Aunt Sarah and the Last Free Words: Free Space and Enclosure in Singleton’s Rosewood

By Edward N. Tabor

[1] John Singleton’s 1997 Rosewood, with script by Gregory Poirier, is a fusion of historical fact and creative fiction. Needless to say, Hollywood films depicting the past are not documentary, but they do attempt to tell a human or personal story about the past. Such is the case with Rosewood, which depicts an African American community in Florida in 1923. Singleton’s depiction of the town is one that presents it as a free space. In other words, one that allows its black citizens to cast off any concern of control by a dominant white authority. Such free spaces existed in the early 20th century, and they represented a rare sanctuary for African Americans. Vorris L. Nunley characterizes such places as “‘hush harbors,’ those ‘safe spaces’ for discursive productions that African Americans have constructed and maintained free from the critical gaze and influence of whites” (qtd in Holmes 298). Singleton’s film contrasts the sanctuary of Rosewood with the dominance of white authority. From the first few scenes of the film, Singleton makes it clear that local white citizens have a distaste coupled with jealousy for the citizens of Rosewood. It is Fanny Taylor’s false accusation of rape that tips the scale of racism and jealousy. Soon afterward, under siege by a white mob, the town of Rosewood quickly transforms from a free space into a place of enclosure and loss of freedom. In the scene “Aunt Sarah is shot” (Vol. 2 0:04:11), Singleton expertly crafts the moment in which free space gives way to white domination and enclosure.

[2] Using the Carrier home for the turning point in the film, Singleton is addressing the locale of a free space for African American characters. The interior of the Carrier home is one of bourgeois comfort and stability, yet it is also represents autonomous thought and voice. As a free space, the house is not only a scene of domestic tranquility but it is one that allows speech that would be otherwise forbidden. Early in the film at a dinner scene in the Carrier house (Vol. 1 0:16:26 "Sylvester Demands Respect"), Sylvester relates a story of how he argued with a white man and gained the upper hand. Such discussions may have been taboo in other locations, but the Carrier house is a safe zone of free thought and argument. “Arnett’s Birthday party is interrupted” (Vol. 2 0:01:31) represents the last moment of freedom and peace for the Carriers. As gifts are distributed, a dog barks warning of the impending doom. No visual changes occur at this point in the film; the house is still in a warm light of oil lamps, suggesting that the sanctuary may outlast the storm. To counteract this impression, the serene atmosphere within the home is starkly contrasted with cuts to the unruly mob outside. Singleton makes it clear, when the mob attacks the Carrier house, it is also attacking the idea of free spaces. The birthday party presents a prelude to this destruction by depicting the final minutes of tranquility.

[3] As the birthday party comes to an end, Singleton effectively employs numerous camera techniques to create the change of emotional climate. Most of the camera work within house is eye level, close-up, and medium shots leading viewers to identify with the Carriers’ expressions of fear. In fact, we see the faces of Sylvester, Scrappie, Gertrude, and Aunt Sarah as if we were in the same house. Appropriately, all of these characters communicate in silence. Singleton simply wants the audience to experience the loss the Carriers are about to undergo. As Sylvester, Gertrude, and Scrappie move toward the window to see the reason for the barking dog, the background of the children’s party becomes blurred. The use of a long lens to obscure the background appears a deliberate effect. The children’s party and the safe haven of the Carrier home is now a thing of the past and it begins to fade in the wake of the threatening mob.

[4] Paradoxically, Singleton uses the door of the Carrier house as a symbol of enclosure and entrapment. As Aunt Sarah first opens the door to confront the mob, she is framed by the doorway. We see the crowd over her shoulder, and these men occupy the only space in her restricted view. Their presence in Rosewood represents a breakdown of the invisible safety barrier that surrounds the town. Singleton employs the closed frame of the doorway to suggest a feeling of no escape. The center of the frame is dominated by three waving torches suggesting the conflagration that will later destroy the town. Yet Rosewood is also in that frame, the white houses stand behind the mob in relative tranquility. One can assume that other black families lie crouched under tables as the mob threatens the Carrier house. The closeness of this frame and the dominance of the mob within it suggest that little hope exists for Aunt Sarah and the town.

[5] If Rosewood is silenced by the mob, Aunt Sarah seems to believe that she must speak. Certainly, this is an ironic moment that counteracts Aunt Sarah’s earlier fear of speaking out against Fanny Taylor. Initially, it appears that Aunt Sarah’s intimate and comforting tone may quell the anger of the crowd. A close-up at this moment gives us a sense of an intimate relationship with her character. The direct sense of pathos and a passion for ethos is present in her tone as she states, “Boys, I know y’all. I was midwife to more than half of you.” In this scene, an oil lamp is suspended to her right, which not only symbolizes honesty and truth but also tends to illuminate her with a halo of light. The light that accompanies Aunt Sarah is steady and composed, in opposition to the uncontrolled light of the torches. Undoubtedly, Aunt Sarah’s character represents the final voice of truth in Rosewood. The audience doesn’t need these clues to her honesty as much as the mob does. Singleton depicts them as thoughtless and violent; the only light that surrounds them is the Dante-esque flickering of red and orange light from the torches. The mob also jeers and shouts at Aunt Sarah, leaving us to wonder if they could even hear what she said. What is most probable is that they refuse to hear the truth and prefer to shoot Sarah instead of listening to what would ultimately be a damning mark against a white woman. When Sarah finally speaks the truth, she may be relying on the relative safety of Rosewood and the probable support she will have from her fellow citizens. Yet when she speaks the phrase “And most of you mens know that that man was white!” it appears she has spoken some of the last free words in Rosewood.

[6] A closer look at Aunt Sarah’s confrontation with the crowd is necessary to further this point. As Aunt Sarah steps out onto the porch, she closes the door behind her, shutting out the possibility of help from her family, as well as protecting the children within. This action also signifies her resignation to fate. The first shot of Aunt Sarah outside is a long shot presenting her as if she were on a lighted stage. The Carrier house appears to be pushed up against the looming dark green forest. These elements further create a situation of enclosure and limitation. In contrast, to show the freedom of the mob, an automobile is parked in the foreground of the shot. The Carrier home has become a trap and a target, but it has also become a stage for a significant moment in history.

[7] The shot of Aunt Sarah then changes to a closer frame with only the porch surrounding her. The viewer is left to see the frame grow tighter as the possibility of escape diminishes. As she addresses the crowd, the shots become even closer, eventually leaving only the door of the house as a background. These shots grow more confined suggesting a sense of the crowd closing in on her. Her sealed fate is represented by the doorway which leads one to think of a coffin-like enclosure. Singleton also tends to show her heroic side by filming her final scenes in a low angle shot. This shot represents realism, in one aspect, as the mob is below her, presumably looking up at her, but it also tends to elevate her final moments -- in the eyes of the audience -- to a heroic saint-like character. Poetically speaking, she sees the tools of martyrdom before her and the coffin looms behind her, but she is remains unfettered in her speech when she condemns the crowd.

[8] For contemporary newspapers, the scene of the Carrier house attack was one the most dramatic of the Rosewood massacre. Black newspapers like The Chicago Defender and The Baltimore Herald declared the heroic nature of the Carriers (Jones). The Baltimore Afro-American paints the Carriers as the protectors of freedom: "The 'Uncle Toms,' the South loved are gone forever, and in their place have grown up heroes like Uncle Jim Carrier who died true to his friends and true to his home" (qtd in Jones). It is no surprise that Singleton included this event in his film. What is most interesting about Singleton’s interpretation is how it differs from the facts. In Maxine Jones’s documentation of the Rosewood Massacre, references to the deaths of Sylvester Carrier and Aunt Sarah are duly noted. However, there is no reference to an attempt by Aunt Sarah to quell the fury of the mob.

[9] Why Singleton and Poirier chose to present a character that, in reality, died without a voice is noteworthy in the film. Singleton may have desired more of a voice for the black members of the lost community. He described the culture of silence surrounding the history of the town: "There was a lot of silence from the black families, partly because they were afraid of repercussions, partly because there was a sense of shame about being victimized” (qtd in Carr 95). Earlier in the film, in “They Won’t Believe Me” (Vol. 1 1:06:14), it is revealed that Aunt Sarah is an ex-slave who witnessed her father’s punishment for a white child’s crime. This memory has shaped Aunt Sarah’s fear of white justice and logically leads her to silence. Yet Singleton won’t allow her to be silent in his film, and he pushes her into the midst of the action. Singleton also emphasizes the importance of location, showing empowerment in black community of Rosewood. While in Sumner Aunt Sarah kept a decorous silence concerning the affairs of Fanny Taylor, but in Rosewood she shouts the truth to the crowd. Thus, even if other residents of Rosewood linger behind bolted doors, there remains a special power of free voice within her own community.

[10] The action of Aunt Sarah embodies an instance of dramatic fiction that fits the moment but also shows a message. Not only were the white citizens of Sumner seeking a rapist, they were also seeking to prop up white superiority by taking away freedom from African Americans. Singleton presents Aunt Sarah as a martyr for the cause of free speech and free space. As discussed earlier, Rosewood represents a place of freedom for its black residents. Its heart, at least in Singleton’s lens, is the Carrier house. Sylvester is the outspoken and unofficial leader of the town, and his home represents power and freedom. However, it is Aunt Sarah who faces the crowd with her voice rather than a shot gun.