Beyond the Lecture Hall: How Movies, Documentaries, and Mock Trials Changed My Understanding of our class

When I first saw the syllabus for this class, I'll be honest I was a little skeptical about the non-traditional teaching methods. It seemed like a lot of time that could've been spent on lectures or readings. But looking back now as I write my final reflection, I realize these approaches actually taught me more than any traditional format could have. They made the material stick in ways that lectures alone never would have.

The three movies we watched this semester weren't just entertainment or a break from "real" learning they were essential to understanding the course material on a deeper level. Each film took concepts we'd discussed in class and showed them playing out in real situations with real consequences, which made everything feel more urgent and important.

What I appreciated most was how the movies filled in gaps that lectures couldn't quite reach. In class, we'd talk about theories and concepts in the abstract, but the films showed us what those ideas actually look like when people are living them. For example, seeing characters grapple with ethical dilemmas on screen made those same dilemmas we read about in our textbooks feel way more real and complicated. It's one thing to read about a concept; it's completely different to watch someone struggle with it and see the human side of it.

The movies also sparked some of the best class discussions we had all semester. After watching each film, we'd come back to class with so many questions and observations. People noticed different things, connected the films to different readings, and sometimes completely disagreed about what we'd just watched. Those debates helped me see perspectives I wouldn't have considered on my own. Honestly, I remember the conversations after those movies more clearly than I remember some of our regular lecture discussions, probably because the films gave us something concrete to anchor our thoughts to.

The two documentaries we watched were genuinely more useful than being assigned another textbook chapter or sitting through another lecture. I know that might sound like I'm just saying what sounds good for this assignment, but I mean it. Textbooks can feel really dry and disconnected from reality, especially when you're reading them late at night trying to cram information into your head. The documentaries made learning feel vivid and immediate in a way that reading never quite does.

What made the documentaries so effective was how they brought the subject matter to life through real people, real footage, and real stories. Instead of reading about events or concepts in a detached, academic way, I got to see actual interviews, archival footage, and the human faces behind the facts. That emotional connection made the information way more memorable. Even now, when I think back on certain topics from this class, I don't remember the textbook pages, I remember specific moments from those documentaries.

The documentaries also deepened my understanding by showing the complexity and nuance that textbooks sometimes gloss over. In a textbook, you might get a paragraph summarizing a historical event or social issue, but a documentary gives you an hour to really dig into it from multiple angles. You hear from different people with different perspectives, you see the context and consequences, and you start to understand that most issues aren't as simple as they first appear. That kind of deep, layered understanding is hard to get from reading alone.

Another thing I realized is that documentaries are just more engaging, which matters more than I used to think. When you're engaged, you pay attention better, you think more critically, and you retain information longer. I found myself actually looking forward to documentary days, whereas I can't say the same about textbook reading assignments. That enthusiasm translated into better learning outcomes for me personally.

The mock trial component of this class was probably the most challenging part, but also the most rewarding. Preparing for and presenting legal arguments really enhanced my learning experience in ways I didn't expect. When you have to actually stand up and argue a position, you can't just have a vague understanding of the material, you need to know it inside and out because you never know what the other side is going to throw at you.

The preparation process forced me to engage with the course content on a completely different level. I had to read cases carefully, understand legal principles deeply, anticipate counterarguments, and organize my thoughts in a logical, persuasive way. This wasn't passive learning like taking notes in a lecture; this was active, hands-on engagement with the material. I probably spent more time preparing for the mock trial than I did studying for some of my midterms, but the difference is I actually enjoyed it and I remember what I learned.

The role-playing aspect fit perfectly into the learning objectives of the course. By stepping into the shoes of a lawyer, I had to think like one. I had to consider strategy, think about how to present evidence, and figure out how to make my arguments compelling to a judge and jury. This practical application of legal concepts helped me understand not just what the law says, but how it works in practice. It connected the dots between theory and reality in a way that lectures alone couldn't achieve.

But honestly, one of the best parts of the mock trial experience was the teamwork aspect. Working with my classmates to prepare our case fostered cooperation and collaboration in ways that typical group projects don't always achieve. We had to divide up research, debate strategy, practice together, and support each other during the actual trial. Everyone had different strengths, some people were better at research, others at public speaking, others at thinking on their feet during cross-examination, and we had to learn how to work together and trust each other. That teamwork made the experience less intimidating and more enjoyable.

The mock trial also taught me skills that go beyond this specific class. Public speaking, critical thinking, quick decision-making, handling pressure. These are all things that will be useful in basically any career I end up pursuing. Plus, the confidence I gained from successfully presenting arguments in front of the class has already made me more comfortable participating in other classes and situations.

Looking back on this semester, I'm really glad the Mr. Smith structured the class the way he did. At first, I thought movies, documentaries, and mock trials might be "gimmicky" or less rigorous than traditional teaching methods. But I was wrong. These approaches made learning more engaging, more memorable, and more meaningful. The movies sparked reflection and discussion that deepened my understanding. The documentaries brought the subject matter to life in ways textbooks never could. And the mock trials gave me hands-on experience that cemented my knowledge and built practical skills.

If I had to choose between this class format and a traditional lecture-and-textbook class, I'd choose this one every time. I learned more, retained more, and actually enjoyed the learning process. That's not something I can say about every class I've taken. These teaching methods didn't just help me pass an exam they helped me actually understand and care about the subject matter. And isn't that what education is supposed to be about?

Witnessing History: Inside Brown v. Board of Education

 I sat in the Supreme Court gallery today, watching as lawyers argued a case that could reshape America.

At the heart of this legal battle is a young girl named Linda Brown, whose simple desire to attend her neighborhood school has exposed a fundamental injustice in our nation.

The attorneys challenging segregation in public education made a powerful case. They argued that when our founders wrote the Declaration of Independence, promising that all men are created equal, they established principles that our current system violates daily.

The lawyers representing Linda Brown and other Black children spoke about constitutional rights being denied, about how separation by race creates wounds that no amount of funding can heal.

The defense claimed that segregation is traditional, that communities have the right to maintain separate schools for white and Black children. They pointed to the "separate but equal" doctrine as legal precedent.

But anyone who has visited these schools knows the truth: separate but equal is never equal. The buildings differ, the resources differ, and the message sent to children differs profoundly.

This case reaches beyond classroom walls. Black unemployment remains high across the nation, and many argue that inferior education perpetuates cycles of economic disadvantage.

When children are told through policy that they are less worthy of quality education, we limit their futures before they begin.

The justices listened intently, asking pointed questions. Chief Justice Warren appeared particularly engaged, pressing both sides on the psychological impact of segregation on children.

As I left the courtroom, I wondered if we were witnessing the beginning of a new chapter in American history. The decision, when it comes, will determine whether our Constitution truly protects all citizens equally, or whether some remain more equal than others.

AI Disclosure: After taking notes on the Brown v. Board case regarding segregation and education. I used Claude to smooth the text and format it in a readable way. I then edited the AI generated text and added photos.

Reflection on "Heat of the night"

After watching "Heat of the Night," directed by Norman Jewison, I was left with mixed feelings that lean more positive than negative, although the movie doesn't shy away from uncomfortable truths. It's not exactly an uplifting film, but it's not depressing either. Instead, it left me feeling hopeful on some level.

The movie shows racism in its gross reality. Watching Virgil Tibbs get treated like dirt just for being Black in a Southern town made me angry and uncomfortable. The slap scene hit especially hard when that white man slaps Tibbs and Tibbs immediately slaps him back. You can feel how shocking that moment was for 1967. There is a lot of tension throughout the film, and there were moments where I felt worried about Tibbs's safety. That underlying threat of violence is always there.

But what keeps this film from being totally depressing is the relationship between Tibbs and Chief Gillespie. At the start, Gillespie is exactly what you'd expect: an egotistical small-town cop who assumes the worst about Tibbs. But slowly, he starts to see Tibbs as a human being and even as someone worthy of respect. That transformation isn't dramatic or sudden. It's messy, which actually makes it feel more real. By the end, when Gillespie carries Tibbs's bag to the train station, it's a small gesture that means a lot. These two men aren't suddenly best friends, but they've changed each other for the better.

What really stuck with me was how Tibbs never backed down. He could have left that town at any point, but he stayed and demanded to be treated with dignity. Sidney Poitier plays him with such strength and pride that you can't help but admire the character. When he says "They call me MISTER Tibbs," it's not just about a title, it's about refusing to be diminished. 

The movie also doesn't pretend that solving one murder case fixes racism. The town is still the same racist place at the end and sadly Tibbs still has to leave. But something has shifted, even if it's just in one man's perspective. That feels honest to me. Real change is slow and difficult, and the movie acknowledges that while still showing that change is possible.

I think what leaves me feeling somewhat positive is that the film shows progress is possible without being naive about how hard it is. It respects the audience enough to not wrap everything up in a neat bow with a perfect happy ending. Tibbs proves himself, solves the case, and earns respect, but he still has to get on that train and leave. The ending acknowledges the reality of the time while suggesting that minds can change, even stubborn, prejudiced ones.

So while "Heat of the Night" deals with heavy, infuriating subject matter, I walked away feeling more hopeful than defeated. It reminded me that standing up for yourself matters, that human connection can bridge even deep divides, and that change happens one person at a time.

The Freedom Riders: Courage That Changed America

In the spring of 1961, a group of brave Americans boarded buses in Washington, D.C., heading south on a journey that would help transform the nation. These were the Freedom Riders, and their peaceful protest against segregation in interstate travel became one of the Civil Rights Movement's most powerful moments.

The Freedom Rides started on May 4, 1961, when seven Black and six white activists set out to challenge segregation laws in the Deep South. The Supreme Court had already ruled that segregated buses and terminals were unconstitutional, but Southern states were simply ignoring these rulings. The Freedom Riders decided to put those laws to the test by riding together through the segregated South.

What happened next shocked the nation. In Alabama, angry mobs attacked the buses. One bus was firebombed outside Anniston, and riders were beaten as they escaped the flames. In Birmingham and Montgomery, more brutal attacks followed. Images of the violence spread across newspapers and television screens worldwide, exposing the ugly reality of segregation to millions who had never witnessed it firsthand.

But here's what made the Freedom Riders truly remarkable: they didn't stop. When the original riders were too injured to continue, more volunteers stepped up. Student activists, ministers, and ordinary citizens—Black and white together—kept the rides going throughout the summer. Over 400 people eventually participated, and many ended up in Mississippi's notorious Parchman Prison, where they were treated harshly but remained committed to their cause.

The positive impact of the Freedom Rides was enormous. By September 1961, the Interstate Commerce Commission finally enforced desegregation in all interstate travel facilities. This meant that bus stations, waiting rooms, and restaurants serving interstate travelers could no longer legally segregate. It was a concrete victory that made daily life better for Black Americans traveling across state lines.

Beyond the immediate legal changes, the Freedom Riders inspired a generation. They showed that ordinary people could stand up to injustice, even at great personal risk. Their courage energized the Civil Rights Movement and demonstrated the power of nonviolent resistance. Young activists who participated, like John Lewis, went on to become lifelong champions for justice.

The Freedom Riders also revealed the moral conscience of America to itself. The stark images of peaceful protesters being beaten simply for sitting together on a bus forced many Americans to confront the brutality of segregation. This growing public awareness helped build support for the landmark Civil Rights Act of 1964.

Perhaps most importantly, the Freedom Riders proved that change was possible. In a time when segregation seemed permanent and unshakeable, these activists showed that determined people working together could break down barriers that had stood for generations.

Today, we remember the Freedom Riders as heroes who put their bodies on the line for equality. Their legacy reminds us that progress requires courage, that justice demands action, and that ordinary people can achieve extraordinary things when they stand together for what's right.

The Long Road from Slavery to Equality: Lessons from Reconstruction

 The end of the Civil War promised freedom for millions of enslaved African Americans, but the journey to true equality would prove far more complex than anyone imagined.

When slavery officially ended, visionaries like Booker T. Washington emerged to chart a path forward. Having taught himself academics despite the harsh realities of bondage, Washington founded the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, emphasizing self-reliance through education and hard work. As the first Black leader invited to dine at the White House, he symbolized progress—though many challenged whether his approach went far enough.

The political landscape remained treacherous. Lincoln's assassination cut short his relatively lenient "10% plan" for reuniting the nation. His successor, Andrew Johnson—a former slaveholder—enforced Black Codes that essentially "recreated slavery under a different name." Though impeached, Johnson avoided removal, leaving many to wonder how differently Reconstruction might have unfolded under Lincoln's guidance.

Sharecropping emerged as another form of bondage. While technically free, Black farmers worked divided plantations for a share of crops, typically ending each year in debt with no economic mobility. This system dominated Southern agriculture, maintaining white supremacy through economic chains rather than physical ones.

Yet Reconstruction achieved remarkable milestones. The 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments abolished slavery and granted citizenship rights, enabling Black political participation for the first time. African Americans held office and formed coalitions, though Jim Crow laws would eventually roll back these gains.

The Great Migration offered new hope as millions journeyed northward, escaping the cycle of debt to find factory work and steady wages. This movement sparked cultural triumphs like the Harlem Renaissance and jazz, though the North proved no promised land—racial tensions over jobs and housing persisted.

Still, these pioneers opened doors for future generations, proving that freedom, however imperfect, was worth fighting for.

What I Learned from Plessy v. Ferguson: A Defining Moment in American History

 

After viewing a presentation on the Plessy v. Ferguson trial, I came away with a deeper understanding of how deeply segregation was embedded in American law and how the Constitution was twisted to justify it.

The Man Behind the Case

The case centers on Homer Plessy, a very fair-skinned African American man who was only one-eighth Black. This made him what was called an "octoroon" at the time. His appearance is central to understanding just how arbitrary and cruel segregation laws were.

A Deliberate Act of Resistance

In Louisiana, state law mandated that train cars be segregated by race. Despite knowing this, Plessy purchased a first-class ticket and boarded a car designated for white passengers. Here's what struck me most: no one could even tell him apart from white passengers. He was a citizen and a paying customer, yet the law deemed him unworthy of sitting where he chose.

The police were only called after Plessy himself stated that he had African American ancestors. When he refused to move to the "colored" car, he was forcefully removed and arrested. This wasn't an accident—it was a planned challenge to an unjust system.

The Constitutional Contradiction

Plessy's lawyers argued that segregation violated the 14th Amendment's Equal Protection Clause, which requires the government to treat all people similarly and prohibits states from unfairly discriminating against any person or group.

The problem? Southern states simply refused to enforce this clause. Segregation laws and the Equal Protection Clause completely contradicted each other. Under no circumstance can everyone be treated equally when segregation forces people into categories of superiority and inferiority.

The Aftermath of Slavery

After slavery ended in 1865, you'd think the 13th and 14th Amendments would have protected the rights and dignity of all American citizens. Instead, Southern states systematically dismantled what these amendments were supposed to guarantee. Rather than being viewed as equals, African Americans were portrayed as dirty, inferior, and degraded by white society.

These segregation laws weren't about public safety or order they were designed solely to keep African Americans subordinate to white people. The South couldn't seem to let slavery go and refused to evolve alongside the Constitution's promises of equality.

Final Thoughts

The Plessy v. Ferguson case shows us that laws on paper mean nothing if they aren't enforced with integrity and justice. The Supreme Court's decision to uphold segregation under the doctrine of "separate but equal" legitimized decades of oppression and inequality. It's a painful reminder that progress isn't automatic it requires people willing to fight for what's right, even when the system is stacked against them.

Homer Plessy lost his case, but his courage in challenging injustice became part of the foundation for the Civil Rights Movement that would eventually dismantle legal segregation in America.

The Unfinished Promise: Reconstruction's Legacy of Hope and Heartbreak

On June 17, 2015, a gunman walked into a church in Charleston and opened fire during a prayer group. Nine Black worshippers were killed in what was clearly a hate crime. This tragedy reminded us that racial violence in America didn't start recently—it goes way back to the Reconstruction era after the Civil War.

Palm Sunday 1865 was huge. It marked the end of the Civil War and the death of slavery. For four million formerly enslaved people, this felt like a new beginning. And they had every right to feel hopeful—they'd fought for their own freedom. As soon as Black men were allowed to enlist, 180,000 of them joined the Union Army. They didn't just help the North win; they fought for their own future.

But here's the thing: now that they were free, who were they going to be in America? That was the big question.

The answer turned out to be way more complicated than anyone expected. Reconstruction left behind a legacy of hope, but those hopes were bigger than what the government actually delivered. The North and South saw Reconstruction completely differently, and that gap never really closed.

Even after the surrender at Appomattox, white Southerners couldn't accept that slavery was over. They especially couldn't handle the idea that formerly enslaved people now had rights. This sparked a massive backlash of terror and violence that lasted for generations. The Black Codes were created as a legal way to control Black people and basically recreate slavery under a different name.

Then there was President Andrew Johnson. He became the first president made by an assassin's bullet after Lincoln was killed. Frederick Douglass, the famous abolitionist and former slave, saw right through him. Johnson was no friend to Black Americans. While Lincoln had said that "some Black men deserve the right to vote," especially those who fought in the war, Johnson blocked any real progress toward Black political power.

For formerly enslaved people, being truly free meant more than just not being in chains. It meant owning land. It meant finding family members who'd been sold away. It meant actually participating in American life as full citizens.

The shooting at Mother Emanuel AME Church shows us that Reconstruction's unfinished business is still with us. The terror that met Black people's hopes during Reconstruction never really went away—it just changed forms. Understanding this history helps us see why we're still dealing with these issues today, and why we need to keep pushing for the justice that Reconstruction promised but never fully delivered.

AI Disclosure: After taking notes on a documentary regarding reconstruction and the lasting effects. I used Claude to smooth the text and format it in a readable way. I then edited the AI generated text and added photos.