Return of immigration raids brings fear to ‘Mexican Capital of the Midwest’

By Heather Schlitz

CHICAGO, Dec 19 (Reuters) – Allyson Lopez was hoping business would pick up again at her clothing store in Chicago’s Little Village neighborhood, which specializes in prom dresses for quinceaneras, a teenage ritual that celebrates a girl’s 15th birthday in many Latino communities. Instead, this week, federal immigration raids are back, clearing normally bustling streets.

The first phase of the Department of Homeland Security’s deportation campaign, called “Operation Midway Blitz,” led to more than 4,200 arrests across the city in less than three months. The operation shook Chicago, but the impact was disastrous for Little Village, a working-class Mexican neighborhood that has been repeatedly targeted.

The return of roving U.S. Border Patrol commander Gregory Bovino on Tuesday with a large convoy of camouflaged agents was met with jeers and whistles from dozens of protesters, some with assault rifles peeking out of car windows, livestreaming the encounters on social media.

At Estela’s Bridal, a second-generation family business, Lopez specializes in custom designs that sell for an average of $1,000. A dress can take up to 16 hours to make, with glittery fabrics adjusted to size and the addition of embroidered flowers, rhinestones and sequins. He said he lost 90 percent of his customers during the first wave of arrests because people decided to stay home because they were afraid of immigration agents.

THEY HAVE DIFFICULTY GIVING RENTAL

“As a business world, we will suffer again,” Lopez said. “We couldn’t even pay the rent this month, so it’s scary.”

A DHS spokesperson did not respond when asked about the impact of the raids on businesses.

Even before Bovino’s return, the atmosphere of the Little Village had been devastated by the raids.

Tourists who came to the “Mexican Capital of the Midwest” to eat tacos, sweetbreads and tamales, and shop for quinceanera dresses, pinatas and Mexican chili have disappeared. Dozens of residents have been detained or deported, community leaders said. Others went into hiding.

“It’s like the old Western movies where all you see is tumbleweeds blowing in the wind,” said Roxana, a 42-year-old hair salon owner from Guatemala. He declined to share his last name or immigration status for fear of retaliation from immigration agents.

In the empty hair salon, where half the chairs were covered in plastic, Roxana pulled back her neatly styled bangs to reveal thinning patches; He said that this hair began to fall out due to the stress of the 80% drop in income since the beginning of the immigration enforcement campaign.

Roxana shuddered as the Border Patrol convoy descended on Little Village again this week. The salon was open but there were no customers.

“They entered the neighborhood again,” he said. “This absolutely shocked and devastated us because it wasn’t something we expected.”

THE COMMERCIAL HEART OF A NEIGHBORHOOD

Roxana’s salon is located next to the stucco arch that marks the beginning of 26th Street, a two-mile stretch of shops, bakeries and restaurants that has become the city’s second most profitable shopping corridor, according to the Little Village Chamber of Commerce. Many business owners said their savings dwindled after customers, including people legally in the U.S., stopped visiting out of fear of immigration officials.

Before the immigration crackdown, shops selling flashy ballgowns, glittering crowns and satin corsages were cheerful places where girls giggled and twirled their dresses to the delight of their mothers, shop owners said.

But concerns about going out, as well as fears that large parties could become targets of immigration enforcement, have hit quinceanera shops in Little Village hard.

Two store owners said they lost 90% of their revenue in the early stages of the Midway Blitz.

Evelyn Flores, owner of the Alborada quinceanera shop, said she laid off seven staff members. “I can’t sleep at night right now and I’m constantly freaking out during the day.”

Maria Ortiz, the owner of a party supply store, said there were days when no one entered her store.

FAMILY WAS LEAVED BEHIND

For one family, the aftershocks of the autumn raids have been going on for weeks. 15-year-old Kamila said she was afraid to leave her home, except to go to school, after her cousin was detained by immigration officers on his way to work as a carpet repairman in November. He had been living in the United States without legal status for 18 years.

“I’m scared. We can’t go out because they might be waiting for us,” he said.

Asked for comment, Department of Homeland Security assistant secretary Tricia McLaughlin said: “As long as you’re not breaking the law, you don’t have to fear law enforcement.”

His cousin’s small apartment remains mostly as he left it; The bed is unmade and her cream-coloured fluffy dog, Peluchin, is running around the apartment. Peluchin said that every day since the owner’s detention, he pushed aside the dusty window blinds with his small nose and stared at the street for hours, waiting for a neighbor who came to visit him for a walk to return.

“All her dreams, all her efforts, all her work are here, empty,” said Sofia, a 47-year-old maid and Kamila’s mother.

Sofia, who came to the United States from Mexico without legal status and is considering deporting herself, said, “My daughter is 15 years old, she shouldn’t live like this.” “There is no life here.”

RESISTANCE

On a recent afternoon, the Little Village Community Council hummed with overlapping voices as people coordinated school pickups, shared videos and called family members of detained people.

LVCC chief Baltazar Enriquez led local resistance to immigration enforcement by organizing patrols for federal agents and distributing plastic whistles now used citywide to alert immigration agents in the area.

The close-knit nature of “La Villita,” the Spanish name for the Little Village, gave residents the advantage of being organized while using WhatsApp, Facebook and Signal groups to coordinate. Little Village has long struggled with gun violence and has the most gang-related crime in the city, but residents said they felt safe before federal agents arrived in town.

Other forms of resistance were quieter; Like Vicky Martinez, 55, who drops off food for friends and neighbors who are afraid to go to the store.

“It feels like you’re in prison. We don’t even know what they’re going to throw at us,” ‌Martinez said.

(Reporting by Heather Schlitz; Additional reporting by Daniel Cole, Carlos Barria and Emily Schmall. Editing by Emily Schmall and Suzanne Goldenberg)