I read this book to learn more about Harlem Renaissance authors. I found the book tough going at times because 1) it hurt reading some of Johnson's passages. They are beautiful, elegant, masterful, and depict the Black experience of the time so well I felt what Johnson must have experience at the time. 2) I realized I have some prejudices/bigotries/ignorances/stupidities and must deal with them. I am a product of my times and environment and that's not an excuse, merely a point of understanding.
Consider this paragraph from The Autobiography of an Ex-Coloured Man:
And it is this, too, which makes the coloured people of this country, in reality, a mystery to the whites. It is a difficult thing for a white man to learn what a coloured man really thinks; because, generally, with the latter an additional and different light must be brought to bear on what he thinks; and his thoughts are often influenced by considerations so delicate and subtle that it would be impossible for him to confess or explain them to one of the opposite race. This gives to every coloured man, in proportion to his intellectuality, a sort of dual personality; there is one phase of him which is disclosed only in the freemasonry of his own race. I have often watched with interest and sometimes with amazement even ignorant coloured men under cover of broad grins and minstrel antics maintain this dualism in the presence of white men.
I genuinely wept reading that because I've witnessed it in action, wondered about it, and never felt free enough to ask my African-american friends about it.
Also this:
But the real enthusiasm was aroused by "Shiny". He was the principal speaker of the day, and well did he measure up to the honour. He made a striking picture, that thin little black boy standing on the platform, dressed in clothes that did not fit him any too well, his eyes burning with excitement, his shrill, musical voice vibrating in tones of appealing defiance, and his black face alight with such great intelligence and earnestness as to be positively handsome. What were his thoughts when he stepped forward and looked into that crowd of faces, all white with the exception of a score or so that were lost to view? I do not know, but I fancy he felt his loneliness. I think there must have rushed over him a feeling akin to that of a gladiator tossed into the arena and bade to fight for his life. I think that solitary little black figure standing there felt that for the particular time and place he bore the weight and responsibility of his race; that for him to fail meant general defeat; but he won, and nobly. His oration was Wendell Phillips's "Toussaint L'Ouverture," a speech which may now be classed as rhetorical - ”even, perhaps, bombastic; but as the words fell from "Shiny's" lips their effect was magical. How so young an orator could stir so great enthusiasm was to be wondered at. When, in the famous peroration, his voice, trembling with suppressed emotion, rose higher and higher and then rested on the name "Toussaint L'Ouverture," it was like touching an electric button which loosed the pent-up feelings of his listeners. They actually rose to him.
Again, I wept realizing the truth of it.
Sometimes it is painful to be enlightened and I know I have a long way to go.
And this book is replete with such gems.
Highly educational, this book is going back on my shelf to be read again.