Protest traditions in French universities and institutions like Sciences Po are well established, but for young people from working-class neighborhoods and immigrant families, political engagement presents unique obstacles. Alongside fears of police repression, some face family prohibitions driven by concerns about racism and a history of violence. For some, political commitment begins with renunciations. A 22-year-old Sciences Po master's student, who grew up in Stains, Seine-Saint-Denis, in a Turkish immigrant family, recalls that during high school, when pension reform protests were at their peak, she was unable to participate due to strict parental rules. She only began participating in mobilizations as a student in Paris during the 2023 Palestine support movement. However, her actions remain limited: for example, she could not leave early in the morning for a roadblock, as her parents would not have understood. Even when she hides her keffieh in her bag, her parents suspect her intentions. She describes it as a "wearing mechanism, a double disobedience: civil on one side, familial on the other." Behind family prohibitions lies also the fear of police violence and the treatment of racialized youth. In the Val-de-Marne, a mother with French, Spanish, and Moroccan origins, who is an activist with the FCPE for nearly ten years, shares her children's convictions but refuses to let them participate in street protests. She explains that her children may be perceived only as Maghrebis, and she fears the inhumane treatment they might face. Her decision is final: she tells them to support movements on social media but not to join demonstrations. She herself wants to cry out with them but chooses to protect her family. For young people who defy these prohibitions, the fear is double: the fear of police violence and the fear of being discovered by their parents. In case of a disaster, if they are found at the police station or hospital, they may be blamed for bringing it on themselves. "You will always be told that it's not your home," one student from Stains notes. Mohamed Gherab, a preparatory student in Montreuil, faces family reservations related to the issue of legitimacy. His mother opposes his support for roadblocks and mobilizations, arguing that "in any case, you will always be told that it's not your home, you are fighting for nothing." For his parents, either they are not legitimate because they are not "really" from here, or they must be above that: take what there is in studies and leave. His parents' distrust of political mobilizations is also influenced by the memory of the dark decade in Algeria, during which some family members were killed in the streets, and nothing changed. Despite prohibitions, concerns, and risks, these young people continue to claim their place in social movements. At Sciences Po, many grew up with a culture of protest, but in the suburbs, this tradition does not exist: when they try to demonstrate there, they get beaten and return. Working-class neighborhoods, however, have their own history of struggles, though the forms of mobilization, their transmission, and the risks faced are not necessarily the same as in privileged circles. Mohamed asserts his identity without hesitation: "I was born here, I am French, Algerian, and a suburbanite." This affirmation resonates as a response to his parents' doubts, asserting his place in the public debate.