertaken – including working with disadvantaged children and the elderly – was substantial over the four years of the club’s existence. 
Thinking back on it, I realise that what motivated us was the music that Jackson made, or rather the message in that music. That call to introspection, to change the way you looked at the world, to try to make a change, to heal the world and make it a better place and to be more tolerant of others were messages that were powerful that you were not getting from anywhere else, so the music moved us, as it has done millions and millions of persons the world over. Because of the global reach that Jackson had, the fact that his message transcended age, race and country, was something that was unprecedented and unique and we found something that we could emulate.  Moving on from that club was not easy for me, and it was heartening last year, during an activity in commemoration of his life, to see some former members.
I admit that I might not be in tune with all of what goes on in pop music today, but I think I can safely say that the world today does not have a Michael Jackson. There is no single person – entertainer or otherwise – on earth that has galvanized humanity in the way he did, so consistently and over such a long time. 
There is probably Barack Obama as a recent benchmark of comparison, but I am unsure that Obama’s public image could survive the trials that Jackson had gone through in his life and still emerge relatively unscathed and shining. For me, one year on, the irony of Michael Jackson was that the man, whose work had inspired so much and contributed to so many lives, was forced to die an early death following the allegations of child abuse and the corresponding media circus which followed them. 
It was sad to see all the charitable work that he had done personally, not to mention those inspired by his music, be swept aside by the ‘Whacko Jacko’ frenzy. While rightfully there were investigations into claims of his abusing children – of which he was acquitted – the fact that long before those accusations came up, Jackson, for example, had donated part proceeds of his ‘Bad’ tour to a leading charity for abused children.  Then there are the literally dozens of charitable projects, including his Heal the World Foundation, that he contributed to, most times without any fanfare or media exposure.
What I came up with in analyzing my feelings about the death of Jackson was that I was saddened not so much for the physical death of the man – as I said earlier, I believe he was simply surviving for the several years prior to his actual passing.  I think I was sad because the day Michael Jackson died was the day the music died, the music that did so much and for so many people.
For those of us who loved Michael Jackson, the Michael Jackson that was his music, I suppose that we can take comfort in the fact that the day the music died was, paradoxically, that day that music became immortal.  The year before he died, you’d have to had known Michael Jackson at his peak in the eighties to really understand what a superior person he was, so far above the butt of media jokes and outright persecution he became in the 1990s and never fully recovered from before he left this world forever. Today, I hear young children singing Jackson tunes from over two decades ago, and I can’t help but take heart in that.