Blind Spots & The Blind Side

From April 2021: Looking at a feel-good movie differently through a racial and social justice lens

Note: I wrote this originally in April 2021, a year into the pandemic and after a series of racial and social justice protests following the murder of George Floyd. Today, in light of Michael Oher’s petition against the family that claims it adopted him, I thought it was worth another look.

A dozen years ago, one of my dad’s former students directed “The Blind Side,” the hit movie that told the story of Michael Oher, the homeless Black teenager with a crack addicted mother who managed to beat the odds thanks to the loving and wealthy white fundamentalist Christian family that adopted him.

The 2009 movie, based on Michael Lewis’ 2006 book The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game, was a huge hit, grossing more than $300 million. Sandra Bullock won an Oscar for her performance as Leigh Anne Tuohy, the woman who took him in and showed him how to play football.

It’s easy to see why “The Blind Side” was such a hit. Between the strong performances, compelling storyline, and feel-good ending, it is just the type of Hollywood movie that audiences gobble up. I certainly did when it first came out.

But would we now? Should we now?

I came across “The Blind Side” recently while streamer surfing and decided to give it a second look. Before long, I found myself feeling uncomfortable. I recognize every Hollywood “true story” not labeled a documentary — and even some that are — takes factual liberties in the interest of entertainment. (Look no further than “Remember the Titans” for one of the most egregious examples of this.)

While getting the broad pieces of the story right, “The Blind Side” has narrative liberties that Oher and others have taken issue with over the years. Where it made me uncomfortable in 2021 was its unfortunate perpetuation of the white savior complex, an archetype as old as our nation.

If the movie is taken at face value, which I’m sure some have done given its mass popularity, Sandra Bullock’s character taught a homeless youth how to play football so well that he eventually went onto college and an eight-year professional career.

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Over the past year, much of my freelance work has centered on issues of race and social justice in K-12 education. The twin calamities of the pandemic and the police misconduct that reignited the Black Lives Matter movement have forced schools to look at the disparities their students face through a more urgent lens. 

In a recent magazine column, I wrote about some of my biggest takeaways since starting this reporting. But it’s a story I wrote last fall on how schools teach U.S. history, a subject long close to my heart and with a deeply personal connection, that continues to stick with me.

When I was 8, I asked my mom about the origin of the name of my elementary school: Roosevelt Wilson. Spread across two city blocks with two 1940s-era buildings on each side, she told me the school was named after our nation’s 28th and 32nd presidents. If I wanted to know more, she said while pointing to a set of encyclopedias, I would have to look it up.

Given how conservative my hometown has become, the irony that the school is named after Woodrow Wilson (a leader of the Progressive Movement) and Franklin Delano Roosevelt (author of the New Deal) is not lost on me. At the same time, I’m forever grateful for that true home-work assignment, because it spurred a lifelong fascination with U.S. presidents.

Within a few weeks, I had memorized all 37 (at the time Nixon was still in office), learned the years they served, and the parties they represented. It was a terrific baseline that served me well in future history classes, where I could on occasion debate the teachers. At least one, Mr. Christian, made sure his antacids were nearby every time I came into his Texas history class.

What I didn’t understand at the time was why the curriculum had such large missing pieces. In eighth grade, we covered the Mayflower to the Civil War. The next time we took U.S. history, in 11th grade, we started with the Industrial Revolution, skipping over Reconstruction almost entirely.

I brought these things up while writing the history story. Two quotes in particular resonate: 

Keffrelyn D. Brown, co-founder and co-director of the Center for Innovation in Race, Teaching, and Curriculum at the University of Texas: “There have been efforts to change and transform the history curriculum for as long as we’ve had the curriculum. But to change the curriculum means you must accept that what exists is not the full story, and that’s hard. It’s difficult in a country that has a narrative of progress, of freedom, of liberty.”

Rodney Robinson, 2019 National Teacher of the Year from Richmond, Va., and an outspoken critic of how history is taught: “The history of America is a very diverse one, but it’s always told from a white point of view. The curriculum framework for the state goes along with the textbooks, and everyone is in the same business, so they leave out diverse voices and diverse history. And some people don’t want to change how they’re doing it, no matter what.”

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In some respects, it’s not fair to look at pieces of entertainment from 10, 20, 30 years ago and retrospectively give them a tone-deaf label. If that’s the case, we would have to reject large swaths of pop culture that have entertained — and despite their flaws — even enlightened us over the years. 

But we also have to point out where they were wrong then and why they’re wrong now.

Over the past year, I’ve spent a lot of time looking inward. The greatest piece of wisdom I received from my parents — “We don’t want you to have our prejudices” — is something I’ve always tried to pass on to my children.

When our kids were home in the summer of 2020, rhetorical debates about the Black Lives Matter protests were sometimes heated. But I learned a lot, as much from them as they did from me.

One thing I learned and had to digest was how to own up to my biases. Just like my parents, I know I have them; everyone does, even though some loathe to admit it. I’ve made mistakes, said and done things that in retrospect I shouldn’t have, especially when growing up but also as an adult.

At times, I wish I had listened to those who were trying to cover my blind side. I wish I had known then what I know now. All I can do is work harder to recognize my blind spots and deal with them head on.