Black Like Me, by John Howard Griffin
Our priest, who is a highly well-read 90-year-old, mentioned Black Like Me in his (Zoom) homily earlier this year. It prompted me to pick up this book again.
I originally read it in high school, and I've never forgotten this book. It was one of a few books, including The Autobiography of Malcolm X, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Bluest Eye, and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, that I read in high school and that formed my thoughts about racism.
John Howard Griffin was a white man who wanted to witness racism in the only way he could experience it: as a Black man. He used medication to darken his skin and traveled through the south as an undercover observer. When news of his investigation leaked out, he and his family were targets of what he called a "dirty bath" of hatred. He ended up moving his family to Mexico to escape the threats, and his parents went into exile too.
Black Like Me is definitely dated now. A white man donning what we now know as "blackface" would be frowned on. Black people do not need white saviors. But in the late 1950s, this book was revolutionary. And it opened the minds of many middle-class whites, who had no idea of how horrible and pervasive racism was, especially in the American South.
