After Cora gets caught by the night riders in the North Carolina chapter, Martin and Ethel undergo humiliation in the town square. This scene—in which they are strung up to the hanging tree—provides the novel with high emotional stakes:
As they pulled away, she saw Martin and Ethel. They had been tied to the hanging tree. They sobbed and heaved at their bonds. Mayor ran in mad circles at their feet. A blond girl picked up a rock and threw it at Ethel, hitting her in the face. A segment of the town laughed at Ethel’s piteous shrieks. Two more children picked up rocks and threw them at the couple. Mayor yipped and jumped as more people bent to the ground. They raised their arms. The town moved in and then Cora couldn’t see them anymore.
Martin and Ethel’s execution is almost eerily reminiscent of a 17th-century witch-hunt: the town members laugh at Ethel’s shrieks, and children stone the couple as everyone gathers near. The entire account itself is written in succinct, simple sentences, as if unable to record any more of the violence. The dehumanizing viciousness of the proceedings provoke the reader to feel pain on their behalf. Cora’s hosts have risked everything to protect her, and they pay for it with their lives. Whitehead creates a scene of sheer inhumanity that startles and ultimately shocks his audience to sympathy.
Granted, Martin and Ethel are far from perfect. Ethel, as her chapter later reveals, is patronizing, proselytizing, and uncomfortably racist. Often, she tests the limits of empathy with her selfish motives for hiding Cora. But the sheer inhumanity of this scene reminds the reader that the North Carolina couple—however deeply flawed—does not deserve this measure of cruelty.