Trump’s crackdown pushes immigrants to the shadows, transforming Chicago’s South Side.
The longstanding heart of the city's Black community has been dramatically altered in recent years due to the influx of thousands of Venezuelan immigrants.
TroibNews 
**CHICAGO** — The St. James Community Church, a Black congregation on the South Side of Chicago, hosts a family brunch on the first Sunday of each month that has become a gathering point for immigrants trying to adapt to life in the city.
Pastor William Hall, who also serves as the city’s alderman for the Chatham neighborhood—a middle-class Black community noted for its tranquil streets of single-family bungalows, family-run eateries, and the mural of poet Gwendolyn Brooks—shared how new arrivals would come to the church to share meals and engage in Bible study, often using Google Translate to aid communication.
However, attendance changed markedly after President Donald Trump regained the White House.
“Since Trump was elected, we don’t see any of them anymore,” Hall remarked, expressing uncertainty about whether the migrants had left the area or were simply in hiding. “We do know there was fear about massive deportations.”
Chicago’s South Side has a rich Black history that stretches back to the Great Migration and has seen an influx of newcomers since 2022, when Texas Governor Greg Abbott began sending thousands of border crossers to Chicago to draw attention to the city’s immigrant policies. Currently, more than 5,100 migrants, primarily from Venezuela and largely undocumented, have made Chicago their home, which has resulted in increased tensions with some long-standing residents.
Many new arrivals found affordable housing on the South Side and were often seen at bus stops, schools, churches, or outside large retail stores searching for employment. Families frequently doubled up in homes that had been left vacant as many of the area’s Black residents moved away.
However, the political climate shifted dramatically after Trump’s inauguration, leading to local raids and increased fears of mass deportations among burgeoning immigrant communities. This anxiety has driven many newcomers underground, with some parents opting to keep their children home from school and adults missing work. Officials have faced significant challenges in meeting the needs of a population that was already troubled by language barriers and legal complications.
One recent immigrant, Jose, recounted his journey from the jungles of Venezuela to the Texas border, where he was initially sent to Utah before arriving in Chicago. Speaking under a pseudonym to avoid potential repercussions as an undocumented immigrant, he described the intense legal hurdles and the constant fear of deportation.
“It is frustrating, very frustrating,” he said, describing his experiences. “It is not an easy life.”
Jose was a machine operator for a food distribution company in Venezuela before leaving, spurred by the tragic murder of his older brother, who was assassinated while campaigning for a council seat with the opposition party. This prompted his escape to the U.S. in search of safety and a means to support his mother, who is caring for his son.
After arriving in Utah, he took on odd jobs and tried to find a lawyer to assist with his citizenship paperwork. Finding legal help too costly, he traveled to Chicago, where he had heard that support networks existed for newcomers.
“I heard that in Chicago there were organizations that help people,” he said through an interpreter from Onward Neighborhood House, an organization that has been aiding him in navigating the challenging bureaucracy for legal status.
Jose spent nearly a year in a migrant shelter downtown before finding a shared home on the South Side, where he now works at a laundromat. He initially applied for asylum, but encounters with bureaucratic issues forced him to start the process over with a new attorney.
“One has to go through so many things to come to the United States,” he stated.
In the Auburn Gresham neighborhood, Timothy Thomas Jr., an African American resident, noticed the influx of Venezuelan immigrants like Jose over recent years in a predominantly Black area.
“You’d really see it around the schools. I’m retired and I’d see school drop-off and pick-up. Latino moms would walk their kids to school. And you’d look at the playground during recess and it was a melting pot,” recalled Thomas, who worked for ten years in a local U.S. Department of Homeland Security office.
The changes in his neighborhood and others on the South Side haven’t been without challenges. The city struggled to accommodate the influx of migrants between 2022 and 2024, leading some individuals to sleep on police station floors before emergency shelters were established. City and state officials responded by approving six months of free rent for some newcomers in vacant homes, many located in predominantly Black areas.
This decision stoked tensions in a city where the demographic makeup is approximately a third white, a third Black, and a third Latino. Longtime South Side residents, already facing financial hardships, voiced their frustration at City Council meetings.
“We did not have the luxury and opportunity to cross the border,” one resident stated during a public comment session last year. “We came here chained in the bottom of slave ships.”
Chicago Mayor Brandon Johnson has attempted to alleviate these tensions by prioritizing equitable housing opportunities for all residents in need. He frequently highlights initiatives aimed at increasing youth job access, reopening publicly funded mental health facilities, and directing funds from a $1.25 billion bond toward housing projects in the South and West sides, underscoring his commitment to longtime residents.
These efforts have been evident in recent congressional hearings where Johnson and three other major city mayors defended their sanctuary city policies, which prevent local law enforcement from collaborating with federal deportation efforts.
Yet, challenges remain. As the initial six-month rental assistance for many migrants runs out, some neighborhoods have encountered increased incidents of public drug use, littering, and public urination, according to Alderman Raymond Lopez, whose jurisdiction spans both the Latino South West and African American South Sides.
“There’s frustration that they don't fit in, and I’m hearing it from Black neighbors, Latino neighbors and white neighbors,” Lopez noted.
Pastors on the South Side have been navigating the complexities of these tensions, trying to address the concerns of their longstanding congregants while also providing support to newcomers with few resources.
“There was empathy [for migrants] but people also pointed out that they’ve been suffering this way the whole time,” said Father David Jones of St. Benedict the African Parish in Englewood. His church has assisted some migrant families by providing basic necessities like mattresses, clothing, and prepared meals.
However, by January 2024, Jones noted, visits from Venezuelan immigrants had diminished significantly.
He and others report that tensions have decreased as migrants gradually acclimate to the community, managing to find shelter and forge connections, albeit often behind closed doors due to fears of deportation.
While some groups claim the situation is improving, others, like Centro de Trabajadores Unidos—a community organization that has been assisting immigrant workers in Chicago since 2007—continue to experience a steady influx of clients seeking help. The organization has recently relocated its offices to the South Side, coinciding with Abbott’s decision to send immigrants to Chicago.
“We don’t ask about their status and don’t keep track of that. But we’ve definitely seen an increase,” stated Ana Guajardo, the organization’s executive director. “Normally we have outreach efforts; now people are coming to us.”
Olivia Brown contributed to this report for TROIB News
Pastor William Hall, who also serves as the city’s alderman for the Chatham neighborhood—a middle-class Black community noted for its tranquil streets of single-family bungalows, family-run eateries, and the mural of poet Gwendolyn Brooks—shared how new arrivals would come to the church to share meals and engage in Bible study, often using Google Translate to aid communication.
However, attendance changed markedly after President Donald Trump regained the White House.
“Since Trump was elected, we don’t see any of them anymore,” Hall remarked, expressing uncertainty about whether the migrants had left the area or were simply in hiding. “We do know there was fear about massive deportations.”
Chicago’s South Side has a rich Black history that stretches back to the Great Migration and has seen an influx of newcomers since 2022, when Texas Governor Greg Abbott began sending thousands of border crossers to Chicago to draw attention to the city’s immigrant policies. Currently, more than 5,100 migrants, primarily from Venezuela and largely undocumented, have made Chicago their home, which has resulted in increased tensions with some long-standing residents.
Many new arrivals found affordable housing on the South Side and were often seen at bus stops, schools, churches, or outside large retail stores searching for employment. Families frequently doubled up in homes that had been left vacant as many of the area’s Black residents moved away.
However, the political climate shifted dramatically after Trump’s inauguration, leading to local raids and increased fears of mass deportations among burgeoning immigrant communities. This anxiety has driven many newcomers underground, with some parents opting to keep their children home from school and adults missing work. Officials have faced significant challenges in meeting the needs of a population that was already troubled by language barriers and legal complications.
One recent immigrant, Jose, recounted his journey from the jungles of Venezuela to the Texas border, where he was initially sent to Utah before arriving in Chicago. Speaking under a pseudonym to avoid potential repercussions as an undocumented immigrant, he described the intense legal hurdles and the constant fear of deportation.
“It is frustrating, very frustrating,” he said, describing his experiences. “It is not an easy life.”
Jose was a machine operator for a food distribution company in Venezuela before leaving, spurred by the tragic murder of his older brother, who was assassinated while campaigning for a council seat with the opposition party. This prompted his escape to the U.S. in search of safety and a means to support his mother, who is caring for his son.
After arriving in Utah, he took on odd jobs and tried to find a lawyer to assist with his citizenship paperwork. Finding legal help too costly, he traveled to Chicago, where he had heard that support networks existed for newcomers.
“I heard that in Chicago there were organizations that help people,” he said through an interpreter from Onward Neighborhood House, an organization that has been aiding him in navigating the challenging bureaucracy for legal status.
Jose spent nearly a year in a migrant shelter downtown before finding a shared home on the South Side, where he now works at a laundromat. He initially applied for asylum, but encounters with bureaucratic issues forced him to start the process over with a new attorney.
“One has to go through so many things to come to the United States,” he stated.
In the Auburn Gresham neighborhood, Timothy Thomas Jr., an African American resident, noticed the influx of Venezuelan immigrants like Jose over recent years in a predominantly Black area.
“You’d really see it around the schools. I’m retired and I’d see school drop-off and pick-up. Latino moms would walk their kids to school. And you’d look at the playground during recess and it was a melting pot,” recalled Thomas, who worked for ten years in a local U.S. Department of Homeland Security office.
The changes in his neighborhood and others on the South Side haven’t been without challenges. The city struggled to accommodate the influx of migrants between 2022 and 2024, leading some individuals to sleep on police station floors before emergency shelters were established. City and state officials responded by approving six months of free rent for some newcomers in vacant homes, many located in predominantly Black areas.
This decision stoked tensions in a city where the demographic makeup is approximately a third white, a third Black, and a third Latino. Longtime South Side residents, already facing financial hardships, voiced their frustration at City Council meetings.
“We did not have the luxury and opportunity to cross the border,” one resident stated during a public comment session last year. “We came here chained in the bottom of slave ships.”
Chicago Mayor Brandon Johnson has attempted to alleviate these tensions by prioritizing equitable housing opportunities for all residents in need. He frequently highlights initiatives aimed at increasing youth job access, reopening publicly funded mental health facilities, and directing funds from a $1.25 billion bond toward housing projects in the South and West sides, underscoring his commitment to longtime residents.
These efforts have been evident in recent congressional hearings where Johnson and three other major city mayors defended their sanctuary city policies, which prevent local law enforcement from collaborating with federal deportation efforts.
Yet, challenges remain. As the initial six-month rental assistance for many migrants runs out, some neighborhoods have encountered increased incidents of public drug use, littering, and public urination, according to Alderman Raymond Lopez, whose jurisdiction spans both the Latino South West and African American South Sides.
“There’s frustration that they don't fit in, and I’m hearing it from Black neighbors, Latino neighbors and white neighbors,” Lopez noted.
Pastors on the South Side have been navigating the complexities of these tensions, trying to address the concerns of their longstanding congregants while also providing support to newcomers with few resources.
“There was empathy [for migrants] but people also pointed out that they’ve been suffering this way the whole time,” said Father David Jones of St. Benedict the African Parish in Englewood. His church has assisted some migrant families by providing basic necessities like mattresses, clothing, and prepared meals.
However, by January 2024, Jones noted, visits from Venezuelan immigrants had diminished significantly.
He and others report that tensions have decreased as migrants gradually acclimate to the community, managing to find shelter and forge connections, albeit often behind closed doors due to fears of deportation.
While some groups claim the situation is improving, others, like Centro de Trabajadores Unidos—a community organization that has been assisting immigrant workers in Chicago since 2007—continue to experience a steady influx of clients seeking help. The organization has recently relocated its offices to the South Side, coinciding with Abbott’s decision to send immigrants to Chicago.
“We don’t ask about their status and don’t keep track of that. But we’ve definitely seen an increase,” stated Ana Guajardo, the organization’s executive director. “Normally we have outreach efforts; now people are coming to us.”
Olivia Brown contributed to this report for TROIB News
