CHICAGO (AP) — Just before noon on a sunny Friday earlier this month, federal immigration agents threw tear gas canisters onto a busy Chicago street, just outside of an elementary school and a children’s
play cafe.
Parents, teachers and caretakers rushed to shield children from the chaos, and have been grappling ever since with how to explain to them what they’d seen: how much to tell them so they know enough to stay safe, but not too much to rob them of their innocence.
Weeks later, families — even those not likely in danger of being rounded up in immigration raids — say they remain terrified it will happen again, demonstrating how fear seeps into every facet of American life when the Trump administration’s immigration crackdown takes over a city.
The Department of Homeland Security said in a statement that Border Patrol agents were “impeded by protesters” during a targeted enforcement operation in which one man was arrested.
The Chicago crackdown, dubbed “Operation Midway Blitz,” began in early September. Masked, armed agents in unmarked trucks patrol neighborhoods, and residents have protested in ways big and small against what they see as their city under siege.
DHS wrote that its agents are being terrorized: “Our brave officers are facing a surge in increase in assaults against them, inducing sniper attacks, cars being used as weapons on them, and assaults by rioters. This violence against law enforcement must END. We will not be deterred by rioters and protesters in keeping America safe.”
The agents arrived in an unmarked SUV about half a block from Funston Elementary School in Logan Square, a neighborhood on the city’s northwest side. Videos show they were being tailed by cars that were honking their horns to alert neighbors that this was an immigration enforcement operation. A scooter pulled in front of the SUV to try to block it in.
The SUV’s passenger side window rolled down and a masked man inside threw the tear gas canisters onto the street.
The DHS statement said agents deployed tear gas and pepper balls “after repeated vocal attempts to disperse the crowd.”
Fifth grade teacher Liza Oliva-Perez was walking to the grocery store across the street for lunch.
She noticed a helicopter circling, then the SUV and its tail of honking cars.
That morning, another teacher gave her a whistle with instructions to blow it if immigration agents were nearby.
As Oliva-Perez fumbled getting the whistle to her lips, the SUV’s window rolled down and the masked man threw the first gas canister.
“I couldn’t fathom that was happening,” said Oliva-Perez. Then he threw another, this time in her direction.
She said she was only feet away on the sidewalk and didn’t hear the agents say anything. Then she ran toward the school, yelling at staff to get the children inside.
A half-dozen toddlers were sitting in the window of the Luna y Cielo Play Cafe, where children learn Spanish as they play while parents and caregivers sip coffee.
Owner Vanessa Aguirre-Ávalos ran outside to see what was happening, as the children’s nannies hustled them to a back room.
Aguirre-Ávalos is a U.S. citizen and the nannies are citizens or are legally allowed to work in the U.S. Even so, they were terrified. One nanny begged Aguirre-Avalos: If they take me, please make sure the children get home safe.
Molly Kucich, whose 2-year-old and 14-month old sons were at Luna y Cielo, was grocery shopping. Her husband called. She heard “immigration raid” and then: “tear gas.” She abandoned her grocery cart and drove as fast as she could and pulled up onto the curb outside, so frantic to get to her boys that she didn’t care if her car might be towed.
The 2-year-old was so frightened that he stuttered.
“Mommy, mommy, mommy,” he repeated, clinging to her.
In the weeks since, he’s fixated on his nanny, a U.S. citizen from Guatemala. He asks where she is and when she’s coming. He jumps at the sound of sirens. His mother called their pediatrician for a referral to see a therapist.
Since the incident, Andrea Soria, whose 6-year-old plays at Luna y Cielo, has overheard her whisper to her dolls: “We have to be good or ICE will get us,” referring to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
“These kids are traumatized,” Aguirre-Ávalos said. “Even if ICE stops doing what they’re doing right now, people are going to be traumatized. The damage is already done.”
Teachers at Funston Elementary spent the afternoon telling the children that everything was fine. But they dreaded the bell at the end of the day. They’d have to lead the students outside, and they didn’t know what would be waiting. Masked men? More tear gas?
First grade teacher Maria Heavener spread the word in community group chats that the school needed help.
When the final bell rang, she walked her students outside. In every direction, neighbors lined the sidewalk, dozens of them. There were people who’d never considered themselves activists, or even particularly political, standing there, enraged, scanning the streets for unmarked SUVs and masked men. They signed up to come back every morning and afternoon.
“You don’t mess with the kids. You don’t go near the schools,” Heavener said. “Whatever your agenda is, that feels like it’s crossing a lot of lines.”
Evelyn Medina stood outside her gift shop next door to the school and watched the children walking by. Two little boys gripped each other so tightly their fingers dug into each other’s hands.
“They were so scared,” said Medina, who cries when she thinks about how they looked leaving school that day. “It was really hard to see, imagining what’s going on in their little minds.”
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