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Recent violent and fatal encounters involving US Immigration and Customs Enforcement have forced families across lines of race, ethnicity, and immigration status to confront the reality of their precarious existence in America—and start talking to their children about how to stay safe.
It is 1955 and the hot Mississippi sun is blazing overhead. Miles away in Chicago a Black mother is having a conversation with her 14-year-old son. She tries to impress upon him the often subtle but dangerous realities of what it means to be Black in America, and how one misinterpretation, one lie, could result in his death. That boy is Emmett Till, and in her memoir, Death of Innocence, Mamie Till-Mobley reflects on “The Talk” she delivered to her son before his historically tragic trip to Mississippi.
This version of The Talk dates back to American chattel slavery and has been passed down for generations in Black families, shaped by ongoing racial violence and unequal treatment. But recent violent and fatal encounters involving US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) have forced families across lines of race, ethnicity, and immigration status to confront the reality of their precarious existence in America—and start talking to their children about how to stay safe. Black families’ experience on how to have these conversations is now, tragically, something many families can learn from.
The Talk has always carried more than one meaning. For many families, it refers to the conversation about the birds and the bees, the discussion parents have with their children about dating, puberty, and sex in an effort to prevent teen pregnancy or sexually transmitted infections. That version of The Talk is often framed as universal.
But for Black families, The Talk has long meant something entirely different. In addition to conversations about puberty, Black parents have used The Talk to prepare their children for the realities of race and how to stay safe in a society shaped by racism.
In this modern era The Talk is undergoing another round of evolution. It is no longer just a Black conversation. It is fast becoming an American conversation.
Both conversations typically happen around the onset of puberty, but only some families have had the privilege of needing just one version of The Talk. In a 2024 study conducted by Dr. Conial Caldwell, Black fathers reflected on whether other communities also have The Talk. The consensus was clear: Some groups have long had the luxury of avoiding it, while others have their own versions shaped by identity, history, and perceived vulnerability. However, that distinction is beginning to blur.
Because of recent ICE actions, many immigrant and mixed-status families are foregoing everyday liberties out of fear, like grocery shopping and going to work. In Connecticut, Minneapolis, and other locations school attendance stymied by ICE-related anxiety is widespread. Recent deaths linked to encounters with federal immigration enforcement, including those of Keith Porter Jr., Renee Nicole Good, and Alex Preti in Minnesota, have sparked national outrage and renewed scrutiny of ICE’s training practices, accountability, and use of force, including against white Americans. These incidents follow the detention of 5-year-old Liam Conejo Ramos by ICE agents, showing that not even young children are safe.
Families who once felt insulated from normalized and state sanctioned violence against Black Americans, are now asking the same questions Black parents have asked for generations: How do we keep our children safe? How do we prepare them for interactions with law enforcement? What do we say and when?
The fathers in Caldwell’s study offered simple but powerful guidance.
Parents should have The Talk early and revisit it often, adjusting the conversation as children grow. As children grow and become part of new environments outside of the home, so too do the risks of danger increase. Parents’ protective conversations should reflect their children’s developmental stage and level of maturity. At the same time, they should be mindful of social media and television, recognizing that children are exposed to images and narratives that shape their understanding of safety and belonging. Social media has become of one the major spaces of youth interactions; thus, the risk of exposure is not only heighted but as consistent as their internet access. Beyond one’s immediate family, communities must work together to protect all children, not just their own. And children must be consistently reminded that their lives have value, regardless of how they look or where they come from.
From chattel slavery to emancipation, from reconstruction and the civil rights period to post civil rights, The Talk has had to respond to harsh prevailing societal realities for Black Americans. In this modern era The Talk is undergoing another round of evolution. It is no longer just a Black conversation. It is fast becoming an American conversation. So, just as Mamie Till-Mobley may have agonized over her words as she gave her son some of her final attempts at guidance and protection, parents across the USA are weighing their words and conversations in their attempts to safeguard their children.
From the web to the streets, the president of the United States is weaponizing the federal government to hunt, prosecute, and punish his enemies.
In recent months, the Department of Homeland Security has issued hundreds of administrative subpoenas to tech companies demanding the personal information of social media accounts that track, criticize, or oppose Immigration Customs and Enforcement. This includes Google, Reddit, Meta, and Discord, which—in a move that makes far more sense now—recently announced it will require users to submit a face scan or upload an ID to access full content.
While alarming, this is only the latest step in a year-long effort by President Donald Trump’s DHS to expand its online surveillance apparatus under the guise of combating left-wing “political violence” and “domestic terrorism.” In February 2025, The Intercept revealed that ICE was soliciting pitches for an automated system that would scan social media and other sites for anti-ICE sentiment and threats. If anything "suspicious" were detected, a contractor would conduct a detailed review of the user’s background, including:
Previous social media activity which would indicate any additional threats to ICE; 2). Information which would indicate the individual(s) and/or the organization(s) making threats have a proclivity for violence; and 3). Information indicating a potential for carrying out a threat (such as postings depicting weapons, acts of violence, refences [sic] to acts of violence, to include empathy or affiliation with a group which has violent tendencies; references to violent acts; affections with violent acts; eluding [sic] to violent acts.
To estimate one’s “potential for carrying out a threat” or “proclivity for violence,” contractors would draw on “social and behavioral sciences” and “psychological profiles.” Sentiment analysis would likely be carried out by machine-learning algorithms. While details here are sparse, the important point for now is that this review would attempt to assess one’s present and future threat to ICE based on the agency’s own internal (and politically biased) criteria.
Once flagged, the system would scour a target’s internet history and attempt to reveal their real-world location and offline identity. Contractors would provide ICE with a slew of personal information including: “photograph, partial legal name, partial date of birth, possible city, possible work affiliations, possible school or university affiliation, and any identified possible family members or associates.”
All of this meant to invoke fear, silence dissent, and consolidate power for Trump and his allies. Yet, despite the dangers, we must resist.
In October 2025, Wired reported that ICE plans to drastically expand their surveillance capabilities by hiring nearly 30 private contractors to scan social media sites and convert posts, photos, and messages into new leads for enforcement raids.
In January 2026, investigative journalist Ken Klippenstein revealed that DHS and the FBI have over a dozen “secret and obscure” watch lists they use to track “protesters (both anti-ICE and pro-Palestinian), ‘Antifa,’ and those who are promiscuously labelled ‘domestic terrorists.’” These watch lists include a classified social media repository code named Slipstream, as well as others “used to link people on the streets together, including collecting on friends and families who have nothing to do with any purported lawbreaking.” This reporting came a few days after a video was released online of an ICE agent telling a protester that they have a “nice little database” and “now you’re considered a domestic terrorist.”
These watch lists are an extension of Trump’s National Security Presidential Memo 7 (NSPM-7). That memo mandates a “national strategy to investigate and disrupt networks, entities, and organizations that foment political violence so that law enforcement can intervene in criminal conspiracies before they result in violent political acts.” Per the memo, domestic terrorism is fomented by the spread of “‘anti-fascist’ rhetoric” including, “anti-Americanism, anti-capitalism, and anti-Christianity,” as well as “extremism on migration, race, and gender.”
The labeling of any view Trump disagrees with as “domestic terrorism” is dangerous and strategic. As Rachel Levinson-Waldman, the director of the Brennan Center for Justice’s Liberty and National Security Program, notes, under the Patriot Act, “Any federal or state crime can be used as the basis for a domestic terrorism investigation if it is ‘dangerous to human life’” and “appear[s] to be intended to intimidate or coerce a civilian population” or the government. This broad basis allows DHS to use its vast policing and surveillance powers to investigate civil rights organizations, activists, and donors to progressive causes as well as online critics. Regardless of the outcome of their investigation, being suspected of domestic terrorism—regardless of how unconstitutional, frivolous, and politically motivated the charge—can have lasting impacts, including loss of employment and housing, inability to conduct financial transactions, as well as public stigma.
Importantly, the image of the “domestic terrorist” is quite different from the ordinary criminal. The “domestic terrorist” does not simply violate the law, they commit “ideologically driven crimes” aimed to destroy the nation and its people. They represent a far greater threat. This is why the State Department has been revoking the visas of hundreds of students who express “pro-Hamas” views, whether in protest, newsletters, or on social media. For Secretary of State Marco Rubio, the presence of “these lunatics” is contrary to the national security and interests of the United States. The State Department has also denied visas to people “celebrating” the death of Charlie Kirk for similar reasons.
National security is also the basis for imposing denaturalization quotas for foreign-born citizens as well as the Trump administration’s efforts to restrict birthright citizenship for the children of undocumented immigrants. In each case, “national security,” “left-wing political violence,” and “domestic terrorism” are used to justify the denial of rights and the abuse of federal powers.
For US-born citizens like Renee Good, Alex Pretti, Marimar Martinez, or those subjected to ICE’s mass digital surveillance, those punitive measures are unavailable. Instead, the designation of “domestic terrorist” is meant to mark them as traitors—as people who, like “pro-Hamas” visa holders or “dangerous illegal criminal aliens more broadly,” do not belong in this country. For this administration, they are essentially citizens in name only—they do not “share our values, contribute to our economy, and assimilate in our society.” Thus, they too must be subjected to the full arsenal of policing and surveillance powers at DHS’ disposal.
In fact, for Trump, these "faux" citizens are a greater threat than undocumented immigrants. As then-presidential candidate Trump put it, “I think the bigger problem is the enemy from within, not even the people that have come in and destroying our country. […] I think the bigger problem are the people from within. We have some very bad people. We have some sick people. Radical left lunatics.” But the reality is that far from sick, bad, or radical, these are ordinary law-abiding people whose only crime is defying the rising piss-stained tide of Trump’s authoritarianism.
The dangers here are real and serious: The blatant First Amendment violations; the widening of DHS’ mass surveillance capabilities; the policing of dissent, both actual and possible; the coordinated effort to undermine digital activism; the complicity of tech companies in furthering the fascist ambitions of the Trump administration; the malicious smearing of those who oppose this administration as “domestic terrorists”; as well as the reality—unnerving, though far from unprecedented—that from the web to the streets the president of the United States is weaponizing the federal government to hunt, prosecute, and punish his enemies.
All of this meant to invoke fear, silence dissent, and consolidate power for Trump and his allies. Yet, despite the dangers, we must resist. We must continue calling out ICE’s abuses, championing Palestinian sovereignty, denouncing Trump’s vile imperial and colonial ambitions, and protecting our rights and freedoms from the real domestic terrorist threat: the Trump administration.
Trump may deny direct responsibility for this message, but denial does not absolve responsibility.
Democracy is not merely a collection of institutions, laws, and elections; democracy is, above all, a language. A language grounded in minimum respect, legitimate competition, and recognition of human dignity. When this language collapses, even if ballot boxes remain in place, the substance and meaning of democracy are hollowed out. The publication—and subsequent removal—of a humiliating video targeting Barack Obama and former first lady Michelle Obama on a social media platform affiliated with Donald Trump must be understood precisely from this perspective: not as a communication mishap or a failed joke, but as a sign of the deliberate erosion of political language in the United States.
This video, released through a platform formally associated with the President of the United States, was not merely a harsh political message; it carried symbolism deeply rooted in a long history of racial degradation. More important than the image itself is the fact that such content could be disseminated at the highest level of American political power without first being stopped by ethical, institutional, or even purely strategic filters. This was no accident, but rather the product of a distinctive style of politics that Trump has cultivated for years.
From the moment he entered politics, Trump made clear that he had no intention of playing by the classical rules of political competition. He not only discarded the unwritten norms of political civility, but consciously sought to destroy them. In this model, insult, mockery, and humiliation are not costs but political capital. The harsher the reactions, the deeper the polarization, and the more brutal the language of politics becomes, the more victorious Trump perceives himself to be. Within this framework, the publication of a humiliating video targeting a former USpresident—particularly the country’s first Black president—is not a slip, but a logical continuation of the same strategy. This behavior is less about Obama himself than it is a message to Trump’s social base: that no red lines exist and that politics can be reduced to the realm of absolute derision.
The core problem is that when such images and metaphors are circulated by an ordinary citizen, they can be relegated to the margins of online hate speech. But when they are disseminated by a president or by a network affiliated with him, they enter an entirely different realm of meaning and impact. This is no longer a matter of “political satire,” but rather the normalization of a language of humiliation at the center of power. Animalistic metaphors used to describe human beings—especially racial minorities—carry a dark and bloody historical legacy. Reproducing them, even in the form of jokes or digital imagery, sends a clear message: a return to a politics in which human dignity is sacrificed for political entertainment. Trump may deny direct responsibility for this message, but denial does not absolve responsibility.
When a president turns a platform into a personal instrument of power, the ethical and political responsibility for all its messages rests squarely with him.
The removal of the video following waves of criticism should not be mistaken for reformism or accountability. This retreat resembled a tactical maneuver more than a genuine change of course. Experience over recent years shows that Trump and the media ecosystem around him have repeatedly employed the same pattern: release provocative content, gauge reactions, and, if necessary, execute a limited retreat without a real apology or acknowledgment of wrongdoing. This pattern is dangerous because it gradually shifts the boundaries of what is considered acceptable in politics. What is deemed “removable” today may become normalized tomorrow. In this way, society is not confronted with a single dramatic shock, but with a slow erosion of norms.
Truth Social is not merely a social media platform; it is the symbol of a mode of politics in which the president, the media, the message, and the audience all operate within a closed circuit. In this space, independent journalism plays no mediating role, nor do party institutions possess the capacity to moderate messaging. The result is a politics that depends less on public persuasion and more on the mobilization of loyal supporters. Within this ecosystem, Trump is not just a user but the architect of the space itself. Therefore, he cannot be absolved of responsibility for the content disseminated within it. When a president turns a platform into a personal instrument of power, the ethical and political responsibility for all its messages rests squarely with him.
The issue extends far beyond US domestic politics. For decades, the United States has sought to present itself as a defender of values such as human dignity, equality, and the fight against discrimination. Each time the official language of American politics slides toward humiliation and mockery, these claims lose credibility in the eyes of the world. For America’s rivals, such moments are a golden opportunity: living evidence of the contradiction between rhetoric and behavior. For allies, they signal troubling normative instability. And for societies grappling with racism and discrimination, they deliver a bitter message—that even at the highest levels of power, this language still enjoys legitimacy.
Ultimately, the question is not whether a single video was offensive or not; the question is what kind of politics allows such a video to be produced and circulated in the first place. Trump is not merely an individual; he represents a style of politics in which the destruction of the language of democracy has become an ordinary tactic. If democracy is to remain more than an electoral mechanism, it must protect its language. A politics built on humiliation may win votes in the short term, but in the long run it will lose public trust, institutional credibility, and moral standing. And this is a cost that not only Trump, but American society as a whole—and the global political order—will inevitably be forced to pay.