CHICAGO — The massive Border Patrol presence on a recent Saturday morning in Chicago’s Little Village neighborhood didn’t faze Ofelia Herrera even though she and her husband are in the United States illegally.

She waited for agents to move a few blocks away, then opened their stand serving Mexican-style corn on the cob and “aguas frescas” flavored with cucumber, pineapple and strawberry in the heart of the Mexican immigrant community, just as they’ve done for 18 years. Sirens blared through a chaotic day as Chicago police responded to a Border Patrol call for help and confronted demonstrators.

Herrera, 47, and Rafael Hernandez, 44, have refused to alter their routines during an immigration enforcement blitz in Chicago that has caused many without legal status to stay home since it began in early September. Even some U.S. citizens of Latino heritage are afraid to go outside.

The couple says working not only pays the bills but helps avoid depression, making them stand out from others gripped by fear in Chicago’s immigrant communities.

“The only thing you can do is have faith in God and not be afraid,” Herrera said in an interview at the couple’s South Side house, already bedecked with Christmas decorations just days after Halloween. “Fear gives way to depression and other things. At the end of the day, they don’t deport you to Mexico but you are sick with depression and other things because you didn’t have faith in God.”

Hernandez agreed. “We know people who have fallen into depression. They don’t leave the house. It’s very sad.”

The couple’s Little Village food stand, adorned with American flags, is in a bustling area the Border Patrol has visited often. The two-lane commercial drag is lined with family-owned restaurants serving birria and chilaquiles, and clothing stores with displays of Mexican sports team jerseys and white dresses for quinceañera parties — a coming-of-age celebration for 15-year-old girls in Latino families.

Vendors sell sliced fruit and pottery from parked vehicles. Strains of ranchera music from cars and shops add to the festive atmosphere, drawing Mexican immigrant visitors from across Chicago and beyond. A family from Waterloo, Iowa, nibbled corn smothered in mayonnaise, cotija cheese, lime and chili powder at the couple’s stand under a cold drizzle.

Many of the couple’s friends haven’t ventured outside in more than two months. That fear has sparked a grassroots effort to buy out street vendors, allowing them to go home early and avoid public exposure.

Sidewalk traffic on 26th Street is livelier than many commercial areas in Chicago, even with the immigration crackdown. It is lined with barber shops, groceries and other businesses that have signs in Spanish and English demanding immigration authorities stay away unless they have a court warrant.

The couple knows people who were arrested by heavily armed agents asking about their legal status — an egg vendor here, a tamale vendor the

CHICAGO — The massive Border Patrol presence on a recent Saturday morning in Chicago’s Little Village neighborhood didn’t faze Ofelia Herrera even though she and her husband are in the United States illegally.

She waited for agents to move a few blocks away, then opened their stand serving Mexican-style corn on the cob and “aguas frescas” flavored with cucumber, pineapple and strawberry in the heart of the Mexican immigrant community, just as they’ve done for 18 years. Sirens blared through a chaotic day as Chicago police responded to a Border Patrol call for help and confronted demonstrators.

Herrera, 47, and Rafael Hernandez, 44, have refused to alter their routines during an immigration enforcement blitz in Chicago that has caused many without legal status to stay home since it began in early September. Even some U.S. citizens of Latino heritage are afraid to go outside.

The couple says working not only pays the bills but helps avoid depression, making them stand out from others gripped by fear in Chicago’s immigrant communities.

“The only thing you can do is have faith in God and not be afraid,” Herrera said in an interview at the couple’s South Side house, already bedecked with Christmas decorations just days after Halloween. “Fear gives way to depression and other things. At the end of the day, they don’t deport you to Mexico but you are sick with depression and other things because you didn’t have faith in God.”

Hernandez agreed. “We know people who have fallen into depression. They don’t leave the house. It’s very sad.”

The couple’s Little Village food stand, adorned with American flags, is in a bustling area the Border Patrol has visited often. The two-lane commercial drag is lined with family-owned restaurants serving birria and chilaquiles, and clothing stores with displays of Mexican sports team jerseys and white dresses for quinceañera parties — a coming-of-age celebration for 15-year-old girls in Latino families.

Vendors sell sliced fruit and pottery from parked vehicles. Strains of ranchera music from cars and shops add to the festive atmosphere, drawing Mexican immigrant visitors from across Chicago and beyond. A family from Waterloo, Iowa, nibbled corn smothered in mayonnaise, cotija cheese, lime and chili powder at the couple’s stand under a cold drizzle.

Many of the couple’s friends haven’t ventured outside in more than two months. That fear has sparked a grassroots effort to buy out street vendors, allowing them to go home early and avoid public exposure.

Sidewalk traffic on 26th Street is livelier than many commercial areas in Chicago, even with the immigration crackdown. It is lined with barber shops, groceries and other businesses that have signs in Spanish and English demanding immigration authorities stay away unless they have a court warrant.

The couple knows people who were arrested by heavily armed agents asking about their legal status — an egg vendor here, a tamale vendor the