The Power of Presence: 'Freedom Writers' (2007)

 

#DebraAndValerieMovieRecommendation

Freedom Writers (2007) is more than a movie—it’s an emotional journey that invites you to sit with the pain, resilience, and transformation of young people who have been pushed to the margins. When I watched it, I wasn’t just absorbing a story; I was feeling it. I saw parts of myself, my community, and people I’ve loved in those characters. It reminded me of the deep, often invisible battles people fight every day and how a single act of belief can radically alter the course of a life.

At its core, Freedom Writers is about a teacher, Erin Gruwell—portrayed brilliantly by Hilary Swank—who walks into a racially divided, broken classroom and refuses to give up on her students. But what struck me wasn’t just her passion for teaching. It was her unwavering presence. Erin showed up day after day, not just to instruct, but to see her students, to hear them, and to fight for them when no one else would. That resonated with me deeply because I’ve come to understand, both personally and through others, that presence can be more powerful than any grand gesture. Just knowing someone is in your corner, that they won’t walk away when things get ugly—that can be everything.

There’s a quiet sort of heroism in what Erin does. She doesn’t walk into the classroom with the answers. In fact, she makes mistakes, faces resistance, and sacrifices a lot. But she keeps going. That persistence reminded me of people in my own life—mentors, friends, even strangers—who saw something in me when I didn’t see it in myself. They stayed. They listened. They reminded me that I mattered, not through words alone, but through consistent, compassionate action. Watching Erin do the same brought those memories flooding back.

What hit me the hardest were the students’ journal entries. Their stories weren’t dramatized for effect—they were raw, painful, and authentic. They spoke of violence, abuse, racism, and abandonment. And yet, through writing, they found something none of them expected: release. Identity. Healing. It was incredible to witness their transformation, to watch them go from guarded and angry to open and hopeful. Their journey reminded me of how important it is to have a space to speak your truth. So many people, especially those who grow up in difficult environments, are taught to stay silent. To be tough. But in those journals, these students finally let the truth out—and it changed everything.

There was one particular scene that stuck with me—when Erin introduces her students to The Diary of Anne Frank. Suddenly, these teenagers, who believed they were alone in their suffering, found a connection to someone from a completely different time and place. That moment spoke volumes about the universal power of storytelling. It breaks down barriers. It builds empathy. It teaches us that no matter how different we may seem, pain and hope are part of the human experience. As someone who writes and reflects often, I felt deeply affirmed by that message.

Still, I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t acknowledge the film’s flaws. While I admire the real-life Erin Gruwell and the tireless work she did, the film leans heavily on the “white savior” trope—where a white teacher steps in to rescue students of color. Though it’s based on true events, this narrative structure can feel imbalanced, especially when the students' agency is underplayed. These young people weren’t just rescued—they were resilient, intelligent, and capable of change long before Erin arrived. I found myself wanting to see more of them, their inner lives and choices, outside the classroom. The film would’ve been stronger if it had centered their growth a little more equally alongside Erin’s journey.

Despite this, Freedom Writers left a lasting impression on me. It challenged me to think about how I show up for others, especially those who feel unseen. It made me reflect on whether I’ve given people the space to tell their stories—or whether I’ve ever inadvertently dismissed them. It made me want to do better, to listen more, and to recognize the quiet power that empathy holds.

Perhaps what I love most about this film is its unshakable belief in change. Not dramatic, overnight change—but slow, persistent, sometimes painful transformation that comes from being seen, heard, and supported. The students didn’t become perfect. Their lives weren’t magically fixed. But they began to believe in themselves. And that belief created ripples that no test score ever could.

In the end, Freedom Writers reminded me that we don’t need to be perfect to make a difference. We just need to care enough to try. We need to stay when it’s easier to walk away. We need to hand someone a pen and say, “Your story matters.” That lesson will stay with me long after the credits have rolled.