A Common Enemy
A reflection on how pain can contribute to healing.
by Michael “Maj” Allen
Read by Michael “Verbs” Boyer
The summer of 2026 feels like Michael Jackson season in the music world. At the time of this writing, the Michael biopic is only weeks from release, yet anticipation around the film has already reached a fever pitch. I recently experienced the movie in full IMAX mode, and regardless of the mixed commentary surrounding the project, my personal reaction was simple:
It felt monumental.
But beyond the music, choreography, and spectacle, one particular scene pulled me into a deeper reflection.
It was the office scene with Walter Yetnikoff.
For those unfamiliar, Walter Yetnikoff was the President and CEO of CBS Records during Michael Jackson’s rise into global superstardom. He became one of Michael’s strongest corporate allies during a time when MTV was notoriously resistant to playing Black artists in heavy rotation. The now-famous story is that Yetnikoff aggressively pressured MTV into airing the “Billie Jean” video, reportedly threatening to pull CBS artists from the network if they refused.
As the scene unfolded, my initial thought was:
Why?
Why would a powerful executive risk professional tension, reputation, and leverage for one artist whose music did not neatly fit MTV’s format — a format that, at the time, leaned heavily toward predominantly white rock content? What pushed Walter beyond mere business calculation?
Of course, part of the answer was practical. CBS Records had tremendous influence. Walter had leverage because MTV depended heavily on CBS artists and content.
But still…
Why Michael?
That question sent me down a Walter Yetnikoff rabbit hole that eventually led me to his memoir, Howling at the Moon: The Odyssey of a Monstrous Music Mogul — a wild, raw, often profane, but deeply revealing book.
And somewhere inside those pages, the deeper answer began to emerge.
Walter spoke openly about the abuse he endured from his father. Then came the realization that Michael Jackson had endured verbal and physical abuse from his own father as well.
Suddenly, things started making sense.
Underneath the contracts, fame, race, power, and industry politics was something far more human:
They recognized pain in each other.
Walter, a Jewish man navigating predominantly white corporate spaces. Michael, a Black artist trying to break barriers in an industry and media culture that often resisted his presence.
Two men from completely different worlds.
Different generations. Different upbringings. Different temperaments.
Yet somewhere along the journey, a young Michael Jackson and an older Walter Yetnikoff likely shared some form of a vulnerable moment — whether spoken directly or simply understood without words.
And in that moment, they may have recognized a common enemy: Abuse.
Not merely difficult parenting. Not merely strict households. But the lingering psychological violence that can shape identity, insecurity, ambition, perfectionism, fear, and the desperate need to prove oneself worthy.
Sometimes the deepest human bonds are not formed around similarities in personality. Sometimes they are formed around surviving the same kind of pain.
That realization led me to think about a fascinating medical concept known as hyperimmunization — the process of using venom to help create antivenom.
The very poison becomes part of the cure. That concept has always fascinated me.
Something harmful enters the body. Yet somehow, through a careful process, that same harmful substance contributes to healing. Strange. Almost paradoxical. And honestly, deeply human.
Because perhaps that is what sometimes happens in authentic relationships.
Two wounded people recognize something familiar in each other. Not to glorify the wound. Not to romanticize trauma. But to acknowledge that survival itself can create compassion.
Pain, when left unresolved, can spread destruction. But pain, when processed honestly, can also create empathy. It can soften judgment. It can create advocacy. It can move someone to protect another person in ways that transcend personal gain.
Maybe Walter didn’t just see Michael as a profitable artist. Maybe somewhere beneath the boardrooms and negotiations, he saw a younger version of himself — another human being trying to outrun humiliation, rejection, fear, and the shadow of an overpowering father.
And perhaps, Michael sensed the same safety in Walter.
If that is true, then their bond became bigger than music business history. It became evidence that vulnerability can create bridges where race, age, status, and background normally divide people.
Their connection ultimately contributed to cultural healing far beyond themselves. The push to air “Billie Jean” helped expand MTV’s audience, broaden representation in mainstream music television, and accelerate Thriller into global dominance. But maybe the deeper story is not simply about a music video.
Maybe it’s about what happens when people stop hiding long enough to recognize each other’s humanity.
Maybe that is the power of authentic relationship: forming quality bonds where we are safe enough to reveal our human nature, strong enough to tell our common enemies to beat it and free enough to discover that life can still be thrilling.
Because sometimes the venom becomes the antivenom. Sometimes the wound becomes the bridge. And sometimes healing begins the moment two people realize:
“We have been fighting common enemies all along.”