Where the dynamic of art and society is concerned, I’m very much of the belief that art can have social value. Not that all art should seek to have social merit, but that it can absolutely be a valid part of the debates that society has with itself about issues affecting some or all of its members. Today’s Guardian features two stories where art and politics have intersected with interesting results…

Over in America, Indiana teacher Connie Heermann has been using the book The Freedom Writers Diary, filmed recently with Hilary Swank, to inspire a class of underperforming teenagers. The stories it contains are written by young people from the inner city, whose lives have been turned round partly as a result of their creativity. And, guess what, it contains some swearing. Despite getting the assent of 150 parents to using the book, one of the school’s board members objected to some of the more potty-mouthed content, with the result that Connie has been suspended from her job without pay for 18 months, and the book effectively banned from the school.

I was lucky enough to have had an English teacher with Connie’s vision. We were bored to tears by the first few pages of Stevenson’s The Master of Ballantrae, and responding to our agonies he went and got us Kes instead. It was a breath of fresh air, and reading something concerning the life of a boy our own age living in what was recognisably our own world was a liberation. I’m pretty sure there was a bit of swearing in there too, but thankfully the school board never intervened. That same teacher was passionate about the work of George Orwell, and it’s maybe because of that baptism in socially engaged prose by a committed and articulate advocate that I became fascinated by the interaction of the world and the writer.

It’s always interesting when an interest group claims to be unfairly represented by a work of fiction, and this week it’s the turn of that underprivileged bunch, barristers. Their bone of contention is the excellent series Criminal Justice, which unfortunately for them is written by one of their number, Peter Moffatt, who could be fairly said to know a thing or two about the horsetrading that goes on in the legal system.

Timothy Dutton, the head of the bar (which itself is an interesting choice of language to describe what is in effect a cartel for bewigged justice dispensers) claims that Criminal Justice in no way, shape or form resembles the way that yer actual barristers conduct yer actual law. And you’d like to think he’s right, what with the tactics used by the show’s barrister to stall, to persuade, and bamboozle its youthful protagonist.

Unfortunately, there’s a wealth of evidence to suggest that this portrait is in fact highly representative of what goes on in Britain’s legal system, and that Dutton is flipping his wig about someone with inside knowledge writing about it in a show that’s attracted respect in part for the authenticity of its detail. Funnily enough, there have been no complaints from jailbirds about the portrayal of the brutal anthropology of incarceration. Sure, as Moffatt acknowledges, he’s writing a piece of television drama that is enthralling and entertaining, but there’s no denying the research that’s gone into it.

Where these two stories are concerned, I’m hoping there’ll be more to come. It’d be lovely to think that public outrage could help Connie Heermann get her job back from the knuckle-draggers who took it from her. And I’m sure further elegantly worded asides will be exchanged between Peter Moffatt and his former lords and masters about Criminal Justice, which continues until the end of the week.