On a rainy night in October, Chicago’s streets were empty. Alonso Zaragoza had organized a restaurant crawl in the Belmont Cragin neighborhood on the city’s northwest side, but he was worried. Would the downpour deter other Chicagoans from showing up? After asking struggling businesses to open on their day off, Zaragoza hoped his undertaking wouldn’t be in vain.
Then he turned the corner.
“The restaurants were completely packed,” he says. “People said they’d come from Lincoln Park, and it took 45 minutes in the rain.”
Zaragoza added it felt like “we had allies supporting us.”
In early September, the Trump administration launched “Operation Midway Blitz” in Illinois and Chicago, an immigration crackdown by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) that has had a chilling effect on daily life. Chicago is a microcosm of the federal government’s divisive and potentially illegal tactics against immigrants and protestors alike, now continuing in places like Portland, Oregon; Charlotte, North Carolina and Memphis, Tennessee.
Though US Border Patrol boss Gregory Bovino and Department of Homeland Security agents have left the city (for now), the emotional, mental, and financial turmoil lingers. ICE specifically targeted Latino- and Black-communities like South Shore, Little Village, and Belmont Cragin, actions which have had an outsized impact on local businesses and restaurants.
Latino-owned restaurants, bakeries, and grocery stores have much slower traffic and lower sales as part of the new abnormal, with regular patrons and employees expressing fear of being approached or detained by masked officials.
As a result, communities mobilized, from throwing whistle kit-packing events to literally chasing ICE agents away to protect their neighbors. Others have organized fundraisers and ongoing series, like Zaragoza’s restaurant crawl, to support businesses in response.
In a now-viral moment, Alderperson Jessie Fuentes of Chicago’s 26th Ward was restrained and escorted out of Humboldt Park Health hospital by ICE agents on October 3. Patrols set-up in the parking lots of Home Depot and Burlington Coat Factory, as well as the business corridors where businesses like San Juan Bakery, Mi Linda Hacienda, and Taqueria Huentitan have been serving residents for decades.
The increased raids and intimidation tactics trickled down to the food industry, Fuentes says, and the economic impact is felt across the state.
“When we have less individuals laboring in our fields harvesting produce for our grocery stores or our restaurants, it makes produce more expensive,” Fuentes explains. “Our businesses are starting to see the absence of their workforce: cooks, dishwashers, folks on the register who are not coming into work because they’re afraid they’ll get picked up.”
Jonathan Macedo, owner of Peke’s Pozole in Archer Heights near Midway International Airport, said business has significantly slowed since the operation started. The pozoleria closes at 2pm instead of 8pm during the week, with free delivery on weekends. Even the restaurant’s beloved Thursday night live mariachi has been canceled.
“We’re facing our problems as they’re coming,” Macedo says. “I was in the negatives. There wasn’t enough [revenue] for payroll, for a lot of different things.”
Signs are prominently displayed on the doors and windows to make it clear ICE isn’t welcome. Macedo’s staff has taken to keeping an extra key by the door, in case they feel a lockdown is necessary to ensure dine-in guests feel safe.
“We have 22 employees, some concerned about coming in,” Macedo said. “We haven’t let any staff go. We haven’t had to make any tougher decisions and hopefully won’t any time soon.”
Street vendors are amongst Chicago’s most vulnerable populations. In neighborhoods like Little Village and Back of the Yards, they are integral to the fabric of the neighborhood, many peacefully operating in support of their families for decades. Organizations such as the Street Vendors Association of Chicago have seen an influx of donations put toward financial and legal aid for affected vendors and their families. Meanwhile, activist groups like Cycling X Solidarity lead rides to purchase tamale vendors' remaining stock, with the intent to get them safely back home and off the street, where ICE may target them.
Pilsen native Delilah Martinez, who founded nonprofit The Mural Movement as a response to the 2020 murder of George Floyd, launched the independently operated Operation Buyout, a grassroots enterprise to provide direct financial relief to street vendors through “buying out” their carts for the day.
“Street vendors aren’t deterred by the elements,” Martinez said. “They don’t stay in if weather is bad, they need to make money. With the raids, there are different safety [issues] with people being outside.”
For some, like candy vendors, a buyout would only amount to between $20 to $50, so Martinez set higher, specific monetary goals, growing initially from $300 to $1,000-$1,500. She taps her large social media following to raise funds, which takes from one to two weeks, before a small team of volunteers coordinate to surprise intended recipients. Martinez and crew redistribute the purchased chocolate, candies, fruit, tamales, breads and other baked goods for free amongst other volunteers and community members through her Vault Gallerie space.
For some vendors, the buyout is very emotional. Folks are largely grateful, but reactions vary once Martinez and her team start asking questions. Once, a paleta vendor in his eighties ran from the group when he was approached, a lesson in dealing with the very real emotional and mental tolls at play. “They don’t know if we’re ICE agents or the police,” Martinez says. “It’s uncomfortable until they understand we’re here to help them.”
Half a dozen buyouts in, Martinez has received offers from other businesses and local law firms to fully sponsor vendors, helping increase outreach. “It’s not just money affecting them. Some don’t have health insurance, some don’t have the same resources anymore,” says Martinez. “I’d love to continue on a larger level and really help change people’s lives with financial assistance. ICE or no ICE, this is la cultura.”
Despite reports of ICE using social media to further deportation efforts, many advocates likewise rely heavily on platforms such as Facebook and Instagram to draw attention to the fight.
Alonso Zaragoza founded Belmont Cragin United over 20 years ago, and has lived in the neighborhood his whole life. Working with the area’s family-owned restaurants over the years, Zaragoza organized an event, The Taste of Belmont Cragin, for Chicagoans to support struggling local restaurants during this time. Anywhere from three to six participating locally owned businesses are spotlighted on a given night, encouraging residents from across the city to dine-in and more deeply explore the Northwest side, like Minna’s, Mago’s Tacos & Tamales, La Authentica de Guerrero, amongst others. Since its inauguration, community members have volunteered to play music or DJ up and down the block to foster a celebratory vibe. Street carts also line up outside, operated by the children or grandchildren of affected vendors.
Zaragoza has seen “plenty” of harassment of immigrant-owned businesses in his neighborhood, including Arab businesses. He speaks passionately of the interconnectedness between the loss of restaurants and jobs leading to desperate circumstances. The day after the first crawl on October 21, Zaragoza drove by to see the three participating restaurants sitting empty again, despite numerous messages and emails from people asking how they could get involved.
The greater economic losses, he points out, would force other businesses to pick up the slack in the form of property taxes. He emphasizes sustaining these more micro efforts requires everyone from larger restaurants and hospitality groups to city reps.
“I don’t think our elected officials are doing a good job at saying, ‘If this happens to these people, everybody else will have to pay for it,’” Zaragoza says.
The fight against federal overreach continues, but the solidarity seen in Chicago’s neighborhoods offers a powerful model of community resistance. The economic threat to small, often family-owned restaurants—the backbone of the city’s neighborhoods—is real.
Yet, as Chicagoans drive across the city and gather to share a plate of pozole or buy out a vendor’s cart of tamales and paletas, they are transforming the simple act of dining into a potent act of political support. It's a defiant declaration that the city will not be intimidated.