chicago — Cyclists arrive at sunrise and roll Latino neighborhoods in Chicago and stop at tamale carts, candy stands, and candy stands. They buy every last bit – every tamale, every piece of corn, every package of sweets. They then load the food and deliver it to shelters and Families In need.
Since the beginning of A Federal immigration campaign Which led to more than 3,200 arrests in chicago The metropolitan area, streets and storefronts in the city’s Latino neighborhoods emptied. Street vendors are afraid to leave their homes to work for fear of arrest. Local restaurants have struggled with customers staying home.
But as Fear spreadAnd so did something else – neighbors are stepping up to support each other and finding creative ways to get in front of vendors and restaurant owners. This includes a grassroots effort to organize so-called “buy-out” events aimed at allowing sellers who fear being held back by Immigration agents To go home early. Some Chicagoans raised funds in their neighborhoods or through local organizations while others simply purchased taco stands on their way to work or tamale vendors outside their local bars.
In Little Village, Rick Rosales, a community organizer with Cycling x Solidarity, helps organize two of these “buy” rides a week that typically support five street vendors each.
“Sellers are often speechless,” Rosales said. “They’ll say, ‘I have a lot of tamales. Do you want all of them?’
Once, after the group bought a tamale vendor’s cart, that man found them days later to say that immigration agents had been spotted in his building just hours later. The man told them, “You saved my life,” Rosales said.
“It’s about food, fun and bike riding,” Rosales said. “But it’s also very high risk because of the fear in our communities right now.”
Maria Orozco, outreach organizer for the Chicago Street Vendors Association, said it’s difficult to determine how many street vendors have been targeted by federal immigration agents, adding that she knows of at least 10 who have been arrested.
In September, a tamale seller was arrested while selling outside a Home Depot, according to local advocates. Shortly after, federal agents arrested a florist in the southwest Archer Heights neighborhood. Then they came looking for a cotton candy seller in the small, predominantly Mexican American village. Immigration agents descended on the Swap-o-Rama flea market in October and arrested more than a dozen people. Last week, more than 100 residents of the Brighton Park neighborhood rallied to demand the release of the local tamalero.
US Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the Department of Homeland Security, and US Customs and Border Protection did not respond to multiple requests for comment.
The loss of these vendors is as much a cultural loss as it is an economic loss, Orozco said, calling them part of the “fabric of our city.” They bring life, color and flavor to city streets, preserve culinary traditions and build a sense of community — and are beloved by neighbors, she said.
Street vendors who are afraid to work or who are seeing a decline in sales can apply for financial support through the Chicago Street Vendors Association. The group launched a GoFundMe with a goal of raising $300,000 to support street vendors.
Local businesses have also hosted pop-up events where a certain percentage of proceeds go to street vendors, Orozco said. The organization also helped connect vendors with people hoping to “buy them,” Orozco said.
“It was an emotional thing to see,” she said. “The vendors themselves didn’t realize how much Chicagoans loved and supported them. None of us expected this.”
As Alonso Zaragoza, executive director of the neighborhood advocacy group, drove through his predominantly Latino community of Belmont Cragin, he noticed that the restaurants were mostly empty and dark. Restaurants in predominantly Latino communities have reported a significant decline in sales since federal agents arrived in the city in September.
So Zaragoza began organizing restaurant visits, attracting hundreds to struggling Latino-owned restaurants. His previous event started at a taco and tamales restaurant and ended at a Mexican ice cream shop. Along the way, street cart vendors were selling cotton candy and balloons while a local music group played folk and bluegrass music.
“Financial support for our business is needed now more than ever,” Zaragoza said. “It goes a long way.”
Delilah Martinez, a community organizer and owner of the Vault Gallery in Pilsen, couldn’t stand the silence on her street any longer. She was used to seeing familiar faces on Eighteenth Street; A woman sells sweets with her child strapped to her back, and a man smiles at her every afternoon. One week later, they were gone.
“It broke my heart,” Martinez said. “The streets felt empty. Our people were putting their freedom at risk just to work.”
She started raising money online and began the “buying process,” approaching sellers one by one to buy everything they had. The first woman was shocked when Martinez handed her $500.
“I just wanted her to have a day off, a day without fear,” Martinez said.
Among those Martinez helped recently was a baker from Mexico City who arrived in Chicago 24 years ago.
Every night, he works late, his hands full of flour, kneading dough until it hurts. In those few quiet hours, after his four children are asleep, the world seems simpler.
“There is magic when I bake,” he said in Spanish. “I feel free. When I feel angry, I feel like the bread will absorb it. So I try to be happy and reassured, even when I know that reality is different.”
By 3 a.m., he’s up again to go to the grocery store, shuttling between work and school. For years, he’s been selling Christmas cakes and pans “by word of mouth” from his small kitchen, dreaming of opening his own shop one day.
But the baker also heard the stories: street vendors arrested on residential streets and federal agents cordoning off the historic Mexican American neighborhood of Pilsen. Two of his friends were arrested. When he hears sirens and helicopters, he feels “very afraid.”
“I fear for my youngest daughter,” he said. “It would be terrible to leave her… I can’t see myself without my children.”
Martinez led the baker to the table and removed a black cloth from him. A silver, restaurant-grade blender gleams under the fluorescent light. Martinez also handed him an envelope with $1,500 collected from neighbors in hopes of helping to support him when he feels unsafe selling his baked goods on the street.
The man’s hand flew up to cover his mouth. He kicked his legs and started crying.
“Thank you very much,” he said, holding the blender attached to his chest. “It’s beautiful.”