‘We’re not a violent city’: Chicago locals take on ICE block-by-block

‘We’re not a violent city’: Chicago locals take on ICE block-by-block
A young man confronts federal agents after they arrested a worker at a home in his Edison Park neighborhood on Oct. 31, 2025, in Chicago, Illinois. (Getty Images/AFP)
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Updated 02 November 2025
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‘We’re not a violent city’: Chicago locals take on ICE block-by-block

‘We’re not a violent city’: Chicago locals take on ICE block-by-block
  • The immigration crackdown in Chicago grows increasingly heated
  • Sounding the alarm on immigration crackdown by whistle and messaging apps

CHICAGO: The immigration agents’ tear gas grenades clinked and then exploded against the concrete, shrouding the block in plumes of white gas. The dozen or so residents at the scene only screamed louder. “We don’t want you here,” yelled Rae Lindenberg. The 32-year-old, who works in marketing, ran out of her apartment when she heard the shrill sound of whistles. “Get out of our neighborhood!” The squad of agents had appeared in Lakeview last month, an upscale neighborhood dotted with dog daycares, medical spas and vegan restaurants, hopping over a gate to chase down a construction worker who was handcuffed and shoved into a vehicle.
When Courtney Conway, a 42-year-old lifelong Chicago resident, heard about the chase through Facebook groups and text message chains, she hopped on her bike to join the protesters.
“We are not a violent city. This is not a war zone, and I think these guys are terrorizing us and trying to incite us,” said Conway. “We want them out. We want them to stop kidnapping our neighbors.”
Creating a zone defense
Chicago, a city of 2.7 million, has long been known as a patchwork of close-knit neighborhoods. And since the city took center stage of President Donald Trump’s immigration crackdown in September, those neighborhoods have mobilized against enforcement efforts, sometimes block-by-block. That hyperlocal effort, spun off into dozens of chats on social platforms, has helped create a type of zone defense that – activists say – has slowed down immigration agents and in some cases forced them to withdraw without making an arrest.
When asked for comment, Tricia McLaughlin, assistant secretary for public affairs at the Department of Homeland Security, said: “Our officers are highly trained and in the face of rioting, doxxing and physical attacks they have shown professionalism. They are not afraid of loud noises and whistles.”
Over in Chicago since early September, according to DHS.
In Facebook groups and on Signal chats, tens of thousands of residents regularly crowdsource information on immigration agents’ last-known locations, neighborhoods being targeted that day and – importantly – the license plates, makes and models of the rental cars used by agents, which can
change daily.
Some ICE-spotting Facebook pages in Chicago
have up to 50,000 members. US Immigration and Customs Enforcement and US Customs and Border Protection agents prowling city streets in unmarked cars are often trailed by drivers honking their horns and cyclists on an almost daily basis.
In some neighborhoods, confrontations between CBP and ICE agents and protesters have grown increasingly heated. Immigration agents have tear-gassed at least five neighborhoods in the past month, according to a Reuters tally, their car into another vehicle at least once, protesters trailing immigration agents, used Tasers on people during violent arrests, pointed at people and two people, including one fatally.
The Cook County Department of Public Health said it does not track injuries sustained during confrontations with federal agents and five city hospitals called by Reuters said they had not treated any protesters.
Last month, US District Judge Sara Ellis directed agents to use body cameras and issue two warnings to protesters before using tear gas in a case brought by protesters, clergy and journalists.
Helicopter watch groups
Hours after the confrontation in the Lakeview neighborhood, dozens of parents stood guard outside a school in Bucktown, another North Side neighborhood favored by families and young professionals, after hearing ICE and border patrol officers were in the area. Some parents set up an informal checkpoint next to the school to check cars for immigration enforcement agents.
And in Little Village, one of the city’s biggest Latino enclaves, businesses and residents locked their doors after activists warned them of approaching ICE and border patrol vehicles and at one point, surrounded vehicles to prevent them from making arrests.
“The community defended the neighborhood today,” said Baltazar Enriquez, president of the Little Village Community Council.
Some protesters specialize in watching out for Black Hawk helicopters the agents use to surveil neighborhoods, which don’t appear on flight-tracking apps and are often a harbinger of a raid.
On a recent Saturday morning, Brian Kolp, an attorney and former prosecutor, ran out of the house in his pajamas when word spread throughout the Old Irving Park neighborhood that immigration agents in balaclavas had grabbed a worker and a protester and shoved them into their car. Other residents came out in Halloween costumes.
“People were yelling, and it was chaos,” said Kolp. Soon after, he said, agents tossed tear gas grenades into the street and left.


Truckers defy death to supply militant-hit Mali with fuel

Truckers defy death to supply militant-hit Mali with fuel
Updated 3 sec ago
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Truckers defy death to supply militant-hit Mali with fuel

Truckers defy death to supply militant-hit Mali with fuel
TENGRELA: Tanker driver Baba steeled himself for yet another perilous journey from Ivory Coast to Mali loaded up with desperately needed fuel — and fear.
“You never know if you’ll come back alive,” he said.
Even before they hit the road, the mere mention of a four-letter acronym is enough to scare Baba and his fellow drivers.
JNIM, the Al-Qaeda-linked Group to Support Islam and Muslims, known by its Arabic acronym, declared two months ago that no tanker would cross into Mali from any neighboring country.
Hundreds of trucks carrying goods from the Ivorian economic hub Abidjan or the Senegalese capital Dakar have since been set on fire.
The JNIM’s strategy of economic militant aims to choke off Mali’s capital Bamako and the ruling military junta, which seized power in back-to-back coups in 2020 and 2021.
The fuel blockade has made everyday life in the west African country all but impossible.
“By economically strangling the country, the JNIM is looking to win popular support by accusing the military government of incompetence,” Bakary Sambe from the Dakar-based Timbuktu Institute think tank said.
On top of that, Mali has a “structural problem of insecurity,” he added.
Despite it all, dozens of tanker truckers still brave the roads, driven on by “necessity” and “patriotism,” they say.
AFP spoke to several along the more than 300-kilometer (185-mile) road between the northern Ivorian towns of Niakaramandougou and Tengrela, the last one before the Malian border.

- Dying ‘for a good cause’ -

“We do it because we love our country,” Baba, whose name AFP has changed out of security concerns, said.
“We don’t want Malians to be without fuel,” added the 30-year-old in a Manchester United shirt.
Taking a break parked up at Niakaramandougou, five hours from the border, Mamadou Diallo, 55, is similarly minded.
“If we die, it’s for a good cause,” he confided.
Further north at Kolia, Sidiki Dembele took a quick lunch with a colleague, their trucks lined up on the roadside, engines humming.
“If the trucks stop, a whole country will be switched off,” he said, between mouthfuls of rice.
Two years ago, more than half of the oil products exported by Ivory Coast went to Mali.
Malian trucks load up at Yamoussoukro or Abidjan and then cross the border via Tengrela or Pogo, traveling under military escort once inside Mali until their arrival in Bamako.
Up to several hundred trucks can be escorted at a time, but even with the military by their side, convoys are still frequently targeted, especially on two key southern axes.
“Two months ago, I saw militants burn two trucks. The drivers died. I was just behind them. Miraculously they let me through,” Moussa, 38, in an oil-stained red polo T-shirt, said.
Bablen Sacko also narrowly escaped an ambush.
“Apprentices died right behind us,” he recalled, adding firmly: “Everyone has a role in building the country. Ours is to supply Mali with fuel. We do it out of patriotism.”


- ‘Risk premium’ -

But their pride is mixed with bitterness over their working conditions.
“No contract, no insurance, no pension. If you die, that’s that. After your burial, you’re forgotten,” Sacko said.
With monthly pay of barely 100,000 CFA francs ($175, 152 euros) and a small bonus of 50,000 CFA francs per trip, Yoro, one of the drivers, has called for a risk premium.
Growing insecurity has prompted some Ivorian transport companies to halt road travel into Mali.
In Boundiali, Broulaye Konate has grounded his 45-strong fleet.
“I asked a driver to deliver fertilizer to Mali. He refused. The truck is still parked in Abidjan,” he said.
Ivorian trucker Souleymane Traore has been driving to Mali for seven years but said lately “you take to the road with fear in your heart.”
He recently counted 52 burnt-out tankers on his way back to Ivory Coast and another six on a further stretch of road.
Malian Prime Minister Abdoulaye Maiga has referred to the fuel that manages to get through as “human blood,” in recognition of the soldiers and drivers killed on the roads.
Analyst Charlie Werb from Aldebaran Threat Consultants said he did not anticipate the fuel situation easing in the coming days but said the political climate was more uncertain.
“I do not believe JNIM possesses the capability or intent to take Bamako at this time, though the threat it now poses to the city is unprecedented,” he added.