What Our Neighbors Saw at Broadview

For nearly 20 years, the Immigration and Customs Enforcement Processing Center in Broadview has temporarily held detainees and attracted small prayer vigils and protests. Starting in September, however, federal enforcement tactics have escalated in and around Chicago, and protests outside Broadview have grown into daily action.

The Trump administration has characterized anti-ICE protestors as rioters and domestic terrorists. They have posted sensationalized videos glorifying ICE’s actions and painting protest as insurrection.

Recently, however, U.S. District Court Judge April Perry considered evidence from the federal government and found that its declarations were “unreliable.” In her opinion granting an order to temporarily block the federal government from deploying troops in Illinois, Judge Perry wrote: 

Protestors have continued to assemble outside of the ICE Processing Center. ICE agents regularly deploy tear gas to disperse the crowd or stand on top of the building to shoot balls of pepper spray at protestors from above. It is the opinion of the Broadview Police Department that the use of chemical agents against protestors “has often been arbitrary and indiscriminate,” at times being used on crowds as small as ten people. (Opinion at p.4).

Judge Perry emphasized that there is a “wide spectrum” between citizens who “are observing, questioning, and criticizing their government, and those who are obstructing, assaulting, or doing violence.”

In the book, “On Tyranny,” author Timothy Snyder pointed out that to “abandon facts is to abandon freedom. If nothing is true, then no one can criticize power[.]”

We’ve gathered firsthand accounts of our Northwest Side neighbors criticizing power at Broadview. Their stories have been edited for length, and we have granted them anonymity with pseudonyms. All content is substantially in their own words.

At the end, we have also included a deeply disturbing firsthand Broadview video of one of our ICNW members along with her story.

Jay lives in Humboldt Park and loves baking and cooking. Biking is his preferred mode of transportation. 

Scrolling social media makes me feel helpless. I can only seem to push that feeling away by activism and connection with other people. 

I’ve been to Broadview four or five times now, initially because I wanted to see how people were supporting each other during this mess. To see if there was a way I could feel useful. I hoped to meet like-minded people to see if we could help each other and others. 

Maybe part of why I wanted to go is that my own parents are immigrants. My father came from a South Asian country with a lot of turmoil. He was an activist there, and maybe in some ways, I’m carrying on that tradition.

My first time at Broadview, there was no fence, so we could go directly up to the facility. I felt like we were able to put sand in the gears by stalling the vehicles. A lot of protesters were detained that day. The next time, ICE had put up the fence. They kept pushing us back from the detention center. 

I brought ribbons and cards so people could write notes to attach to the fence. The agents really hated that and shot pepper balls every time someone tried. 

Now, Broadview has concrete-barriered protest zones and police. I feel like we aren’t as able to push back against the masked agents picking people up off the street.

It’s really important for people to understand it’s not the protesters throwing tear gas, shooting journalists with pepper balls, putting up illegal fences. We are on the side of the Broadview residents. With our neighbors who are being detained. We are trying to get ICE out of Broadview. 

When it comes to fighting this authoritarian power, each of us in our own way has to stand up, show up and say, “I will not comply.” 

Carmen, a flight attendant in her early 30s who lives in Dunning, was a theater kid for many years. 

Initially some protesters stood in front of me and others, shielding me, the skinny newbie in a princess costume. Many of us wear costumes to give the agents pause, deflect the tension and make a statement with humor.

As I become part of the front line, I crouch down behind my sign. I see ICE agents taking aim, and I notice a lone pepper ball bounce off my umbrella. Others have it much worse. I see protesters get pepper sprayed at close range by an agent moving along a side fence.

The next day we head out again, this time to a different area. I carry a bigger umbrella that is clear, so I can see. I really lucked out at the thrift store today, I think to myself as I patch up any holes with duct tape before heading out.

There are moments of stillness, moments of joy even: College girls in shorts and flip flops posing for a photo, people drawing with sidewalk chalk on the street, music. At one point someone comes around with a platter of Italian beef sandwiches that someone had brought for everyone.

I also witness agents take someone by the arms and legs, and later they arrest a journalist. I’m standing next to the journalist’s colleague as she shouts her request to speak to ICE leadership about them detaining a member of the press. No one answers her.

It’s at one of these moments when ICE comes out from behind the fence. I turn to see an agent very close to me, scowling, and yanking today’s umbrella away from me. He bends it out of shape and takes it to the dumpster inside the fence.

I am stunned. My mind starts going in spirals. It’s almost laughable: Are they afraid of umbrellas? I hope I’m not a wimp if I get hit with a pepper ball. I’ve never been paintballing so I have no concept of how much it will hurt. 

I get the idea to sing, both to regulate myself and to unnerve the agents. My dad was the music minister at our church when I was little. I know he’s proud of me just for being there. 

I remove my mask and start singing hymns: Make Me A Channel Of Your Peace, Amar Es Entregarse, All Are Welcome, Amazing Grace, We Shall Overcome, Pan de Vida. My throat is still sore from the pepper powder yesterday, and I can barely carry the tunes. But I notice the agents nearby avoiding my gaze and shifting uncomfortably.

A person near me keeps shouting, telling them that I’m an American citizen, that they had no right to do that to me, until another agent starts talking to him. The agent sheepishly says some of the signs had nails in them that could harm the agents.

I jump in and assure the agent that my umbrella had no such nails. I ask if I can fill out a form to get it back, knowing how absurd that request is and hoping to catch him off guard with that absurdity.

It seems to work; he says, “Um, I think so. What color was it? I don’t know, this is my first day.”

I smile and say that I’m a newbie, too, and it’s nice that we’re both going through this at the same time. He seems taken aback. But then they all go behind the fence again, and when I shout to him, he looks at me and shakes his head.

People were concerned for me after that happened, saying that it was rough to witness and an alarming show of force intended to intimidate me. It took a couple of days for me to realize why it had been distressing: That was my only defense against the physical impact of a pepper ball.

I found myself sobbing at 2 am days later. If that’s how they treat a baby-faced white-passing woman, imagine how they treat OUR community members who they are rounding up.

I wouldn’t call myself a practicing Catholic, but Catholic social justice teaching has definitely left its mark on me. I was in the church choir for many years with my friends and family, singing “Let us build a house where love can dwell and all can safely live… built of hopes and dreams and visions… All are welcome in this place.” 

I cannot rest until our nation is a place where all are truly welcome. If you feel the same way, I hope you’ll join me in supporting our neighbors however you can.

A Wicker Park resident, Mark is a Marine Corps veteran and stand-up comic. He’s involved in local politics.

I’ve been to Broadview three times: twice as a protester and once for a veterans’ press conference. As a former active duty Marine, I felt I could go into this situation confidently. There is a stereotype that vets skew conservative, but so many of us are disgusted with what we see. 

The first time, there was no fence yet, no police. It was the day the pastor was hit in the head with a pepper ball. About two dozen agents came out, ran into the crowd with pepper balls and tear gas, threw people to the ground. They took people inside and detained them. 

I had the chance to talk to one of the agents and saw something in his eyes I recognized as fear. What are they afraid of?! These guys are provoking us! They have guns and body armor! 

When I came back again another time, the fence was up. There were concrete barriers for a “free speech zone.” State police and police from local municipalities were there for crowd control. It was infuriating to see them doing ICE’s work for them.

This was the day ICE did their rooftop press show. They brought out their big black vehicle with agents hanging off. What were they going to do, cruise down I-290 like that?! 

You don’t need a Blackhawk helicopter to land on an apartment building or guys kitted out in full gear like they are in Afghanistan or Iraq to walk down Michigan Avenue among people drinking Starbucks and walking their labradoodles. It’s ridiculous. It is all just performative BS for the cameras. 

When I was in the military, for every one person on the front line, there were four or five supporting them. My girlfriend drove me to Broadview, and after being pepper balled and teargassed, it was really nice to have that ride! People were dropping off water, batteries, supplies, There are so many ways to be involved. 

Sarah is a 30-something small business owner who lives in Avondale with three dogs. A transplant to Chicago, she has lived here for 12 years, both on the Northwest and Southwest sides.  

I decided to go to Broadview because I’ve watched all the neighborhoods I’ve lived in be terrorized by ICE. This affects my loved ones directly, many of whom aren’t able to get in the action themselves. 

Before April of this year, I hadn’t really been involved in organizing or activism. I’ve always made my voice known and posted on social media, but that isn’t enough anymore. It feels better to channel my anger and doom scrolling into meeting my neighbors and community. This is how I got the courage to go to a Broadview protest.

My experience was mostly peaceful up until ICE left the facility and advanced on us. I underestimated the need for a full gas mask and was shocked how quickly pepper balls and spray spread. It’s harmful and horrifying. 

My main takeaway is: you don’t have to be directly in their way or doing anything to agitate them for ICE to come after you. 

Prepare yourself with PPE. Take a friend and get a Faraday bag for your phone. They’re watching us.

Alice is a middle-aged freelance writer from Sauganash. She loves Chicago’s colorful neighborhoods and believes in the power of mutual aid. 

I’ve lived in Chicago my whole life. I love the harmony of languages I hear on the Red Line. The flavors of Devon, Argyle, Lawrence, Broadway, 18th Street. Hip hop, reggaeton, jazz, klezmer. Dumpling Fest, Midsommarfest, Bud Billiken Parade. Our diversity truly makes Chicago a great city.

I first learned about Broadview from lawyer/activist Rachel Cohen who had been there protesting.

When I heard about ICE violence against protesters, I didn't want to go. I was scared of being illegally detained or getting injured. 

But I couldn't stop imagining those behind that gate. Innocent people snatched from their homes, jobs, off the streets, held in inhumane conditions with no idea if or when they were getting out. 

I knew how desperately I would want someone to step up for me or my family if WE were behind the gate. This is about all of us. I felt I had to put my body with my values. 

At Broadview, I saw pissed but peaceful protesters – some wearing funny costumes. An accordion player and a guitarist making music while wearing gas masks. 

And I saw a dozen or more armed "agents" standing menacingly behind a gate they illegally installed; one weapon-toting dude on a rooftop. 

At seemingly random moments, they would toss canisters of tear gas into the crowd, start shooting what I learned were pepper balls at us. 

Once, my protest sign shielded me from getting hit in the face. 

Some protesters closer to the gate looked like they took direct hits – one man's shirtless back bore more than a dozen round red welts. In a few hours, these attacks happened at least half a dozen times. With absolutely no provocation I could see. 

I'm an old broad. Been to more protests than I can count – some well organized and attended; some small and spontaneous. In all these decades, until now, my government has never attacked me with chemical weapons while I was peacefully protesting. 

Something that struck me about Broadview was the assault on this community. I saw folks just trying to get to work or deliver a package, navigating what felt like a war zone. I was only there for a few hours; I chose to be there, but people who live and work there are under attack by ICE all the time. They didn't ask for this. We didn't ask for this. 

We Chicagoans and suburbanites are proud to live here. We belong here. It’s ICE that needs to get the F out.  

Tina moved to Chicago in 2014. She describes herself as a single, childless, petless millennial, fueled by boba tea and radicalized by basic human decency.

I grew up in a small Midwestern town and wanted to move to Chicago for a long time. Now Chicago is home. So while it’s one thing to see what’s been happening across the country, it’s another thing to watch it playing out in your own community. 

When I began seeing footage of Broadview, I felt like I needed to do something; to see it for myself. 

A friend and I went out on September 26th. We got there around noon. It was pretty quiet, as most protesters from the morning had left. We walked toward the fence. Not a great idea as it happens. Four or five agents appeared at the fence all in a line, seemingly out of nowhere. It felt like a firing squad. We didn't feel safe.

We heard shots from the roof on the other side of the building, so we walked to that side and found about two dozen protesters and a really beautiful sense of community.

A medic approached and asked us if it was our first time here; explained what to do if we got teargassed. National Lawyers Guild representatives explained what to do if they or anyone they knew was detained. 

I saw notes tied to the fence and I approached to take a closer look. Someone quickly reached out to me to tell me that agents had been shooting [pepper balls at] people who touched the fence. 

A pretty peaceful hour or so passed, when all of a sudden, shots were fired again. Pepper balls were coming at me. People started running. Medics hurried to assist. 

It was so random and unprovoked. No one had been doing anything! It was really eye opening to see that myself: to witness that unnecessary use of force. Even though it was shocking to see firsthand, I’m glad I went and I plan to go again.

Broadview feels like an encapsulation of what is happening here in Chicago, all around the country. I couldn’t continue to sit here and just watch what’s happening around me. Not everyone has to go to Broadview, of course, but if they are able, I hope people will take advantage of opportunities to get involved and help however they can.

Born and raised in Chicago, Martha loves the diversity of her West Ridge neighborhood. 

For me, the hardest part wasn’t deciding to go to Broadview, it was scraping together the funds for gear, because we knew ICE would be there and safety mattered. Advocacy has been part of my life since I was old enough to know what it meant, so there was no way I wasn’t showing up.

I went to Broadview because our neighbors are being kidnapped, and silence isn’t an option. We have to rise up and fight back. Sure there were risks, but fear wasn’t going to stop me. People are suffering, and the least I could do was show up in solidarity. CHICAGO STRONG. 

I thought I was a pro at protests – until Broadview. ICE and federal agents seemed excited to use their tear gas, flash bangs, foam baton rounds, all aimed at peaceful people. It didn’t matter if you were walking, rolling, sitting, or blocks away, you felt it.

I’ve been doing this work for a while, but I’d never experienced not being able to breathe or see. 

When I got home and washed the tear gas and chemicals off, I stood there in the shower thinking about everyone locked inside, people who can’t wash anything off. Living in that cruelty every single day.

They want you to think we’re the ones causing chaos, and that’s a lie. What’s happening at Broadview is real, it’s horrifying, and unless you see it with your own eyes, you can’t fully understand.

If you aren’t able to be there in person, that’s okay, there are so many other ways to help. Listen to the folks who are truly out there, not a media spin. Just don’t look away.

Bessie is a podcast producer, artist and stay-at-home mom. She loves her leafy Logan Square neighborhood, where she lives with her two children and an unruly garden.

When I moved to Chicago three and a half years ago, I quickly fell in love with my leafy Logan Square neighborhood. Black, White, Asian, Latino - we gather for chili cook offs and block parties, impromptu pizza parties and front stoop hangouts. Almost every day, my two kids blaze up and down our long street with the other children, running wild. 

In 2018, before coming to Chicago, I strapped my daughter to my chest and protested outside the ICE headquarters in San Francisco in opposition to the inhumane family separation policy.

This year, when I saw that the federal government was invading neighborhoods just like mine, stealing parents from their children and terrorizing hard working communities, I had to protest again.

I am a Chicana, but more than that, I am a human being who believes that all people should be treated with dignity and respect. 

My first time at Broadview, I saw peaceful protesters of all races and ethnicities, joining together to sing songs of protest, grief and rage into the blank faces of militarized men carrying weapons pointed at us, their own identities obscured behind thick balaclavas.

Two weeks ago, I returned after they had erected barricades. The agents had increased in number and aggression.

During one show of force intended to intimidate protesters, some agents stood on the back of a truck, aiming their weapons at us while others shot pepper balls at protesters on all sides. They fanned out and walked into the peaceful crowd, ripping signs out of people's hands and frog marching press and protesters into the gates.

I stood on the public byway, out of the street. But still a large agent charged up to me and attempted to rip from my hands the lightweight foam children's sled I brought to protect myself from pepper balls. "Let go!" He screamed at me as I tugged it back, "Let it go or you're going down!"

So I let it go.

Despite the fact I wasn't a threat or holding a weapon. Despite the fact that I was standing on public property and not interfering, he reacted with force and aggression to strip me of the means to protect myself against chemical munitions. 

I want people to know that the protesters are your neighbors, your friends, neighbors you pass at the grocery store. We are not those bringing violence to Chicago. ICE is. 

Violet is a Lakeview resident in her 20s.

I’m a young adult working in the environmental education sphere to help connect learners of all ages with nature. My intense love for our planet and all its creatures brought me to Broadview. You cannot love our world without loving the people in it, and if you love people, you must stand against ICE.

As someone who has the privilege of health and free time I feel like it is my job to show up and use my body, voice, and freedom to advocate for my neighbors.

When I was at Broadview I saw the beast humanity can become. But I also saw the power and beauty of a people united. People coming to each other’s aid, on-the-ground street medic training, songs of hope and justice sung from many lips so sincerely it brought me to tears.

Gas us, hit us, shoot us, we will not break. 

As we sang together, “We are not afraid.”

Maureen, a software professional in her 50s, has lived in the western suburbs of Chicago her whole life. She is married to a veteran and has two sons.

Things had been pretty peaceful at Broadview when I decided to go in the middle of September. I think it was around Mexican Independence Day–there was food and a block party atmosphere.

I remember starting to cough. I didn’t know what was going on, but I was later told that ICE agents had been lobbing pepper balls our way. 

I saw a man sitting by himself at the entrance to the driveway leading up to the detention center. I thought I’d join him so he wasn’t alone.

Call me naive. I thought, I’m a 50-year-old white woman, ICE isn’t going to bother me. 

Well, they did.

Video of Maureen's Experience

As you can see in the video (I’m on the left in blue/green), all hell broke loose. We had no warning. I only realized what was happening when a canister of what must have been tear gas hit my foot. And then, well, you can see how they attacked us, pummeled us with pepper balls. Shoved me. I couldn’t open my eyes and went to the ER for treatment.

My experience that day was terrifying–I’ve protested a lot, but nothing like that had ever happened to me. But I wasn’t going to let it stop me. I was back at Broadview again two weeks later. 

If they will treat a 50-year-old white woman who is being videoed like this, with this shameless brutality, what are they doing to Brown people all over the country, inside detention centers like the one here in Broadview!? 

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