“Uh, oh.”
With the exception of the sung lyrics to a gospel song which plays over the opening titles, this is the first line of spoken dialogue in the film. And it does not come until a couple of minutes in. Up to that point, the story has been told entirely through visual means with appropriately ominous music accompaniment on the soundtrack. Although listed only as “Driver” in the credits, the young white man who alerts his two passengers to the sudden arrival of a pack of cars speeding up behind their trail is based on either Michael Schwerner or Andrew Goodman, two white civil rights activists working with their African-American compadre James Chaney to work for voting rights for blacks in Mississippi. This simple recognition that trouble follows does not even need to be fully expressed in words to ring powerfully true even though there is, of course, no actually way of knowing what was said in the car that night in real life.
“…it's the only time when a black man can wave a stick at a white man and not start a riot.”
Agent Anderson is the older half of the duo leading the FBI investigation into the mysterious disappearances of the three civil rights workers. It is not just age that places him in stark contrast with Agent Ward. Ward is a cool-headed, by-the-books example of the new breed of federal agent that respects the rule of law even as they are attempting to enforce it against all odds. Anderson is more talkative, genial, ingratiating and—most importantly—Southern. His attempts to ingratiate himself with the narrow-minded hackdom ruling the county fails, however, even when he crosses a certain line and makes a statement to them like the above which is in reference to the game of baseball.
“What’s wrong with these people?”
An exasperated question not entirely rhetorical at all from the FBI agent who did not grow up in the South. The question is voiced—rhetorically—as Agent Ward holds the beaten body of a young black man in his arms. It is at this point that the true size of the chasm which separates the two FBI agents becomes clear. The divergence between them is not simply a matter of age or geography or culture. Agent Ward is a true outsider who is only now at this late point in his youth getting his first up close glimpse of the profoundly systemic racism operating in a Dixie that may have accepted slavery is over for good, but is still clinging to its Jim Crow aftermath like a rabid dog protecting a worthless hunk of rancid hamburger.
“I'm gonna sentence you each to five years' imprisonment. But I'm gonna suspend these sentences.”
The film concludes with title text revealing the sentences each of the (fictional representatives of actual historical figures) people involved in the murder conspiracy received. The courtroom of that trial is never shown, but at about the midway point there is a trial scene divulging that the local government system works to hold all who transgress justice accountable...in its own way. Some of the Klansmen involved in the abduction and beating of a black man have been tried and found guilty. After delivering a speech that fully admits to the illegality and wrongdoing, the Judge then asserts—without condoning them--the actions of the convicted men were provoked by the “outsiders” stoking emotion and tension in the region. He the renders his verdict—or, to be more precise, his non-verdict. This marks the point at which Agent Ward is set on his path to change tactics to terrorist methods because, after all, when the system is this corrupt and perverse and unalterable how can the system be expected to work in a way that fixes things?
