The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [35]
Now that I finished the book, I began to understand the class discussions. As one of our assignments, the class had to write letters inviting Zlata to come to Long Beach. Many of the students, including myself, did the assignment thinking it was just an assignment, but when one student asked Ms. Gruwell if Zlata was really going to come, Ms. Gruwell had a gleam in her eye. I don’t think that it was her intention to actually send the letters to Zlata, but now that the idea was brought up, why not?
For the first time, I heard a teacher take a question seriously. She really wanted to fly Zlata over to the United States to meet our class! Where were we going to get the money? Where in the world would she stay? There was no way we could do this! But Ms. Gruwell asked, “When have I let you down?”
I began to write a warm invitation and jazzed it up with graphics. I still wasn’t sure if Ms. Gruwell was serious. After the phrase “When have I let you down?” ran through my mind several times, I began to hope that Zlata really would come to meet us, but for now, all I and the rest of our classmates could do was keep writing and keep our fingers crossed.
Sophomore Year Spring 1996
Dear Zlata,
They say America is the “Land of the Free and Home of the Brave,” but what’s so free about a land where people get killed? My name is Thomas (Tommy) Jefferson from Wilson High School in Long Beach, California. I am a fifteen-year-old teenage boy whose life seems to be similar to yours. In your diary you said you watched out for snipers and gunshots. I watch out for gangsters and gunshots. Your friends died of gunshots and my friend Richard, who was fifteen, and my cousin Matthew, who was nineteen, also died of gunshots. The strange thing is…my country is not in a war. (Or is it?)
My close friend Richard was shot in the heart by a carjacker who was trying to steal his mom’s car. He died in his mom’s arms. His final words were “I love you.” He died on December 8, 1995, just a couple weeks before Christmas. When I saw her at Christmas, I didn’t even know what to say. What could I say to a mother whose son just died?
My cousin Matthew was shot five times in the head by a Mexican gang on February 8, 1996. Matthew was simply walking home when a van full of gangsters pulled him into their car, drove him down to the railroad tracks, beat him up and then shot him repeatedly in the head. I hurt! It’s painful when I think about his death.
Two people who I cared about died a senseless death exactly two months apart. Neither of their deaths was recognized in the papers. Why? Doesn’t anyone care? I care! Their families care also, but now their mothers are scarred for life because they’ll never hear or see their sons again. Sometimes I want to take a gun and get revenge, but what would that prove? Would it prove how much I cared about them? Would it prove that I stuck up for them? NO! The only thing it would prove is how dumb I am. And I am not dumb…
The main reason I’m writing this letter to you, Zlata, is because I know you’ve been in this kind of situation. Your experience moved me and made this big football player cry. (And I usually don’t cry.) So please tell me, Zlata, how should I handle a tragedy like this?
Now that I’ve read your book, I am educated on what is happening in Bosnia. I would like the opportunity now to educate people on what is happening in my “America” because until this “undeclared war” has ended, I am not free!
Your Friend,
Tommy Jefferson
Entry 4. Ms. Gruwell
Dear Diary,
After our “toast for change,” my students experienced an epiphany. My once apathetic students seemed to transform themselves into scholars with a conscience. They were so motivated that it’s awe-inspiring. And when Tommy told me he was done with all the books in our Read-a-thon for Tolerance,