How Plastic Whistles Became a Weapon of Protest Against ICE in Chicago

On Tuesday, the sharp sound of whistles echoed through a parking garage on Chicago’s North Side. Two men quickly opened their car doors, slipped inside, and crouched down in their seats. Outside, a convoy of federal immigration enforcement vehicles sped away just minutes after arriving in the neighborhood.

“We saw people with whistles and just cleared out,” said Luke, a landscaper working nearby, who declined to give his full name.

Since early September, when the Trump administration began targeting undocumented immigrants it claims are “serious criminals” — though many non-criminals have been swept up in the raids — blowing a whistle has become a grassroots alarm system. It signals the presence of agents from U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) or Customs and Border Protection (CBP), warning undocumented residents to flee and summoning allies to record detentions, share legal information, and hold agents accountable.

The aggressive enforcement campaign, which has no announced end date, has stirred anger and resistance across the city. Hundreds of federal agents have been deployed throughout the Chicago metro area — often armed with assault rifles and dressed in military-style uniforms. Witnesses have described agents firing tear gas into crowds, rappelling from Black Hawk helicopters to raid apartment buildings, dragging immigrants from cars at gunpoint, and shooting two people, one fatally.

Against this heavily militarized show of force, the whistle has emerged as a small but powerful act of defiance.

“It spread like wildfire,” said Baltazar Enriquez, president of the Little Village Community Council, a grassroots organization in one of Chicago’s largest Latino neighborhoods. “If we have to patrol our streets for the next three years, we’ll do it — whatever it takes to keep our community safe.”

The group began distributing whistles over the summer. Since then, their steady promotion has turned the plastic whistle into a symbol of resistance against ICE’s presence in Chicago.

Volunteers at “whistle-making parties” and local activist groups have handed them out at festivals and parades, tucked them into Little Free Libraries, and promoted them on social media. Some residents picked up whistles from community centers; others bought them at dollar stores or online.

Tricia McLaughlin, assistant secretary for public affairs at the Department of Homeland Security, dismissed the movement, saying, “Our officers are highly trained and not intimidated by loud noises or whistles.”

Still, their low cost and simplicity have helped the whistles gain traction both on the streets and online. Yet, their effectiveness against armed and fast-moving ICE squads remains limited.

In another quiet North Side neighborhood, residents rushed out of their homes to confront ICE officers detaining a group of landscapers. Their whistling and shouting drew a crowd, and onlookers relayed the detainees’ names to immigrant rights groups — but agents still drove away with two people in custody.

“I’m sure I’ll cry later,” said Joanne Willer, a resident of Albany Park, who blew her whistle to alert neighbors. “It’s just so upsetting to watch.”

Later that evening, others in Albany Park — a diverse neighborhood that saw tear gas fired by federal agents earlier this month — took to the streets again, armed with makeshift noise-makers as they patrolled their blocks.

One resident, Jordan, who declined to give her last name for fear of retaliation, carried her son’s toy train whistle. “I’m Jewish,” she said quietly, “and because of our history, what’s happening here feels deeply personal. I just know that if we don’t stand up for our neighbors, no one else will.”