Days after President Trump ordered a surge of federal law enforcement agents in Washington, D.C., Charlene Golphin told her 17-year-old son that his curfew was being cut short by two hours.
Ms. Golphin feared that as a Black boy, her son would be caught in the dragnet set up by officers tasked by the president with cracking down on the “roving mobs of wild youth” he accused of terrorizing the city.
Her son, Atrayu Lee, argued that his mother was overreacting. He didn’t engage in the activities that could incite a negative interaction with the police, he said. He spent his free time working with local organizations and had stopped wearing hoodies or black track suits.
Ms. Golphin didn’t want to hear it. “I said what I said,” she affirmed.
The highly visible new patrols of federal agents and National Guard troops and President Trump’s declaration that young people are a threat to public safety has put Black parents on edge, prompting many of them to enforce stricter rules about going out and wade back into tough conversations about racial profiling and policing.
For decades, Black parents have given what they describe as “the talk,” a set of guidelines for how their children, particularly boys, should interact with the police and try to avoid attention from law enforcement altogether.
These conversations became heightened after the deaths of Trayvon Martin in Florida and Michael Brown in Ferguson, Mo., prompting national attention to the problem of young Black men dying at the hands of the police. After the nationwide protests that followed the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis led to policing reforms in cities across the country, some parents said they had felt comfortable enough to back off those conversations.
Keith Flemons, a father of four who lives in Washington’s 6th Ward, was one of several who said they had hoped to let their children feel relatively free to live their lives. “What am I doing except increasing their anxiety?” he said.
But the expanded federal presence has already had a transformative effect, with many families imposing strict new controls on their children.
Tanji White, who lives in Ward 7, no longer allows her 16-year-old daughter, Tangi, to venture outside by herself. Instead, her grandfather takes her to school, Target, tennis practice and even to the corner store.
Ms. White, a public school teacher in Maryland, is not happy with the solution. “I feel like this is a way of hindering her,” she said. “It’s a slippery slope because you do have to teach them to be independent.”
Complicating the discussion is the fact that their children, especially those in areas where crime is high, like Wards 7 and 8, are among the potential victims of the street crime that Mr. Trump has said he wants to prevent.
Shaquita Miles, 35, said she worried about her teenage son being stopped by a federal agent or becoming a victim of a crime “all the time.”
She now has a list of precautions for him: If he encounters a law enforcement officer, he should be respectful and comply with orders. He should pay close attention to how he dresses — avoiding clothing that might draw attention from either the police or would-be robbers. And if he’s with a large group of friends, he should avoid places such as Navy Yard, the heavily gentrified neighborhood where the Washington Nationals play.
Some families expressed concern that federal agents or National Guard troops did not have the same cultural understanding of their neighborhoods as the local police.
But for many, it is not just the federal crackdown that is upsetting. It is the sense that a brief window has been shut, a time when the country seemed open to moving beyond negative perceptions of Black people in general.
When Mr. Trump described Washington as full of “bloodshed, bedlam and squalor and worse,” some Black parents interpreted the message as racially coded.
“Are we that much of a threat to society that we have to be policed like this?” Ms. Miles said. “There was some true equality that was starting to form within our nation, but now it’s just like we took 100 steps back.”
Despite that, many parents said they would never return to the days when Black children were encouraged to blend in or to suppress their identity.
“My son is an honor roll student with braids. Yes, I am concerned,” said Ronald Moten, a community leader and co-founder of the Go-Go Museum, the site dedicated to go-go, the musical genre blending funk and soul that originated in Washington. But, he added, “I would never let my son not live in his Blackness. To me, your hair, the way you look, the way you dress, that’s you.”
Mayada Mannan-Brake, a 45-year-old mother of two, agreed. “I don’t think that this would be a time to look for reasons to blend in,” she said. “My son wears an Afro. I am not going to tell him to not wear an Afro so he can be less of a target.”
Ms. Mannan-Brake is a naturalized U.S. citizen, whose parents fled war-torn Sudan as political refugees. She is not only worried about her children, particularly her 15-year-old son, Mazin; she also is concerned that she could be illegally deported under the heavy-handed immigration crackdown that is underway.
“What happens if they take me?” she wondered. This week, she saved the number of a lawyer in her son’s phone and advised him to stay away from protests, even though she herself is an activist.
Across Washington, an informal network of parents has mobilized in response to the crackdown. They alert one another in a group chat about local immigration raids and have set up a safe passage system, transporting some students to and from school.
A public school in Northwest Washington is offering students, families and staff members shuttle van rides to a nearby Metro station and to different campuses. The school has also implemented a safety bridge initiative, where staff and faculty members volunteer as a kind of neighborhood watch during arrival and dismissal times.
The new school year, which for most schools in D.C. began on Monday, is what compelled Mr. Flemons, the father of four, to consider discussing the federal law enforcement crackdown with his family.
He had the talk with his oldest children, sharing his personal experience with law enforcement and the lessons he has learned as a 6-foot-9 man who has grown accustomed to being perceived as “big and scary.”
He told them about the surge in officers and advised them to be mindful of their surroundings and to be especially careful in and around Metro stations. The president believes the officers will make the city safe, he told them, “but unfortunately, sometimes what this leads to is over enforcement and bias on people who look like us.”
He said his children, normally rambunctious and talkative, were quiet after the conversation. “You know it’s hitting them hard, because it’s just silent,” he said. “Just awkward silence.”
Clyde McGrady reports for The Times on how race and identity is shaping American culture. He is based in Washington.
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