When news of Michael Jackson’s death was broadcast, I could not believe what I heard. I know that name, Michael Jackson. He is the black guy whose records my brother had brought home when we are teenagers. At that time, our parents were confused and concerned over this newfound obsession with western music, song and dance. We were teenagers, my siblings and I; we understood the message in the music like Bad, Thriller and Heal The World. What I thought we were most connected to was neither his dancing nor singing; it was his music videos and concert performances.