I saw what tabloid life did to Michael Jackson. Now it's happening to Britain
Britain has traded credibility for celebrity. As Michael Jackson's rabbi, I saw how dangerous the pull of fame could be
'Michael Jackson was doomed to a life of empty celebrity incarceration when, in truth, he so badly wished to dedicate his renown to a cause larger than himself.' Photograph: Dan Chung for the Guardian
Ten years ago I tried to extract Michael Jackson from the hell of a tabloid life. Nothing hurt him more than being referred to as Wacko Jacko, something he told me originated in the British tabloids. And it is worth mentioning, now that we have commemorated the second anniversary of his death, that the mountain of pills he regularly swallowed and which eventually killed him was an effort, more than anything else, to muzzle the pain of being treated as a joke.
Michael believed he had a serious message to share, that children were special and innocent and the world had a responsibility to prioritise them and preserve their goodness. But he also understood that with the two boys alleging that he had acted indecently, though he was never convicted, his credibility had been irreversibly shattered. He was therefore doomed to a life of empty celebrity incarceration when, in truth, he so badly wished to dedicate his renown to a cause larger than himself. This lesson – that fame is nice, but credibility is everything – has strong resonance for modern Britain, a country I arrived in at the age of 22, where I spent 11 years of my life, and where six of my nine children were born.
While living in Britain and serving as rabbi to the students of Oxford University, I slowly noticed a change taking place. I still remember the day in 1994 the Oxford Union – once the most celebrated debating society on Earth – invited Kermit the Frog to be one of its speakers. This was before Britain became synonymous with the origin of reality TV. It was before stories about John Terry, Wayne Rooney, Ashley Cole, and Ryan Giggs trumped the reporting on Britain's laudable efforts in Libya. When I lived in the UK, serious newspapers were not yet published as tabloids and a strict line separated thoughtful journalism from scandal saturation.
That seems to have changed. I used to sit in awe as I watched young Oxford students and British politicians at the union eviscerate each other with a command of language that had little parallel in anything I had witnessed in the United States. It inspired me to speak and write better. But I was, sadly, not all that surprised when I asked a recent Oxford graduate who was the most memorable speaker he has heard at Oxford over the last few years and he responded: "Martin Sheen."
Yes, we Americans have trash TV and our own celebrity scandals. We have politicians who self-destruct and supermarket tabloids that assure us Elvis is still alive and married to Princess Diana. But that world still seems cordoned off – for the most part – from the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, Harvard and Yale. The UK, however, has allowed some of its leading institutions to go tabloid and obsess over sensationalism.
Britain was once the most serious, highly educated and influential nation. It gave the world Magna Carta and parliamentary democracy, William Shakespeare and Sir Isaac Newton. It freed its slaves decades before America and led the charge in saving the world from Hitler. Now it has traded in seriousness and credibility for out-of-control celebrity. Having at times in my life made the mistake of prizing recognition over gravitas, I'm not here to judge. Lord knows, I served as Michael Jackson's rabbi and revolved, at times, in celebrity society; I experienced how good it felt to feel famous. But seeing what the tabloid life did to Michael, I now run from it like the plague.
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