The Underground Railroad: 09 - Indiana Winter
Amazon Studios‘That’s the thing. We’re not the same. Folks look at you and would never believe you were ever in chains. But look at me? [They] Look at me and refuse to believe I could ever be free.’ This is how brother Mingo (Chukwudi Iwuji) describes a fundamental difference between him and John Valentine (Peter De Jersey), the owner of the idyllic Valentine farm in Indiana, an oasis of freedom for black Americans. Even though he had bought himself out of slavery through his own hard work, Mingo knows that the game is rigged against them. That parity with white men is not going to be achieved through peaceful coexistence on American land; even though there’s ‘more land than a man can dream of out there’ according to Valentine.
‘Yes, but for whom? […] Don’t tell me about no God damn dreams!’ Mingo retorts. And thus, little by little, one by one, layers of utopian perfection their creation was boasting are being peeled away. One. By. One. And all of a sudden, all those little nuances – glances and off-hand remarks given by the filmmakers – start to make sense because this story is ever so slowly reaching its conclusion and it’s not meant to have a happy ending. The idyllic serenity of this free community is painted with such hopeful sun-drenched colours for a reason. The viewer is allowed to partake in magnetizing rituals of communal normalcy, which every human being deserves to be a part of, because all this happiness is fleeting and short-lived. And it is about to be torn asunder by the grim reality of what’s to come.
After all, Ridgeway is making his way to retrieve Cora from there and – as it is slowly unveiled through a series of powerful and searing scenes – the freedom people of Valentine are enjoying is not their basic human right but a whim of powerful white men who have thus far allowed this to happen. This is where the entire series reaches its crescendo towards which it was building with subtle hints and carefully hidden thematic beats. In this utterly dark episode, everything comes to a head in a very literal parallel to The Holocaust, most of which have thus far remained under the surface of the main narrative. Cora’s unmatched tenacity finally faces off against Ridgeway’s American Imperative - ‘lift up, subjugate, exterminate’ - in a personal showdown while the community of Valentine learns just how tenuous their freedom really was.
Without a doubt, this ninth chapter of The Underground Railroad utilizes its entire momentum, carefully amassed over the course of the preceding story, to deliver a stunning blow to the unsuspecting viewer. The filmmakers reveal their hand and show they have never intended for Cora to find solace, let alone deliverance in Indiana. They once more imply that freedom comes in death, as they let their cameras record a gruesome genocide enacted upon the innocent people – men, women, children, old, frail, and infirm alike – as though to remind everyone that American freedom is not for all. Steadily and astutely, Jenkins brings the audience up close to the terror of persecution instilled in generations of African Americans and uses the language of visual comparison to horrors other cultures will find immediately identifiable – namely The Holocaust – to let this message reverberate on a purely visceral level. He is here to unsettle, not so much to inspire.
However, underneath this violent symphony coming to a cascading crescendo lies a thematic take-home message that has held true to this day. This odyssey through the Dante-esque hellscapes of pre-abolition America is supposed to leave a lasting definition of privilege as a feeling that fundamental equality is somehow threatening to people in power. ‘The whole farm full of men like [Valentine]? Well, that’s just too many’. These chilling words uttered by one of the white people overseeing an out-and-out massacre of this thus far peacefully independent community are seemingly meant to be read as a call to arms, a reminder (one of many) that the fate of African Americans has always been decided by others. And that now is the time to rise up against this generational oppression. Jenkins implores the recipients of this message to look up to Cora who went through literal hell and came back at the other end – yes, helped along by others – but ultimately propelled the handcar with the power of her own muscles into seemingly infinite darkness hoping there would be light somewhere at the end of the tunnel.
Chapter 2 - South Carolina (Review)
Chapter 3 - North Carolina (Review)
Chapter 4 - The Great Spirit (Review)
Chapter 5 - Tennessee: Exodus (Review)
Chapter 6 - Tennessee: Proverbs (Review)
