It happened on my usual treadmill run. My running buddy was to my left, and a stranger, who had become my impromptu competitor, was on my right. As our group of fifteen geared up for a two-minute push, the instructor’s energy amplified, and the Rihanna remix of “We Found Love” transitioned into “Smooth Criminal.”
The moment the familiar beat dropped, a wave of unease washed over me. I hoped the instructor would quickly realize her mistake and skip to the next song. Surely, she wouldn’t keep us running to a Michael Jackson track, right?
But she didn’t. Not only did the song continue, but she started dancing along, clearly enjoying it.
Perhaps she was unaware. Maybe she hadn’t seen Leaving Neverland. Maybe she’d never even heard of the documentary or the allegations surrounding Michael Jackson. Or, the unthinkable: perhaps she was aware, had seen it, and simply didn’t care. This internal conflict sparked a deeper reflection on dance, Michael Jackson dance, and the complicated legacy he left behind.
My earliest memory of Michael Jackson was his 1993 Super Bowl Halftime Show performance. I was only seven, yet I distinctly recall feeling uneasy about the performer with the single glove on screen. Even before the internet era, whispers and jokes circulated, labeling him a “pedophile” and “creep,” mocking his supposed attraction to young boys.
Despite these unsettling rumors, his music was inescapable. I remember performing a tap routine to “They Don’t Really Care About Us,” and countless individuals of my generation likely danced a lyrical piece to “Heal the World” at some point in their childhoods.
I recall a specific instance in third or fourth grade at Miss Pam’s dance studio. Our tap/ballet combo class was set to perform our recital to a Michael Jackson song. However, at the last minute, the music was changed. No explanation was given to us kids, but I overheard the mothers in the lobby murmuring about “the accusations.” That was back in 1993.
Michael Jackson performing his iconic dance moves, showcasing his influence on dance history.
Yet, the allure of his music persisted. “Man in the Mirror” became my anthem during dramatic high school days, and “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough” was my go-to track while driving to early morning dance competitions. I loved the music, even as the man behind it made me deeply uncomfortable.
But now, something has shifted. The ability to compartmentalize and enjoy the music feels increasingly impossible.
Recently, I dedicated five hours to watching Leaving Neverland and Oprah’s subsequent interview with Wade Robson, James Safechuck, and the film’s director, Dan Reed. For five hours, I was in tears.
Watching Wade Robson, a childhood dance idol, recount his past experiences of abuse and confusion was devastating. The tears were a mix of horror, shock, and profound sadness. At sixteen, my ambition was to work at Dance Spirit magazine, fueled by my admiration for Wade Robson. His March 2003 cover still hangs on my bedroom wall – and I’ve instructed my mom to never take it down.
Afterward, scrolling through Twitter, I anticipated finding a community sharing my horror and disgust. Instead, I encountered a barrage of defenders. People dismissed Wade and James as liars, accusing them of exploiting Michael Jackson’s death for profit. Some fans even declared they would listen to more MJ than ever before in defiance.
The debate around Leaving Neverland continues. However, for me, the accounts of Wade and James are credible and deeply disturbing. This conviction leads me to believe that Michael Jackson’s music is no longer appropriate in fitness or dance classes. Jackson’s brilliance as a performer and entertainer is undeniable. By those standards, he was exceptional, a world-class talent. His dance moves became iconic, influencing generations.
Throughout my career as a dance writer, I’ve interviewed countless dancers. While choreography, costumes, and stage makeup evolve, one constant has united generations of dancers: Michael Jackson.
I’ve spoken with pre-teen dancers whose earliest dance memories involve trying to master the iconic moonwalk, a move Jackson popularized during his 1983 “Billie Jean” performance. While not his invention, Jackson propelled the moonwalk into mainstream culture, making it his signature dance step.
For dancers in their thirties and forties now, Michael Jackson’s entire discography formed the soundtrack to recitals, competitions, and high school dances. His influence on dance is undeniable.
Beyond just the music, Michael Jackson was an exceptional dancer. The dance industry embraced him wholeheartedly. Within seconds, he could seamlessly transition from the moonwalk into a 360-degree spin, culminating in a toe stand that seemed to defy gravity. His style was a blend of robotic precision and fluid movement, meticulously rehearsed and endlessly imitated. Often accompanied by large ensembles, like in the groundbreaking “Thriller” video, Jackson’s influence as the “King of Pop” transcended the music industry and deeply impacted the world of dance.
However, acknowledging his artistic contributions doesn’t negate the deeply troubling accusations against him as a human being. The knowledge of Jackson’s inappropriate behavior has been present for decades. There is no justification for an adult man having private sleepovers with boys as young as seven.
This morning, a conversation with an online friend revealed a common sentiment. She admitted to being aware of the Leaving Neverland allegations but confessed, “I can’t quit my MJ.” When questioned how that was possible, she explained that she separates the man from the music. I strongly disagree. For me, the man is inextricably linked to the music. And in the context of dance, a world I deeply love and am a part of, continuing to celebrate his music feels increasingly wrong.
