Freedom Writers

I don’t often review movies, but Freedom Writers is one I want to remember. It’s a retelling of the familiar tale: a teacher takes on a group of unteachables, inspires them to believe in themselves, and sets them on a new path in life. In this case, the teacher is Erin Gruwell, and she takes her freshman English class of unwillingly integrated students in Long Beach, California down an unconventional road: trips, real books rather than the ones prescribed, serious community-building within the class, and journalling. They call themselves the Freedom Writers in a hat tip to the Freedom Riders of an earlier decade, and their stories are preserved in this book. It, as well as this one, are going on my must-read list as a woman, a mother and a teacher.

I particularly liked this movie’s presentation of two feminine “types.” It reminded me of the choice set forth in A Room With a View, where the heroine must strike through the boundaries set by convention, scrambling out of the mold into an authentically human life. In this story I admire both students, for breaking out of racial hatred, and teacher, for moving beyond play-acting and into love. All parties grow up, in other words. That doesn’t always happen in real life.

Erin Gruwell’s character is contrasted by another teacher, a woman who’s been in the profession a long time, and who makes convincing arguments about surviving in an educational setting circumscribed by racial tensions, political agendas, and funding limitations. She’s tight-lipped, squinty-eyed, sure this young upstart has no clue. It’s not long before it’s apparent that she’s eaten alive by jealousy of Gruwell’s success.

I found the juxtaposition a fruitful one, and could feel sympathy for this older woman because I understand how easy it is to operate according to a philosophical framework, or a pedagogical theory, or a set of ideals listed on the page, rather than from the heart. It’s possible to believe that having the right set of goals will get you from point A to point B, but there’s really no substitute for self-giving. Gruwell had to start from scratch with this class, understanding that the right approach would involve throwing out the conventional wisdom, hearing this unique group of students, and allowing the relationship between teacher and students to grow organically from that particular situation. Pedagogy grew out of relationship. Perhaps at one time the older teacher knew this too, but had forgotten. She was a poignantly drawn character, and though of course I rallied behind Gruwell in her stance against the establishment, I found myself unexpectedly wishing for a better outcome for this other teacher too.

Pedagogy grows out of relationship. Instruction isn’t limited to the classroom. As a homeschooler, of course this is what I believe. But is it really what I practice? Or do I doubt my own creativity enough to rely more on book-wisdom about children than my knowledge of my own? Do I offer them information and skills, or myself? Do I allow lurking uncertainty over whether I’m the real thing or a mere poser to pave over genuine relationship, substituting a good syllabus for a willingness to dive headlong into the process? These are all worthwhile questions that the movie raises, and I appreciate the challenge.

I think everyone wonders at times whether we mean what we say, or whether we’re play-acting. I know that at some points in my life, I’ve meant what I said. As a teacher, I remember a student’s father attending my class and praising my relationship with the students, the quality of the instruction, the atmosphere of the class. I remember (because I’ve kept them) student evaluations that showed me that I was hitting the bull’s-eye, end-of-semester gifts from students, observation reports that confirmed good things about my teaching. But I also remember the semesters when I operated as if I had arrived at the right formula, and just had to keep everything in accordance with that same list of ingredients. That’s deadly in any human enterprise. I liked this movie because it returned me to that place in myself that knows this well.