I’ve been living in the suburbs for over three years. I don’t enjoy driving a lot, but the suburbs help me feel safe. My older sister and I grew up undocumented in South Central Los Angeles, a place I have a lot of love for.
But I also experienced a lot of danger and trauma there, which I know is a result of systemic racism that leaves neighborhoods like mine with fewer resources to go around. Once, I witnessed a drive-by shooting in the middle of the day and had to take cover, then watched the ambulance crew place a dead body in a black bag. I often saw helicopters circle my neighborhood after the sound of gunshots; sometimes, the helicopter shined a spotlight on my block.
Now, the violence and uncertainty I grew up with have followed me to the suburbs of Chicago because of the Trump administration’s immigration policies. Immigrants and United States citizens are getting kidnapped and denied due process because of how we look. The systemic racism that made South Central unsafe has done the same to the suburbs. I am part of a larger movement that is trying to organize and fight back.
In my early 20s I moved from L.A. to live with my parents in Portage, Indiana, a suburb of Chicago. It was my first time interacting with white people in my own neighborhood. It was also a culture shock because Portage did not have public transportation; walking around, its neighborhoods felt isolated and lacking the signs of life I was used to. But Portage was calmer than Los Angeles, and I liked that I didn’t have to feel like I was constantly looking over my shoulder. Then, I moved to rural Iowa, where the stars were visible, and there were no people in the streets. Next, I landed in Durham, North Carolina, a little suburban college town where I got used to the sense of safety and quiet.
I currently reside in Naperville, Illinois, about 30 miles west of Chicago, which is home to large Indian and Middle Eastern populations whose cultures and cuisines flourish in the area. And I spend a lot of time in the nearby western suburbs of Elgin and Aurora, which both have large Latino populations and delicious food everywhere. They are where I go to reminisce about the good parts of my childhood, and also where I have met some of the best people in my work in politics.
But they are no longer places where I feel safe. Now, I live in fear of my house getting raided by military vehicles and helicopters. I worry about randomly getting picked up by masked ICE agents at my local Menards or Home Depot because of the color of my skin.
And I am far from alone here in the suburbs. My friend Julio, who is undocumented, moved to Wheaton, Illinois in 2007, when he was 8 years old. Julio sometimes felt like an other in Wheaton, he has explained to me, but he also found support and acceptance in many institutions—including Wheaton College, where he earned his degree—and from his teachers, church, and friends.
“Growing up in the suburbs was peaceful but did not feel safe,” Julio told me recently. “I felt that I had to be vigilant of my actions, the way I talk, where I was, why, and when. I always have to be on top of things here.”
Now, the administration’s violence feels as close as a few minutes away. He narrowly missed ICE at his workplace earlier this fall. Julio plans to move back to Mexico by next year, despite the fact that he is married to a U.S. citizen and has been trying to get his citizenship.
Now, I live in fear of my house getting raided by military vehicles and helicopters. I worry about randomly getting picked up by masked ICE agents at my local Menards or Home Depot because of the color of my skin.
Over 1 million Latinos live in the Chicago suburbs, and the Latino population of the suburbs has grown more quickly than that of the city over the past 15 years. But there are only a handful of organizations that focus on immigrant rights work here, unlike in the city, where communities have organized for years. Organizing in the suburbs poses challenges. Neighborhoods are far apart. Residents vary socioeconomically. For a long time, it wasn’t easy to get people to come together around a common goal.
That’s starting to change. In Elgin, where 55% of the population is Latino, people are taking the attacks personally and fighting back. Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem led a raid there in September, and the town has seen U.S. citizens detained, a community college student taken on campus, and violent deportations. I have become involved with Elgin’s rapid response team, an alliance that includes immigration organizations, businesses, and churches.
The Elgin Area Rapid Response team focuses on making sure we hold ICE accountable and responding to the immediate needs of the community, including families of the kidnapped. But I think the alliance can do more than just meeting people’s needs in the moment. This effort can also encourage community members to be proactive and to push for local legislation and leadership that stands up against the Trump administration’s racist policies.
Benjamin is an Elgin community leader and the son of undocumented parents who arrived there in 1972; in 1979, his father was deported back to Guerrero, Mexico. “We need to start a movement,” Ben told me. “I think in the Chicago suburbs for a long time [organizing has] been [about] Chicago, but now it’s changing. It’s here. It’s happening here. West Chicago, Elgin, Waukegan, Aurora … This is ground zero.”
I work with the rapid response team in Elgin even though I am fearful. I know that sitting back and waiting for things to get better is not going to bring safety and peace for myself, Julio, and other immigrants. I want to help create a path to a system that does not profile people like us. A system that helps create a United States that works for everyone, not just wealthy Americans who thrive under white supremacy. This fight is about uplifting our community and ending systemic violence—from the cities to the suburbs and beyond.
Miguel Molina-Ventura is from Guerrero, Mexico, and lives in Naperville, Illinois. He is director of membership and advocacy for The People’s Lobby in Chicago, where he does political organizing at the state level.
Primary editor: Sarah Rothbard | Secondary editor: Eryn Brown