I would like to begin with The Welcome That Wasn’t. Over the past few years, I’ve tried to volunteer, support, and advocate for more inclusive parent engagement in my local public school system. I came to this work as a Russian-American gay parent in a multicultural family. I also came with a professional background in communication and a strong commitment to diversity, equity, and inclusion.
Hold on, before you pass judgment, I ask you to suspend bias and keep reading.
What I hoped to offer was more than just help with events or flyers. I wanted to bring a perspective that reflects the real diversity of our district. Why is that important to me? Because I wanted to help build connections between families, improve equity, and strengthen the sense of belonging for those kids, families, and staff who are too often left out.
What I experienced instead was exclusion from both sides: woke exclusion on one hand and traditionalist pushback on the other. Rarely was the word “no” spoken directly, but the signals came through in a hundred small ways.
Behind the Curtain of Affinity Groups and Missed Opportunities for Shared Leadership. When I first stepped into district-level parent leadership, it was through Affinity Groups. I was filled with hope for the opportunity and for change from the status quo. The Affinity Groups were designed to bring together parents who shared a cultural or linguistic background, with the goal of building representation and creating stronger connections with Evergreen Public Schools. For me, this meant participating in the Slavic Affinity Group, working alongside other Russian-speaking parents and the district’s Russian parent liaison.
On paper, the purpose was powerful. Affinity Groups could have been a pipeline for families like mine to shape district policies, raise equity concerns, and influence how schools welcome and serve diverse communities. In reality, the experience often fell short.
Discussions sometimes drifted away from equity and became dominated by personal faith perspectives. For example, when working to suggest Russian literature for school libraries, I advocated for the canon of poetry, fiction, and drama familiar to Russian-speaking students, works by Pushkin, Tolstoy, Gogol, Uspenski, and others. Another voice insisted that Christian faith-based books should be included as “Russian culture.” I strongly disagreed. Religion is one part of identity, but it is not the whole. In a public school context, presenting Christianity as the cultural standard for Russian speakers would erase the diversity of secular, Muslim, Jewish, and atheist families in our community.
That disagreement was tense, but it revealed something deeper. Affinity Groups too often reflected the biases of whoever was loudest in the room, without structures to balance or guide the conversation. The district’s intent was inclusion, but the practice sometimes became exclusionary in a different way, reproducing silos and failing to build true shared leadership.
What could have been a bridge often felt like a cul-de-sac. Families were invited in, but real influence was limited. Ideas surfaced, but rarely acted upon. Instead of empowering diverse parents to shape school culture, Affinity Groups left me wondering if our role was simply to provide cultural “flavor” without actual decision-making power. And as a gay parent, I felt even further pushed to the margins. In that space, I was unrepresented and made to feel othered.
PTA Involvement and Cultural Disconnect. At the school level, I tried to volunteer with the PTA by joining the nominating committee and proposing ways to strengthen communication and equity. I offered help with flyers, social media, and inclusive outreach strategies. I even suggested a board position focused on diversity engagement.
Rather than being welcomed, I was told my proposals overlapped with other roles, even though those gaps were obvious. When I later showed interest in a communication position, I was told someone else had already been chosen and that I should “first show commitment” by volunteering at events, this despite the fact that I had already been volunteering and attending meetings for months. The decision process was, to put it politely, shocking. A homogeneous group of people nominated one another for leadership roles.
None of this was said directly or harshly. The tone was polite, sometimes even cheerful. But the pattern was consistent: new voices, especially those raising questions of equity, were redirected, minimized, or quietly excluded.
These groups are often run by tightly connected networks, mostly white and mostly mothers, who informally pass leadership within familiar circles. In practice, this means leadership voices tend to be cisgender white women, shaping the culture in ways that may feel comfortable to them but unwelcoming to others. This may not be intentional, but it creates a culture of gatekeeping that shuts out families who do not fit the mold. I knew I did not fit the mold.
Missed Opportunities for School Leadership. A conflict involving my son at school revealed troubling gaps in how leadership addresses equity. After he used a word that an administrator misinterpreted as racially offensive, I defended him and pointed to the need for better context, more training, and greater consistency in how schools respond to behavior.
This same child had previously been called “gay” and mocked for having two dads. There was no formal response to those incidents. But the moment his language was perceived to offend white students, a referral was suggested and assumptions were drawn too quickly.
I wrote to the principal not only to defend my son but to raise deeper concerns about implicit bias, uneven accountability, and the lack of proactive equity education. I offered concrete solutions, including the use of GLSEN’s Ready, Set, Respect curriculum, and I pointed out missed opportunities to highlight events like Women’s History Month or International Women’s Day.
The reply I received was polite but surface-level. There was no recognition of the systemic issues I had raised. No commitment to action. No acknowledgment that my concerns reflected patterns, not just an isolated incident.
This was another missed opportunity. Schools often respond to equity concerns with procedural politeness instead of substantive engagement. That choice may ease discomfort in the short term, but it leaves inequities untouched and families like mine with the clear message: you can raise your voice, but it will not change the response.
Equity Tensions Within the Advisory Work. Even within the district’s Equity Advisory Committee, hard conversations surfaced. At one point, while co-leading the development of Russian-language literature suggestions for the district library, I strongly opposed the inclusion of Christian religious books as representative of Russian culture.
I argued that Russian-speaking identity is diverse and cannot be reduced to a single faith. Including religious texts as “Russian literature” would exclude secular, Muslim, Jewish, and atheist Russian families. In a public school context, it was not only inaccurate but inappropriate.
Another member disagreed, equating culture with faith and pushing for full inclusion of those titles. The conversation was tense, but I stood firm. True equity means making space for everyone, not allowing one identity group to dominate the narrative.
Since then, I’ve learned that this individual has grown in their understanding of equity. That still gives me hope. Growth often comes through disagreement, and sometimes naming the uncomfortable truth is what allows new understanding to take root later.
A Pattern of Closed Doors. Over time, I’ve noticed a consistent pattern. Each time I offer ideas, volunteer my skills, or suggest new ways to reach families, the response is polite but the result is the same. Arm’s length distance. Decisions are made elsewhere, familiar circles of leadership are preserved, and the contributions of parents like me are acknowledged but not truly embraced. I am told I have valuable experience and that I am needed, yet the doors never open. Only at arm’s length.
The message is rarely direct. It often sounds like encouragement, but the outcome feels like dismissal. “That’s a good idea, but not now.” “We already have someone for that role.” “Thank you, but we’re moving in another direction.” If my skills are so valued, then give me an opportunity.
Over and over, the effect is the same. An invitation to participate at the surface level, but a barrier to shaping the culture in meaningful ways.
This is what it means to stay at the margins. To be seen as capable and valuable, yet never fully welcomed into the spaces where decisions are made and change can happen.
Why I Haven’t Walked Away. Despite the disappointments, I remain engaged. Real inclusion requires persistence. I stay because I know there are other families watching quietly, wondering if there is room for them too. As a Russian-American gay parent in a multicultural family, I know how important it is to show that persistence matters.
I also stay because I have seen glimpses of what true equity leadership can look like. I have worked with individuals in the district who listen with openness, make space for new ideas, and show a willingness to learn. These moments are rare, but they remind me that change is possible.
To any educator or parent leader reading this, inclusion is not just about warm smiles or inviting language. It means listening without defensiveness when families raise concerns. It means making leadership pathways transparent and open, not limited to insider circles. It means recognizing that true equity often requires discomfort and self-reflection. It means distinguishing culture from faith in public school settings. And it means following up with action, not just polite acknowledgments.
If someone like me, with professional expertise and years of volunteer experience, can still feel pushed out, imagine what happens to families with less access, confidence, or English fluency.
Inclusion cannot be a word on a flyer. It has to be a daily practice. A relationship. A promise we work to keep. Not everyone will welcome these kinds of conversations, but that does not make them less necessary.
I am still here. Still showing up. Still believing we can build schools that reflect the diversity and strength of every family. This work is not finished, and I intend to stay engaged until it is.
Epilogue: Identity, Solidarity, and the Work Ahead
I write this as a Russian-speaking parent, fully aware that in today’s world the word “Russian” can carry heavy associations of oppression, especially for Ukrainian and other Slavic families. I want to be clear: I stand with those families. I honor their voices, histories, and experiences. My Russian-speaking identity is one piece of a broader cultural mosaic. Equity means ensuring that all stories in that mosaic are represented, respected, and never erased.
Equity is not the only challenge we face. Recently, Evergreen Public Schools experienced a strike by classified staff, including paraeducators, bus drivers, custodians, and maintenance workers. They were advocating for fair wages and safer working conditions (The Columbian). It was the first strike in the district’s 57-year history. That moment reminded me that the culture of schools is shaped just as much by how we care for our physical spaces and staff as by what happens in classrooms.
Years ago, I raised concerns with my son’s elementary school about basic conditions, such as students pouring out milk and juice after breakfast or signs of neglect across the campus. These may seem small, but they leave an impression on children. The way students see their school is connected to how they see their community and even their country.
Most of us take pride in keeping our homes clean, mowing the grass, sweeping the leaves, and picking up debris. Yet on the first day of middle school, we walked onto a campus that looked unkempt, unswept, and outdated. That disconnect tells students and families that their learning environment is not a priority.
When classified staff ask for higher pay and recognition, the question is not only about budgets. It is also about accountability. If we want to argue for more resources, we also need to demonstrate pride in the spaces we already have. Clean, cared-for schools reflect respect for students and families. Neglected grounds reflect disregard, not respect.
So yes, I stand with staff fighting for livable wages and safer working conditions. At the same time, I believe our commitment to equity must also include accountability, respect for shared space, and a daily insistence that school environments reflect pride and belonging.
Equity cannot be a slogan on the wall. It must be the way we treat staff, the way we care for our spaces, the way we listen to diverse voices, and the way we design systems that welcome families in, not just invite them in. This work matters, and it must continue.
Photo by Paul Valencia, Clark County Today.
Mikhail Oparin 