Atrisco out to prove cynics wrong

ALBUQUERQUE — Writing assignments are to most ninth-graders what root canals are to you and me. Necessary evils.

Let the root canals begin, I thought when I asked my ninth-grade media literacy students to write in their journals every day. The first entry was a writing prompt –- I gave them the topic sentence, and they filled in the rest. The assignment is part of the Freedom Writers Foundation curriculum. The site was started after the release of the film “Freedom Writers,” adapted from the true story about English teacher Erin Gruwell, a first-year teacher in a racially divided school in Long Beach, Calif., in 1994.

Here’s how the Web site described the students in Gruwell’s class and why this story is so inspirational to others:

As teenagers living in a racially divided urban community, these students were already hardened by first-hand exposure to gang violence, juvenile detention, and drugs.

Enter Erin Gruwell. By fostering an educational philosophy that valued and promoted diversity, she transformed her students’ lives. She encouraged them to rethink rigid beliefs about themselves and others, to reconsider daily decisions, and to rechart their futures. With Erin’s steadfast support, her students shattered stereotypes to become critical thinkers, aspiring college students, and citizens for change. They even dubbed themselves the “Freedom Writers” — in homage to civil rights activists “The Freedom Riders” — and published a book.

Like the students in Gruwell’s Wilson High School class, many of the students at Atrisco Heritage Academy in Albuquerque’s South Valley come from broken homes, they are minorities and they arrived at our school with a lot of labels placed on them. “They’re from a failing middle school,” or “most of them won’t go to college.” There are still many people out there who say that for the most part the kids from this neighborhood are too brown, too poor or don’t speak English well enough to succeed academically.

A journalist I know once told me that Atrisco should have never placed the word “Academy” in its title because it sets too high a standard — one that these students will be unable to achieve or maintain. Journalists, I’ve come to realize, are some of the most pessimistic, jaded and cynical people in the world. To him, the "Academy" title was fine for a private school like the elite Albuquerque Academy, but not for our kids from the South Valley.

I’ve only been on the job a few weeks, but I choose to believe that Atrisco Heritage Academy — yes, the Academy — is doing the right thing in raising the bar for its students. Instead of taking the cynical approach, I’m banking on our school, its teachers and students’ making a difference to wipe out labels and to prove everyone wrong.

Perhaps that sounds idealistic and simplistic. Those are labels many of my colleagues and I don’t mind being placed on us. We have to prove them false. It’s our jobs.

So, back at the writing assignment and my attempts to prove that these students are capable of so much more than everyone expects. The prompt was a "change poem." Students were to tell me something about who they were and what they would change about themselves. Also, what they dream about for their futures. I anticipated a lot of push-back from my students about this assignment, and I got some of that.

But I also got some of this:

"I was a scared shy daughter. I remember my dad yelling, calling me names and hitting me for no reason. I heard beer cans opening and lighters flicking. … I worried that my family and I were in danger. I’m only one person and I think the world is cruel sometimes. I will prove my dad wrong. I choose to be who I am, I dream that everything’s OK. …”

"I was a very deprest (sic) and angry child. … I watched my dad lay in the hospital bed. I heard people being taken away on stretchers. I saw fear in my brother’s eyes. I worried that I was going to lose my dad the way I lost my mom. … I dream to have an alcohol-free family."

"I was a hyper person. … I heard my mom doing heroin, I saw my mom leaving, I worried about my mom being in prison. I thought my life was going down the drain. … Now I can change. I will be the person to create the best video game ever. I dream that there are many people living under one sky in one world. I hope my family will be together again soon. … I know that I will have a better life than my parents."

We played a game last week to help the kids get to know each other better. They are going to be working closely with each other and I need them to come together as a newspaper and yearbook staff. The game, from the Freedom Writers, involves my asking a series of questions. When the kids answer yes to the questions, they step up to a line on the floor. The game is featured in the movie “Freedom Writers,” and it went over really well in the movie and in my classroom.

Basically, I ask them some silly questions to start.
“How many of you know who Lil’ Wayne is?” They all jumped to the line, laughing and high-fiving.

After a few more icebreakers, I start asking more important questions. I told them if they felt uncomfortable answering any of the questions, they did not have to react at all.

“How many of you have a friend or family member who has had a DWI?”

In one class every student stepped forward. In the other classes only one or two students stayed off the line.

“How many of you have a friend or family member who died because of a violent act?”

More than half of the students stepped up.

“How many of you trust the police?”

Fewer than 10 kids in each class stepped forward.

“How many of you have an adult in your life you trust enough to tell them anything that is bothering you?”

One, maybe two kids moved forward.

“How many of you are grieving the loss of someone special to you?”

As they looked at each other, more than half of the kids moved forward.

I had asked them not to say anything, to just observe, and that’s exactly what they did.

After the game, I asked them to take out pen and paper and to begin another journal entry. “Tell me what you learned about yourself and your classmates after playing this game.”

This time, a lot less push-back and a lot of this:

"Even if there was just one person on the line with me, it made me feel good to know I wasn’t the only one. This game gave us the freedom of being yourself without being judged. I learned there were a lot of people going through what I was going through in my personal life, and that was cool.”

“The questions that really hit me were the ones about the gangs, dying and car crashes. I was in a car crash. I survived, but my cousin didn’t. About the gangs, I had my best friend die by a drive-by and I was with my uncle when he was killed by a drive-by too.”

"I’m not alone with my troubles and maybe I can trust some of the people I didn’t know in my class, but I know them now."

These students gave me permission to reprint their writing here, anonymously. Some of them wanted me to read their work out loud to the class. That powerful exercise has made the writing less of a chore. Sometimes I even think they like it.

And it’s helped me to understand them too, in ways I wouldn’t have had the chance to. I know now that when that homework assignment doesn’t show up on Monday morning, some -– I’m not saying all of them –- will have an excuse that is far more serious than "the dog ate it.” For some of these kids, surviving is a priority, not the finishing their algebra homework. The world has gotten a lot harder for children — I know that now.

Our jobs will be to show them that if they can do both –- survive and learn algebra and writing skills – their lives can be measurably better in the future. Week four has begun, and my journey continues with some very special students who all deserve the best education possible, even if it means asking them to reach higher and work harder.