Business Owners Struggle as Customers Flee Due to Immigration Raids
Allyson López, a dressmaker in Chicago’s Little Village neighborhood, expected a boom for her quinceañera dress shop. Instead, federal immigration raids have emptied the streets, which are usually bustling with customers.
The Impact on Local Businesses
The first phase of the Department of Homeland Security’s (DHS) “Operation Midway Blitz” resulted in the detention of over 4,200 individuals across Chicago in less than three months. The operation shook the city, but Little Village, a working-class Mexican neighborhood repeatedly targeted, has suffered catastrophically.
When U.S. Border Patrol Chief Gregory Bovino returned with a large contingent of agents, he was met with jeers and hisses from protestors live-streaming on social media.
Allyson López’s Struggle to Pay Rent
López, who specializes in customized dresses averaging $1,000, has lost 90% of her clients during the initial wave of detentions. People are staying home out of fear of immigration agents.
“We’re going to suffer again as businesses,” López said. “We didn’t even make rent this month, so it’s terrifying.”
The Exodus of Tourists and Residents
Even before Bovino’s return, Little Village had been hit hard by the raids. Tourists who visited the “Mexican capital of the Midwest” for tacos, pan dulce, tamales, quinceañera dresses, piñatas, and Mexican chiles disappeared. Decades of residents were detained or deported, according to community leaders.
Roxana, a 42-year-old Guatemalan hairstylist, said, “It’s like those old Western movies where all you see are swaying wind plants.” She didn’t want to reveal her last name or immigration status for fear of retaliation.
The Emotional and Financial Toll
Roxana’s empty salon, with half the chairs wrapped in plastic, reflects her 80% income drop since the immigration crackdown began. When the Border Patrol convoy descended on Little Village again this week, she trembled. The salon was open but without customers.
The Heart of the Neighborhood’s Commerce
Roxana’s salon is near the stucco arch marking the start of 26th Street, a three-kilometer stretch of shops, bakeries, and restaurants that has become the city’s second-most-profitable commercial corridor, according to the Little Village Chamber of Commerce.
Many business owners reported a decrease in savings as clients, including legally present individuals, stopped visiting due to fear of immigration agents.
The Devastating Impact on Quinceañera Shops
Before the immigration measures, dress shops selling elaborate ball gowns, sparkling headpieces, and silk fabric flower arrangements were cheerful places where girls tried on dresses to their mothers’ satisfaction.
However, anxiety about venturing outside—as well as fear of large gatherings becoming targets for immigration forces—has severely affected Little Village’s quinceañera shops.
Two store owners reported a 90% income loss during the early stages of Midway Blitz.
The Ripple Effect on Families
For one family, the aftermath of the fall raids has persisted for weeks. Kamila, 15, says she’s afraid to leave her apartment unless it’s for school after her cousin was detained by immigration agents on his way to work in November.
Resistance in the Face of Adversity
Recently, the Little Village Community Council (LVCC) buzzed with overlapping voices as people coordinated school pickups, shared videos, and called detained family members.
LVCC President Baltazar Enríquez has led local resistance against the crackdown, organizing patrols to spot federal agents and distributing plastic whistles now used citywide to warn of immigration agent presence.
Little Village’s unified nature has given residents an organizational advantage, using WhatsApp, Facebook, and Signal to coordinate. Though the neighborhood has long experienced gang-related violence and has the city’s highest crime rate, residents say they felt safer before federal agents arrived.
Silent Forms of Resistance
Other forms of resistance have been quieter, like Vicky Martínez’s, a 55-year-old resident who shops for friends and neighbors too afraid to go to the store herself.
“It’s like being in jail,” Martínez said. “We don’t even know what they’ll do.”
