In the Deep South of the 1950s, a color line was etched in blood across Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. Journalist John Howard Griffin decided to cross that line. Using medication that darkened his skin to deep brown, he exchanged his privileged life as a Southern white man for the disenfranchised world of an unemployed black man. What happened to John Howard Griffin--from the outside and within himself--as he made his way through the segregated Deep South is recorded in this searing work of nonfiction.
He did not look in the mirror until the process was complete, and
when he did, he saw "the face and shoulders of a stranger -- a fierce,
bald, very dark Negro." He was stunned:
"The transformation was total and shocking. I had expected to see
myself disguised, but this was something else. I was imprisoned in the
flesh of an utter stranger, an unsympathetic one with whom I felt no
kinship. . . . I looked into the mirror and saw reflected nothing of
the white John Griffin's past. No, the reflections led back to Africa,
back to the shanty and the ghetto, back to the fruitless struggles
against the mark of blackness. . . . I had tampered with the mystery of
existence and I had lost the sense of my own being. This is what
devastated me. The Griffin that was had become invisible."
As Jonathan Yardley of The Washington Post wrote:
"What remains most important about 'Black Like Me' is the force of the
shock Griffin felt when he learned, in the most intimate ways, what it
was -- and for many still is -- like to be black in America. In 1959
virtually none of the rights and opportunities that whites took for
granted were extended to blacks, so Griffin immediately discovered that
"an important part of my daily life was spent searching for the basic
things that all whites take for granted: a place to eat, or somewhere
to find a drink of water, a rest room, somewhere to wash my hands. More
than once I walked into drugstores where a Negro can buy cigarettes or
anything else except soda fountain service." Invariably he was directed
to 'the nearest Negro café [which] is always far away, it seems.'"