Dr. Mano Patri immediately thought about two patients she treated years ago when she heard the news about a recent graduate from her children’s high school in Chesterfield, Missouri.

Sai Varshith Kandula, 19, a Marquette High School graduate and immigrant from India, was arrested in Washington, D.C., on May 22 after ramming a rental truck into barriers near the White House. Kandula allegedly grabbed a Nazi flag from the rented U-Haul just before he was apprehended. Federal prosecutors filed a memo last week in support of keeping him jailed before trial, citing passages from Kandula’s journal in which he described taking over the government and harming others. In it, he praised Adolf Hitler as a "strong leader," the memo said.

Along with last month’s Mexican mass shooter at a mall in Allen, Texas, with purported neo-Nazi views, this incident suggests that racist organizations and websites are pulling in some supporters from communities of color.

At first glance, it makes little sense why a person of color would join a movement that espouses that they are less than white people. But these sites and those who radicalize others may be addressing other unmet needs in vulnerable people.

Patri said she found the incident involving Kandula “horrifying, but I hate to say it, not surprising.”

In her work as an infectious disease specialist with SSM Health, she has treated two African American patients who had swastika tattoos and identified themselves as part of neo-Nazi movements. In conversations with these patients over a few days, she asked them to help her understand what attracted them to this ideology.

“It came down to a sense of belonging,” she said. One of them explained to her that it was like being in an army that has just one leader. They saw themselves as soldiers listening to a captain.

“There is a need to feel understood, to be heard ... with a lot of the isolation that has occurred, even post-COVID, you find these groups that speak to you,” she said. Plus, mental illness remains undiagnosed and untreated at higher levels in immigrant and minority communities.

“If you don’t know where you belong or where you fit in, it can be easier to retreat to social media and find someone who understands you,” she said.

Dr. Siresha Samudrala, who works in rehabilitation and physical medicine in St. Louis, said she knows a few Indian American teens who listen to personalities with extreme right-wing and white nationalistic views. She was approached by Indian parents who asked her to speak to their son, who they worried might be getting indoctrinated.

“I had some hard conversations with him,” she said. He felt rejected by the South Asian community. Researcher Jennifer Lee has studied the issues around identity and belonging among various ethnic and racial groups.

“When we ask Asian Americans whether they feel they completely belong and are accepted in the United States, a mere 29% of them feel this way. Indeed, Asian Americans are the least likely to feel they completely belong compared to Black Americans (33%), Latino Americans (42%), and white Americans (61%),” she published last year.

The research found that the feeling of not belonging is especially acute among Asian American women -- who are twice as likely to be interracially married than Asian American men -- and young adults who are more likely to be U.S.-born.

Samudrala suggested that feeling rejected by your own community, which in itself is a minority group, can amplify feelings of alienation and isolation.

As a group, Indian Americans tend to be more politically liberal than conservative. The Indian American Attitudes Survey -- conducted between Sept. 1 and Sept. 20, 2020 -- found that 72% of registered Indian American voters had planned to vote for Joe Biden and 22% had planned to vote for Donald Trump.

A far-right affiliation among Indian Americans is unusual, although not unheard of.

For more recent immigrants and older generations, there may be similarities between the escalating Hindu nationalism in India and right-wing populism in America. And for affluent Indian Americans who vote with their socioeconomic and class interests, there can be a draw to conservative politics.

But for younger people, it may be a more complex and subtle drift toward extreme right-wing ideology. Far-right groups exploit algorithms on social media sites, including YouTube, that target the young male demographic. It’s surprisingly easy to fall down a rabbit hole on the internet that leads to videos about feminists destroying America and other misogynistic, conspiratorial propaganda.

There’s also a segment of younger Asian Americans who are strongly opposed to affirmative action, which they see as hurting their chances of admission to top universities. Watching one video or clicking on a single link leads to more and more extreme content online.

No information has been released on how Kandula became interested in neo-Nazi ideology or about his mental health status. Patri cautioned against jumping to conclusions or targeting his family.

“It’s easy to criticize without knowing the story,” she said.

She has focused on talking to her own children about how they are processing and feeling about the incident. She wants to destigmatize seeking care for mental help within the community.

“Could this have been prevented?” she asked. “I don’t know. This could be his cry for help.”

When teachers would post class rankings, Amie Fornah Sankoh would find herself in the same dreaded position year after year: dead last.

Grades were shared publicly in Sierra Leone, where Sankoh grew up during a civil war fueled by blood diamonds. The humiliation and pity she received made her believe she was unable to learn; broken.

In fact, Sankoh's poor academic standing had nothing to do with her intelligence or abilities.

When she was 3 years old, she contracted malaria and spiked a high fever. She recovered from the infection but lost hearing in both ears. In Freetown, where she lived, there was no deaf culture, no one to teach her sign language. Sankoh was essentially cut off from communication.

In 2003, when she was 12, her parents sent her to America to live with relatives, hoping that a medical procedure might restore her hearing. She did not qualify for the procedure, but what she learned in school over the next years changed what she imagined was possible and altered the course of her life.

Sankoh learned American Sign Language.

Finally, at age 15, she had a way to communicate.

"That's when I first realized I could learn," she said. "I was shocked."

Her high school provided a sign language interpreter for her classes. Sankoh took multiple English classes to catch up. She excelled in math and science, and became fascinated by chemistry.

"I could only learn math growing up because it was a very visual subject," she said. After graduating from high school, she chose to attend the National Technical Institute for the Deaf at the Rochester Institute for Technology.

"RIT is where I was really able to learn the most and expand my research," she said. Just as important, she learned how to advocate for herself. Those skills proved vital when she was accepted into a doctoral program at the University of Tennessee -- the only deaf student in its Department of Biochemistry and Cellular and Molecular Biology.

Students with disabilities continue to face obstacles in schools despite the passage of three major federal laws -- the Individuals With Disabilities Education Act, Section 504 and the Americans With Disabilities Act -- designed to protect their rights. Even though the number of students with disabilities enrolling in college has been steadily growing over the past several years, their graduation rate still lags significantly behind their nondisabled peers. They make up an even smaller percentage of graduate schools: Those with disabilities make up about 8% of graduate students, according to data by the National Center for Education Statistics.

Those challenges are far greater for Black students with disabilities, who are more likely to face disciplinary sanctions in schools than their peers. Stark racial disparities persist in graduate education, a product of generations of systemic inequities in American education. In fact, scant research or data exist on the outcomes of Black graduate students with disabilities.

When Sankoh arrived at the University of Tennessee, she could tell that some of her peers doubted whether she belonged in the rigorous doctoral program.

She struggled to understand the interpreter assigned to her courses because of the specialized scientific background needed to even communicate certain concepts. She recalled a lecture about mass in which the interpreter completely misunderstood the scientific vocabulary.

Many times, she sat in classes for hours, completely lost.

"A teacher wouldn't think I was paying attention in class because I was watching the interpreter," she said. It was frustrating and took hours of studying on her own, working with a mentor and seeking one-on-one help outside of class.

"When a deaf person asks me, 'How did you survive?' I say it was a lot of work, a lot of patience and a lot of perseverance," she said.

There were times when she wanted to give up. The first time she had to give a presentation in front of her classmates, she felt sick to her stomach.

But she persisted.

On April 20, Sankoh, 32, defended her dissertation.

She is the first deaf Black woman to earn a doctoral degree in a STEM field.

Sankoh said reaching this elite academic milestone feels surreal. Her family is still in Sierra Leone -- proud of her and stunned by what she's accomplished.

She thinks back to that student in Africa who always ranked last in her class.

"I wish I could tell her that there's nothing wrong with you," she said. "I wish I could go back and tell that child, 'You are stronger than you think.'"

The rituals that mark the end of high school have multiplied since I was a senior.

Granted, I graduated in an era so long ago that we had to call our friends on a phone attached to a wall and deal with a busy signal if the line was engaged.

Those were primitive times. It makes sense that students who can take professional-quality photos and shoot videos from phones in their pockets have more events to document.

Our daughter had the misfortune of graduating from high school during the height of the global pandemic two years ago. Her commencement was in the parking lot of a dead mall. There were few senior traditions because most of us were just trying to stay alive.

But this year, for our son's graduation, all the pomp-and-circumstance is back. By the end of the month, his school and the parent organization will have hosted: a Senior Sunset, where the class gathers on the football field on the last day of school to watch the sun go down (a bookend to the Senior Sunrise they had on the first day); a class photo; a senior field trip; a last-day senior picnic; an honors night; the prom; a senior parade and an after-graduation party.

Back in the landline days, we had a senior skip day and a senior prank, both unsanctioned. My former classmates reminded me that our prank involved dumping buckets of water off the roof of the school onto the administrators during our senior picture. The principal was not pleased.

Allegedly, class pranks were outlawed after a student hired a stripper one year.

Gen X was built differently.

I can't imagine my kids, part of do-gooder Gen Z, involved in anything like that. Their school's Instagram feed is filled with student testimonials about their favorite teachers. I have to admit that teachers also seem to have more compassion and patience these days.

I had a chance to think about all the educators who have taught our kids when I showed up for the best senior tradition, which was also new to me: the elementary school walk-through. The seniors put on their caps and gowns, got on the school buses and headed to the elementary feeder school they had attended. Before they entered, the high school teacher who accompanied them told them to hand a sticker to any little kid who reminded them of themselves at that age. The kindergartners through fifth graders lined the hallways with congratulatory signs and chanted, "Let's go, seniors," cheering as the older ones sauntered through the halls.

I kept myself together through all the other "lasts" -- the last tennis match, the last band performance, the last day of school. But when I saw those tiny kindergartners gazing in awe at these giant kids walking through their school, I fought back tears. In that instant I saw the highlight reel -- the school plays, the strings concerts, the end-of-year assemblies and class parties -- that took place in that building. The little ones saw a glimpse into the future; the older ones, a reflection of their past.

My son said his former third grade teacher spotted him in the walk-through and tackled him in a hug. Mrs. Powell had adored him, and I adored her. I don't know if their teachers know how much they shaped them into the young adults they are now or how grateful I am for their effort and care. I don't know if the parents of those kindergartners realize how quickly it will be their babies' turn to walk these halls in caps and gowns.

"What a journey," my son's elementary school chess coach said to me as we walked out. I could only nod, afraid that any words would release the torrent of emotions I was trying to keep under control. As I walked to my car, I ran into the mom of another senior, whom my son has stayed friends with throughout the years.

"I'm trying not to break down in front of my kid," she said. Her voice caught as she held back a sob.

I could hardly speak.

The elementary school looked so much bigger when they used to go there. It seems to have shrunk. Now, they scarcely fit in the hallways. How had they outgrown this place that had helped shape them into young men and women?

I watched from my car in the parking lot, where I used to wait in the pickup line, as the seniors loaded the buses.

Slowly but surely, they left the school behind.