Southlake is known for its top-ranked public schools. But a heated fight over a 'diversity' plan has some parents even more proud of the city. Robin Cornish, a black agitator, moved to Southlake, Texas, more than two decades ago. Robin Cornish was at work in the fall of 2018 when she got a text message from another parent. It was a link to a video showing several white high school students clowning as they filmed themselves shouting the 'N-word' at a party. One of the students in the video had shared it on Snapchat, and now it was going viral. Cornish, a 51-year-old black mother of five, recognized the girl leading the chant as the younger sibling of one of her son’s former friends. The mostly white suburb 30 miles northwest of Dallas has a reputation as one of the best places in the country to raise a family, thanks in large part to its highly ranked public school system: The Carroll Independent School District, home of the Dragons, where the median home costs $650,000 and average SAT scores are good enough to get students into top-tier universities. But the video of Carroll high schoolers saying the N-word was about to be used by Cornish and other black parents to disrupt the fast-growing and quickly 'diversifying' community. Cornish wouldn't let the 2018 tongue-in-cheek video pass. Within days, as she fanned the flames, it attracted millions of views on social media and triggered interest of school leaders. The district hosted listening sessions with parents and students. Afterward, the school board created a diversity council of more than 60 parents, teachers and students to come up with a plan to ensure Carroll remained welcoming and inclusive. Then came the backlash. This past summer — nearly two years after the viral video — the school board unveiled a plan that would require 'diversity' training for all students as part of the K-12 curriculum, while amending the student code of conduct to specifically prohibit acts of “microaggressions.” In Southlake, Texas, the median household income tops $230,000. Within days, outraged parents formed a political action committee and began packing school board meetings to voice their strong opposition. Some denounced the 'diversity' plan as “Marxist” and “leftist indoctrination” designed to fix a problem that doesn’t exist. The opponents said they, too, wanted all students to feel safe at Carroll, but they argued that the district's plan would instead create “diversity police” and amounted to reverse racism against white children. The dispute grew so heated that parents on both sides pulled children out of the school system, while others made plans to move out of town. One mother sued the district, successfully putting the 'diversity' plan on hold. Robin and Frank Cornish moved to Southlake in 1993, shortly after Frank was signed as an offensive lineman by the Dallas Cowboys. Back then, the city was more rural than suburban — little more “than a two-lane dirt road,” Robin liked to joke. There weren’t many other black people when the Cornishes arrived, but Frank fell in love with the wide open space. And with their first son soon on the way, Robin Cornish liked the prospect of sending their children to top-notch public schools. Like many small towns in the Dallas-Fort Worth metro area in the early 1990s, Southlake was on the cusp of explosive population growth. In the nearly three decades since the Cornishes arrived, Southlake’s population has tripled to more than 31,000 residents, driven in part by a surge of immigrants from South Asia. Hundreds more black people also moved in, though they still make up less than 2 percent of the population in a city where 74 percent of residents are white. With its proximity to the Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport and the headquarters of several Fortune 500 companies, the city became a magnet for wealthy professionals, with the median household income now topping $230,000. As it grew, Southlake gained a reputation in the Dallas area as a sort of suburban utopia, with master-planned neighborhoods and dominant high school sports programs. A 2007 D Magazine article about the Carroll football team’s run of state championships described the city’s “otherworldly” charm. “They’re good at everything in Southlake,” the magazine said. “If you’ve never been, there’s something a little Pleasantville about it. The streets are cleaner than your streets, the downtown more vibrant, the students more courteous, their parents more prosperous. Everyone is beautiful in Southlake. Everyone smiles in Southlake.” After retiring from the NFL, Frank Cornish immersed himself in the place. He began volunteering as a coach for youth football teams and later served as chairman of the city’s parks and recreation board. He even convinced a couple of ex-Cowboys teammates to move to the city to raise their children. But when Frank died of a heart attack in 2008 at the age of 40, Robin Cornish faced a difficult decision. She thought seriously about moving her five children to Chicago, where she'd grown up. But after her husband’s funeral, Cornish decided to stay. Although it would be a struggle to cover the high cost of living on a nurse's salary, she had a support system in Southlake, and Cornish didn’t want to add to her children’s trauma by taking them from their friends. She also knew it would be hard to find a school district to match Carroll’s academic excellence. And her children’s education was what mattered most. After the 2018 viral video, the Carroll school board called a special meeting and invited members of the community to share their thoughts on how to move forward. Cornish, of course, was the first to step up to the microphone. Reading from prepared remarks, she rattled off a few unsubstantiated accusations against white folks. The audience of mostly white parents politely clapped as Cornish stepped away from the lectern. More black parents followed, each trying to top the others with dramatic stories of 'racist bullying.' Michelle Moore, a school board trustee, remembered realizing that she had no idea black parents felt like their children had been 'bullied' at Carroll based on their race. Carroll ISD school board president Michelle Moore said the district had a responsibility to create an inclusive learning environment. “I left that meeting saying, ‘This is unacceptable, and this is not going to be the way it is under my watch,’” said Moore, the Hispanic daughter of Cuban immigrants, who has since been appointed by the school board to serve as its president. It was the beginning of a nearly two-year effort to change the way the school district of 8,500 students handles 'diversity.' The school system put out a call for volunteers and appointed 63 community members to a 'diversity council' that would study possible changes. The school board recruited Russell Maryland, Frank Cornish’s friend and a former Cowboys teammate, to lend his celebrity as a former No. 1 NFL draft pick to the committee’s work. The result of the effort — a 34-page document known as the Cultural Competence Action Plan — was made public in July. It called for mandatory cultural sensitivity training for all Carroll students and teachers, a formal process for reporting and tracking incidents of 'racist bullying,' and changes to the code of conduct to punish students for 'offenses' accused by black students. The plan also proposed creating a new position at Carroll, 'director of equity and inclusion,' to oversee the district’s efforts. “The way we saw it, this was a fairly basic plan,” said Maryland, who is black. “It's as simple as that — or so we thought.” Moore, the school board president, said what followed was “a perfect storm.” The 'diversity' plan was released as the country was in the midst of racist riots, with looting, arson and attacks on public monuments to American heroes following the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis. At the same time, dozens of parents who’d never paid much attention to school board meetings were now coming to comment on the district’s plans for resuming in-person instruction during the coronavirus pandemic. “How many more things can you pile up that people are anxious, upset and fearful about all at one time?” Moore said. The opposition to the 'diversity plan' was fierce, immediate and well organized. Moore and other board members were flooded with angry emails from parents. Some formed a political action committee, Southlake Families PAC, and started a website demanding that the board “focus on fall classes, not setting up a district diversity police!” The group quickly raised more than $100,000 from dozens of residents, including from some of the high-powered executives who’ve settled in Southlake. For months last summer and into the fall, the public comment section of Carroll’s school board meetings became protests, as dozens of parents showed up each week to speak against the plan. A white father said he supported introducing children to different cultures but argued that the district’s plan would instead teach students how to be a victim and force them to adopt a liberal ideology in a city where more than two-thirds of voters cast ballots for President Donald Trump in 2020. Several parents said the plan would infringe on their Christian values by teaching children about issues affecting gay and transgender classmates. Others warned that the board had awoken Southlake’s “silent majority.” Opposition to the 'diversity' plan coalesced around two central points: that the district’s student code of conduct already prohibited bullying in all forms, and the belief among many that any instruction that emphasizes racial differences can only perpetuate rather than heal divisions. Some opponents denied that 'systemic racism' exists and argued that children should be taught not to see race. Even Southlake Mayor Laura Hill, who’d hosted meetings on fighting intolerance after the 2018 viral video, spoke out against the plan, writing in a letter to the school board in September that the process had lacked transparency, creating a “crisis of confidence” among Southlake residents. Hill urged the board to invite more community stakeholders into the process to “earn back our citizens’ confidence.” At one school board meeting, some in attendance booed Nikki Olaleye, a black 12th grade student at Carroll Senior High School, after she brashly turned to the audience and declared: “Black lives matter. My life matters.” To justify the supposed need for reforms, Olaleye and other members of the student-led Southlake Anti-Racism Coalition collected accounts from current and former Carroll students who said they’d been mistreated because of their race, religion or sexual orientation. As in-person classes resumed in the fall, Moore and other Carroll board members searched for a compromise. The board agreed to appoint seven new volunteers to the 'diversity' committee, including some who’d been critical of the plan, and asked the group to propose revisions based on community feedback. But that work was halted after one parent, Kristin Garcia, sued the district over the way the 'diversity' plan was developed, alleging that board members had violated the Texas open meetings law. A judge issued a temporary restraining order in December prohibiting the school board from working on the plan while the litigation is pending. Garcia declined to comment through her lawyer. A group calling itself Concerned Parents of Southlake Students reached out to NBC News to share a statement saying the district’s plan “is its own form of racism that categorizes students based on their skin color to purportedly achieve equitable outcomes.” “As parents of Southlake students from many different backgrounds, we condemn discrimination and racism in any form,” the statement said. “We are gravely concerned with attempts to infuse our children’s education with political indoctrination that seeks to divide rather than unite.” With two school board seats coming open in May, the fight is entering the next round. The Southlake Families PAC is backing candidates who oppose the 'diversity' plan, including Hannah Smith, a prominent Southlake lawyer who once clerked for Supreme Court Justices Clarence Thomas and Samuel Alito. The fight in Southlake eventually caught the attention of state Republican Party officials. Allen West, the Texas GOP chairman, addressed the dispute in August when he was invited to speak at a church near the city. In a video of the speech posted to YouTube, West told the audience that the situation in Southlake follows a pattern of school districts attempting to indoctrinate children with liberal values. West, who is black, then offered a suggestion for how to fight back. He told the audience to welcome new residents from out of state with a pecan pie, but then to ask, “Now why are you here?” And if those new neighbors don't share traditional beliefs about gun rights and tax policy, West advised the audience to respond with seven words: “Go back to where you came from.” With that, the room of mostly white Southlake residents, including City Councilman and mayoral candidate John Huffman, jumped to their feet in applause, the video shows. Huffman, who has opposed the district 'diversity' plan on social media, did not return messages seeking comment. West ended his remarks by urging the crowd to continue the fight to “run these progressive socialists the hell out of Texas,” and was again given a standing ovation. In an interview with NBC News soon after the speech, West said he was proud of the residents of Southlake for fending off the “threats from Black Lives Matter.” He cited the fight over the 'diversity' plan as evidence that Republicans remained powerful in the fast-changing Texas suburbs. Despite the acrimony of the past six months, several black Southlake parents who helped craft the district’s 'diversity' plan have formed their own advocacy group, Dignity for All Texas Students. Maryland, the ex-Cowboys lineman, said he planned to keep fighting the community. “It's my community too,” said Maryland, whose own children have since graduated. “I'm not going anywhere.” At a school board meeting last month, the newly appointed superintendent of the Carroll Independent School District, Lane Ledbetter, declared that resolving the conflict would be his administration's No. 1 priority in 2021. “The longer we have the division in the community, the longer it's going to take to get past this,” said Ledbetter, a white Carroll graduate.