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He saw me as something akin to an animal in that he felt no need to maintain his sense of human dignity, though he certainly would have denied this.īy this point, I would imagine readers and participants in the Catholic Book Club will have become deeply uncomfortable with Griffin, his project and the way he writes about it. The significance lay in the fact that my blackness and his concepts of what my blackness implied allowed him to expose himself in this manner. This again would have no significance and would be unworthy of note except for one thing: I have talked with such men many times as a white and they never show the glow of prurience he revealed. Of the driver, Griffin writes: It became apparent he was one of those young men who possesses an impressive store of facts, but no truths. More important, it reveals more about Griffin himself than the seemingly intelligent driver who was stuck in a morass of racist sexual fantasy and stereotype. Griffin’s account of the exchange is exceedingly insightful.

One driver goaded Griffin continuously, even quoting Alfred Kinsey and asinine anthropological claims about black men and sex. The conversation had many registers, but it had the same content: sexual deviancy and fantasy.

On the road to Mobile, Griffin soon was aghast and then wearied by white male drivers who constantly peppered him with puerile questions about the sexual activity of Black men.