As fear spreads across Chicago’s Latino neighborhoods, something else is growing too — compassion. In recent weeks, residents have stepped up in remarkable ways to support the city’s beloved street vendors, many of whom are afraid to work amid a sweeping federal immigration crackdown.

Since the start of the operation, more than 3,200 people have been arrested in the Chicago area. The impact on daily life has been immediate. Streets that were once filled with tamale carts, elote stands, and candy vendors have gone quiet. Many vendors, worried about being detained, have stayed home. Restaurants in predominantly Latino neighborhoods have also emptied out as customers grow fearful.

But Chicagoans aren’t willing to let their neighbors suffer alone.

At sunrise, cyclists travel through Latino neighborhoods, buying out every item from local vendors — “every tamale, every corn cob, every bundle of sweets.” The food is then delivered to shelters and families in need. Rick Rosales, a community organizer with Cycling x Solidarity, helps run these buyouts twice a week.

“The vendors are often speechless,” Rosales said. “They’ll say, ‘I have a lot of tamales. You want all of them?’”

One vendor later told Rosales that immigration agents showed up on his block just hours after the group bought out his cart. “You saved my life,” the man told them. Rosales said the rides are joyful but also “so incredibly high stakes because of the fear in our communities right now.”

Advocates say the fear is real. Maria Orozco of the Street Vendors Association of Chicago said she knows of at least 10 vendors who have been detained. “Losing these vendors is as much a cultural loss as an economic one,” she explained, calling them part of the “fabric of our city.” The association has launched a GoFundMe with a goal of raising $300,000 to help support affected vendors.

Restaurants are also hurting. In Belmont Cragin, local leader Alonso Zaragoza noticed eateries sitting mostly empty. So he organized restaurant crawls to help boost sales. Hundreds have turned out, moving from taco spots to ice cream shops and stopping to buy elotes and cotton candy from street vendors along the way. “The financial support for our businesses is needed more than ever now,” Zaragoza said. “It goes such a long way.”

Others are finding their own ways to help. In Pilsen, community organizer Delilah Martinez started “Operation Buyout” after she noticed familiar faces suddenly missing from the street. “It broke my heart,” she said. “Our people were putting their freedom at risk just to work.”

During one buyout, Martinez approached a baker who has lived in Chicago for 24 years. He works nights making bread and sells cakes from his home, but fears rising immigration raids. When Martinez surprised him with a restaurant-grade mixer and $1,500 raised by neighbors, he broke down in tears.

“Thank you so much,” he said, clutching the mixer. “It’s beautiful.”

For many Chicagoans, these efforts are about more than food — they’re about restoring dignity, easing fear, and reminding one another that even in stressful times, community can still shine.