"black like me"
"Black Like Me" is one of the most revealing books that i have read. it not only reveals the racism that existed in america, it also makes you peep inside and look at the subtle prejudices that we form in our everyday life.
the author of the book John Griffin darkened his skin (through medical means) and lived in the world of the black man to experience their reality … this book is his journal of living as a “negro” and as he says “I offer it in all it’s crudity and rawness”. his sorrow, despair and shame when he realizes how deep the prejudices are and how there are so many people who are in complete denial of the issue is very heart rendering.
his analysis and conclusion about the issue are also very informative. one of the main reasons he cites for white supremacy is lack of communication amongst the races . as per his findings, the white man never communicated honestly with a “Negro”. as he says in his book - "always, in every encounter even with good whites, we had the feeling that the white person was not talking with us but the image of us".
even though this book is about racism in america, i think the book is relevant in all times and places. the prejudices, lack of communication and dishonesty within ourselves are prevalent everywhere and that’s what this book knocks at....
one of the passage from the book that really touched me...
“The music consumed in its blatant rhythm all other rhythms, even that of the heartbeat. I wondered how all of this would look to a casual observer, or to the whites in their homes. “The niggers are whooping it up over on Mobile Street tonight”, they might say “they are happy” or as one scholar put it, “despite their lowly status, they are capable of living jubilantly.” Would they see the immense melancholy that hung over the quarter, so oppressive that men had to dull their sensibilities in noise or wine or sex or gluttony in order to escape it? The laughter had to be gross or it would turn to sobs, and to sob would be to realize, and to realize would be to despair. So the noise poured forth like a jazzed-up fugue, louder and louder to cover the whisper in every man’s soul “you are black. You are condemned”. This is what the white man mistook for “jubilant living” and called “whooping it up”. This is how the white man can say “they live like dogs” , never realizing why they must, to save themselves, shout , get drunk, shake the hit, pour pleasures into bellies deprived of happiness. Otherwise, the sound from the quarter would lose order and rhythm and become wails."
the author of the book John Griffin darkened his skin (through medical means) and lived in the world of the black man to experience their reality … this book is his journal of living as a “negro” and as he says “I offer it in all it’s crudity and rawness”. his sorrow, despair and shame when he realizes how deep the prejudices are and how there are so many people who are in complete denial of the issue is very heart rendering.
his analysis and conclusion about the issue are also very informative. one of the main reasons he cites for white supremacy is lack of communication amongst the races . as per his findings, the white man never communicated honestly with a “Negro”. as he says in his book - "always, in every encounter even with good whites, we had the feeling that the white person was not talking with us but the image of us".
even though this book is about racism in america, i think the book is relevant in all times and places. the prejudices, lack of communication and dishonesty within ourselves are prevalent everywhere and that’s what this book knocks at....
one of the passage from the book that really touched me...
“The music consumed in its blatant rhythm all other rhythms, even that of the heartbeat. I wondered how all of this would look to a casual observer, or to the whites in their homes. “The niggers are whooping it up over on Mobile Street tonight”, they might say “they are happy” or as one scholar put it, “despite their lowly status, they are capable of living jubilantly.” Would they see the immense melancholy that hung over the quarter, so oppressive that men had to dull their sensibilities in noise or wine or sex or gluttony in order to escape it? The laughter had to be gross or it would turn to sobs, and to sob would be to realize, and to realize would be to despair. So the noise poured forth like a jazzed-up fugue, louder and louder to cover the whisper in every man’s soul “you are black. You are condemned”. This is what the white man mistook for “jubilant living” and called “whooping it up”. This is how the white man can say “they live like dogs” , never realizing why they must, to save themselves, shout , get drunk, shake the hit, pour pleasures into bellies deprived of happiness. Otherwise, the sound from the quarter would lose order and rhythm and become wails."
posted by Gagan (Liza) Chawla at 9:55 AM
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