When Disagreement Becomes “Racism”

By Elisa Chen Sukhobok

When my parents fled to America from communist China, they came without advanced degrees or knowledge of English. But they carried hope, enough to sustain them through years of working in Chinese restaurants, saving whatever they could so that I might have access to a better education.

Bullied Mercilessly

Unfortunately, throughout my elementary school years, I was mercilessly bullied. In first grade, the ESOL (English for Speakers of Other Languages) teacher told my homeroom teacher that I was “retarded” because she believed I was too stupid to ever learn English. I had arrived late to ESOL class that day, and rather than getting a chair like “any other child would have,” I stood silently in the middle of the room for the entire period. When another student offered to grab a chair for me, the teacher ran to stop them, claiming no one should help me if I couldn’t help myself. I understood everything, but I was too afraid to act. I had grown up in a culture where I wasn’t accustomed to doing anything without permission, and without being explicitly told I could take a chair, I froze. I stood there quietly, holding back tears, afraid to make the teacher angrier.

Everything changed when my family moved to the Wootton cluster.

For the first time, I wasn’t the only Asian child in the classroom. No one made slanted-eye gestures at me. No one mocked my “smelly” lunches or “weird” clothes. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. I made friends of all races, religions, and backgrounds. If there was one common thread, it was that many of us came from immigrant families – from Africa, Asia, Europe, South America, and beyond. My four years at Wootton were among the most formative of my life.

My story is not unique. Research shows that Asian American and Native American Pacific Islander-Serving Institutions (AANAPISIs) – colleges and universities designated for enrolling significant numbers of Asian American and Pacific Islander students – foster a strong sense of belonging, and that belonging is critical to academic success. These institutions help build agency and empowerment, producing leaders and community contributors.

When it came time for my own children to start school, I chose to return to the same community that once uplifted me because I wanted them to grow up in a place where they, too, would feel seen and accepted.

But that community is now being fundamentally reshaped.

Superintendent Dr. Taylor can call his boundary study recommendation a “relocation” of Wootton, but in practice it functions as a de facto closure. When other predominantly white high schools, including the superintendent’s alma mater (Bethesda-Chevy Chase High School), need renovations, they receive them. When Wootton, a majority-minority school that is 44.2% Asian American, requires renovations, it is placed on a waiting list for over 17 years before ultimately broken up, with its students scattered. Treating a majority-minority school differently and then using the consequences of that neglect to justify its closure and dismantling raises serious concerns about fairness and equity.

No school should be defined by a single race. But both research and lived experience show the value of having a critical mass of students who share cultural backgrounds enough that no child feels “othered.” Belonging does not come from numbers alone, but it is much harder to achieve when students feel isolated in their experience.

What Makes Wootton So Special

What makes Wootton so special, and why so many families are fighting for it, is not just the safe spaces it provides for historically marginalized communities, but its shared immigrant experience. Students from families across the world find common ground in that identity: of navigating cultures, languages, and expectations. That kind of environment fosters a sense of belonging in ways that cannot be easily replicated.

So, when Board Member Julie Yang (the only Asian American member of the Board and the only vote against the proposal) raised her hand to vote “no,” many of us cheered.

We did not cheer because we oppose diversity.

We cheered because we wanted to preserve a community where our children would not feel “othered.” It is precisely because we have experienced racism that we understand the value of protecting spaces where children feel that they belong.

What came next was both shocking and revealing.

In a hot mic moment, Board Member Rita Montoya was heard saying, “That’s the racism,” in response to those cheers.

That moment didn’t just sting, it revealed something deeper about how disagreement is being dismissed in our public discourse.

Ms. Montoya, Asian American families are not your enemy. We, like every parent in this community, care deeply about our children’s education and sense of belonging. For many of us, it is already an extraordinary step to attend Board of Education meetings; it is even more intimidating to testify. Yet we showed up, sometimes in accented or imperfect English, but always with sincerity and conviction.

Would you have responded the same way if similar concerns had been raised by another minority community about the dismantling of a school that served as a cultural anchor?

Even if you disagree and believe this is simply a relocation, and that nothing fundamental will change, the response should not be to label concerned parents as racist. Reasonable people can disagree on policy. But dismissing deeply felt concerns without engagement does not build public trust; it erodes what little public trust remains. With a single remark, you discouraged and silenced dissenting voices.

During the Cultural Revolution in China, 批斗 (pīdòu) referred to the Mao-era practice of publicly denouncing individuals, often without evidence. It was less about finding truth and more about enforcing conformity through accusation and humiliation. That history still echoes today, shaping why many Asian Americans hesitate to speak out – particularly against authority.

But I will speak up.

Because I am a product of Wootton.

Because I know what belonging feels like.

And because every child deserves that same experience.

I will continue to speak up despite Ms. Montoya.

Ms. Montoya, disagreement is not racism. But indiscriminately labeling a room full of engaged parents, many of them Asian American, as racist is, at best, ironic; at worst, the very kind of conduct you claim to oppose.

Author note:

Elisa Chen Sukhobok is a Montgomery County parent in the Wootton cluster and a first-generation college graduate. She holds a law degree and a Master of Science in Higher Education. She has worked in education policy and civil rights, including research on minority student outcomes with the U.S. Department of Education Office for Civil Rights, the Institute for Higher Education Policy, and the Penn Center for Minority Serving Institutions at the University of Pennsylvania.

---