“Catch Me If You Can” is one of my favorite Broadway musicals. It’s about the story of Frank Abagnale, a man who impersonated a pilot, doctor, lawyer and more, without ever finishing high school. I love singing the song “Fly, Fly Away,” which is sung by Abagnale’s love interest, Brenda. She acknowledges the false identity he presents to the world but sees his true self.
In real life, despite committing more than $2 million in fraud, Abagnale is respected as an authority and public speaker on cybercrime and identity theft. His story is further celebrated through a Steven Spielberg film starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks. That story, full of charm and the idea of building yourself up, has always stuck with me.
Just over two months ago, news broke that Ian Roberts, then superintendent of Des Moines Public Schools, had been detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Although I live in Iowa City, Roberts wasn’t a stranger to me. Last year, my mom showed me a social media post of him, a former Olympian, racing against elementary students on the track. It was heartwarming to see a minority leader in a position of influence. Knowing the Des Moines schools had a Black superintendent felt encouraging as a student who values representation.
When I first heard about his detainment, my initial reaction was anger at Immigration and Customs Enforcement. It felt close to my own community, and it was scary to realize even public figures weren’t safe. But as more details emerged such as him falsifying credentials and not finishing his doctorate, my anger shifted to Roberts himself. What once seemed inspiring now felt like a betrayal: someone I had seen as a strong minority leader appeared to reinforce negative stereotypes instead of breaking them, especially in today’s anti-DEI and anti-immigration climate.
Yet, at the same time, I felt a growing disappointment in the media for framing similar acts of fraud so differently, depending on who commits them. Frank Abagnale’s story is romanticized and praised as high-end entertainment, while Roberts’ actions are turned into a scandal that seems to reflect on the larger group he represents. Why is this double standard so pervasive in media and accepted by society?
Roberts served as an administrator for multiple school districts across the nation. Most recently, he was the superintendent of the Des Moines Independent Community School District. On Sept. 26, Roberts was arrested by ICE during a targeted enforcement operation. Roberts, a Guyana national with a final order of removal, was reportedly driving a school-district vehicle when he fled from authorities; his abandoned car was later found nearby. ICE reported finding a loaded handgun, a hunting knife, and $3,000 in cash in the vehicle. Roberts also faced prior weapons-possession charges and had been under scrutiny for misrepresenting his academic credentials, claiming a doctoral degree he did not complete, and misleading local organizations. Following the arrest, the Iowa Board of Educational Examiners revoked his superintendent license, and the school board placed him on administrative leave before accepting his resignation.
Meanwhile, Frank Abagnale is a convicted felon, famous for his story of fraud of over $2 million and impersonation of a pilot. He managed to forge his way into life, becoming a pilot, doctor, lawyer and professor, all without a high school diploma. Still, he is praised and a sought-after public speaker, continuing to share his story with people all over the world.
Like Roberts, Abagnale reportedly constructed an elaborate persona that earned him trust and opportunities he hadn’t legitimately achieved. The parallels between the two men and the contrasting responses to their cases reveal how society often glorifies deception and fraud by white men with charm and confidence. On the other hand, the media and audiences are so eager to turn Robert’s fraud into condemnation and scandal, while details are still being uncovered and his side of the story remains untold.
To better understand this, I met with Dr. Venise Berry, a professor in journalism and African American studies at the University of Iowa, from whom I learned about “racialism.” According to Professor Berry, racialism involves the fact that various stereotypes, biased frames and historical myths are tied to African Americans as well as traditional racism through the media. Racialism is different from individual prejudice; it is about widely accepted narratives and frames.
“What I’m trying to argue with racialism is that there are a lot of stereotypes and biased frames, and historical myths that have become normalized in our society. We see them all the time, and we see them everywhere. So, we accept them,” Berry said.
The media plays a major role in normalizing these stereotypes. There is a clear double standard when it comes to portraying Roberts as a criminal versus portraying Abagnale as a misunderstood ‘hero.’ Additionally, Roberts seems to have confirmed the false stereotypes of a black man to the public, and that is especially problematic.
According to PBS, a 2023 Pew Research survey found that most Black Americans see news coverage of Black people as negative or racially biased, showing that these patterns of racialized framing are widely recognized.
Professor Berry believes Roberts has confirmed some of the negatives concerning Black men, further reinforcing long-standing stereotypes. Due to racialism, a single case of misconduct can lead audiences to generalize these behaviors to the broader Black community or, even more broadly, to people of color.
Berry emphasizes that after cases like Roberts’, institutions “are going to be very, very cautious about putting another person of color in” leadership roles, whereas white individuals in similar situations are “more likely to be just as easily replaced with another white person.”
That kind of framing not only affects public perception, it also has real-world repercussions. For example, in February 2025, President Trump abruptly fired Gen. Charles Q. “CQ” Brown Jr., the second Black chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “[General Brown] was replaced with a white man who was a three-star general, and he had to get a waiver to be in that position. So they replaced a qualified black person with a white person who wasn’t qualified, and they had to give him a promotion and give him a special waiver because he technically was not qualified for the position,” Professor Berry noted.
Critics viewed the move as part of a campaign targeting military leaders who support diversity and equity. Under racialism, such a dismissal can be read not merely as a personnel change, but as a signal reinforcing to students, especially in places like West High, that people of color in leadership positions can be punished or replaced in ways that white leaders often are not. This effect has real consequences: it can influence how minority students are perceived, limit opportunities for aspiring student leaders and shape expectations within West High’s diverse population, which includes many first and second-generation immigrants.
“There’s probably a huge hypocrisy based on race… When a white person does something, it’s not tied to everybody, but because there are these stereotypical images and ideas that society has accepted and normalized, one Black person impacts the whole society,” Professor Berry explained.
This racial double standard is clear when comparing Frank Abagnale and Ian Roberts. Abagnale’s elaborate fraud is celebrated in popular culture and transformed into charming stories. In contrast, Roberts’ falsification of credentials is interpreted not as an individual failing, but as confirming negative stereotypes about Black men. Racialism helps explain why similar behaviors receive fundamentally different societal responses: while Abagnale is disconnected from his whiteness, Roberts’ actions are seen as reflecting an entire community. This disparity highlights how media framing, societal bias and entrenched racial narratives shape public perception of minority leadership.
Even with racialism shaping how Roberts’s story is perceived, his alleged actions cannot be ignored. Falsifying credentials as a superintendent is a serious breach of trust and responsibility. It affects not just him, but the staff, students, community and young minorities like me who looked up to him as a leader. For many, especially students of color, seeing a minority leader make such mistakes can feel like a setback, reinforcing doubts or stereotypes about who belongs in positions of authority. At the same time, it’s clear that if a white superintendent had done something similar, it would likely be seen as an individual lapse rather than a reflection on their entire community. Roberts’ case shows why accountability matters. But it also shows why racial bias makes the consequences for some leaders far heavier than for others.
“It’s problematic that he, on some levels, thought that he could get away with this. He might have been a really great guy, and he may still be. I don’t know him, but the bottom line is, a lot of times, lies come back to haunt you, and that’s basically what has happened with him,” Professor Berry added.
My conversation with Professor Berry was truly revealing. Even acknowledging how racialism shapes public perception, Roberts’ alleged actions represent a serious breach of trust and responsibility. This setback affects the broader minority community, making the successes of strong minority leaders seem like exceptions rather than the norm. As a minority student with leadership aspirations, I now see the ongoing fight more clearly: I must hold myself accountable, knowing that any misstep not only carries heavier personal consequences but also risks reinforcing harmful narratives that racialism seeks to normalize about my community.
