The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [1]
To kids everywhere,
Whose lives were lost to senseless violence but whose spirits live on.
Foreword
Zlata Filipovic
When I was asked to write the foreword to The Freedom Writers Diary, I must say I was extremely honored and proud, but at the same time amazed by how many wonderful things can happen in such a short time.
I met the students of Wilson High School in March 1996, when thanks to their dedication, effort and will, they invited my parents, Mirna (my best friend from Bosnia, who was living with me at the time) and myself to come to the city of Long Beach, California. When I met them, I was touched by their warmth and kindness. They were teenagers just like me, and like all young people all over the world, they have an amazing potential to grow into truly great people, leaders, ones who will inspire others.
These students and their teacher, Erin Gruwell, chose to read Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, my own book, Zlata’s Diary: A Child’s Life in Sarajevo (and many other books), and were inspired to start writing their own diaries. They had organized themselves and chose to do something different, something memorable, something powerful and humane. They chose to rid themselves of doing things the easy way, the way they’ve always been done, and chose to write, to create, to fight stereotypes and live up to the name of true Freedom Writers. I am immensely proud and happy to have had a chance to meet them and to play some role in their “growth” as human beings.
I started writing my own diary before the war in Bosnia because I wanted to have a place to record my childhood and create something that I could look back on and laugh, cry and reminisce. I wanted to see myself grow through my writing. Some of my older girlfriends had their own diaries, and having read the diaries of Anne Frank and Adrian Mole, I was absolutely certain that writing a diary was the right thing to do. I never imagined that my diary would be published, and certainly didn’t expect it to become a war diary. I also never dreamed that my childhood would be cut short. These things seemed too impossible to think about, because it’s human nature to always believe that “bad” things happen to other people, not us. But when misfortune comes our way, we find ourselves surprised, confused, scared, angry and sad.
When the Bosnian war started with all its horrors and disrupted my happy and carefree childhood, my diary became more than a place to record daily events. It became a friend, the paper that it was made of was ready and willing to accept anything and everything I had to say; it could handle my fear, my questions, my sadness. I discovered the beauty of writing—when one can pour oneself onto a great white emptiness and fill it with emotions and thoughts and leave them there forever. And I kept on writing during almost two years of war; it became a type of therapy for dealing with everything that was going on.
I see a parallel between the Freedom Writers and myself because we’ve all been subjected to things in our surroundings that could have made us feel like victims. Life brings good things and bad things, it makes people sad and happy in their own homes, within their families, in school and on the street. Sometimes we suffer because of many things over which we have no control: the color of our skin, poverty, our religion, our family situation, war. It would be easy to become a victim of our circumstances and continue feeling sad, scared or angry; or instead, we could choose to deal with injustice humanely and break the chains of negative thoughts and energies, and not let ourselves sink into it. Writing about the things that happen to us allows us to look objectively at what’s going on around us and turn a negative experience into something positive and useful. This process requires a lot of work, effort and greatness, but it is possible, and the Freedom Writers have proved it—they’ve chosen a difficult, but powerful, path.
After I left Bosnia, the war continued, and as we’ve recently seen, a similar thing happened in Kosovo.