The invisible hand of global trade, usually a distant concept for the average Chicagoan, has become a palpable fist for the city’s Asian-owned businesses, particularly those nestled in the vibrant enclaves of Chinatown and Uptown.
What began as a high-stakes geopolitical poker game – President Trump’s trade war with China – has trickled down into the everyday realities of family restaurants, herbal shops, and bakeries, threatening to upend generations of hard-won enterprise.
For Spencer Ng, owner of Triple Crown, a beloved Chinatown institution founded by his mother in 1996, the effects are immediate and brutal.
His 200-seat restaurant, a cornerstone of the community, is bleeding from rising costs.
Sichuan peppercorns, red chili, canned water chestnuts – staples of authentic Chinese cuisine – have seen their prices soar.
A case of water chestnuts, once $35, now demands $55.
Takeout containers, ubiquitous in the modern dining landscape, jumped from $25 to $32 per case.
Even humble plastic tablecloths, once a quarter, are now nearly double that at 45 cents each.
Ng estimates an overall 10% to 25% increase on most ingredients and supplies, with his monthly meat distributor bill alone rocketing from $14,000 to $22,000.
Yet, in a cruel bind, Ng cannot pass these costs onto his customers.
The loyal patrons of Triple Crown, many of whom have frequented the restaurant for decades, are acutely price-sensitive.
Moreover, the sheer cost of re-printing menus, an estimated $6,000, is prohibitive in a climate of such volatile pricing.
The uncertainty, Ng laments, is the “crazy thing.”
This isn’t just about rising prices; it’s about the inability to plan, to predict, to invest.
His ambitious plans for a three-floor expansion, with furniture, fixtures, and tiles ordered from China, have been put on indefinite hold, a casualty of tariffs and the unpredictable winds of trade policy.
This predicament is not unique to Triple Crown.
Down the street at Sea Cucumber City, an herbal medicine and snacks store where 80% of products hail from China, manager Aina Lei echoes Ng’s frustration.
Dried lotus seeds, a healthy snack and culinary ingredient, shot up from $13 to $16.50 per pound.
While customers initially stocked up in April, purchases slowed by May as the new price points took hold.
Lei, who had no concept of tariffs before Trump took office, now lives with daily apprehension, finding little solace in the brief, often vague, truces announced by Washington and Beijing.
The cumulative burden on these businesses is staggering.
Chinatown, a resilient community that bore the brunt of anti-Asian racism and received disproportionately less government aid during the pandemic, now faces yet another existential threat.
Clayton Xu, policy manager at the Coalition for a Better Chinese American Community, highlights how shops selling sundries, often catering to price-sensitive senior citizens, are particularly vulnerable.
The tariffs sow confusion, especially among older owners in the traditional heart of Chinatown along Wentworth Avenue, who often grapple with language barriers and limited access to technology.
This contrasts sharply with newer, more tech-savvy franchises closer to Chinatown Square, threatening to widen an already existing economic divide within the neighborhood.
A forthcoming survey by Xu’s coalition reveals a deep-seated distrust in government agencies and nonprofits, meaning many businesses struggle in silence, often waiting until it’s too late to seek help.
The struggle extends beyond Chinatown’s vibrant arches to Uptown, home to a significant Southeast Asian community and its famed “Asia on Argyle” street.
Chettha Saetia, economic development director at the Chinese Mutual Aid Association, paints a grim picture: a once-bustling thoroughfare now dotted with empty storefronts, an estimated 30% of businesses closed.
Tariffs have compounded the woes of inflation, declining foot traffic, and gentrification.
Saetia advises businesses to diversify their sourcing away from China, suggesting Vietnam and Thailand – ironic, given that these nations too were subjected to Trump’s tariffs in April.
“It’s one thing after another,” he sighs, a sentiment that encapsulates the relentless challenges faced by these communities.
Yet, amid the storm, there are glimmers of defiance and deep-rooted resilience.
Peter Yuen, owner of La Patisserie P in Uptown, a bakery renowned for its Asian-French fusion pastries, faces his own tariff-induced headaches.
Red bean paste and melon cake ingredients, exclusively from China, have seen costs rocket.
Sacks of flour, made from U.S. wheat but processed in China, now cost $75, up from $35 just a year ago.
Despite a general slowdown in Uptown, La Patisserie P endures, a testament to Yuen’s commitment to quality at reasonable prices.
He is adapting, seeking more storage space to stock up, and innovating with distinctive pastries.
Yuen’s words resonate with the enduring spirit of these communities: “We have been here since 1982,” he says of his second-generation family business.
“Surviving and striving is what we do, as Chinese Americans do through the centuries.”
It’s a powerful reminder that while the grand narratives of trade wars play out in distant capitals, their most profound impact is often felt on the street level, by the families who pour their lives into their businesses, striving to simply keep the lights on and their heritage alive against an ever-shifting tide of economic and political forces.
Their story is not just about tariffs; it is about the unwavering human spirit in the face of relentless adversity. Tariffs impact small businesses, challenges faced by Chinese American businesses, and trade war effects on local economies are real.
Inflation can affect small businesses, highlighting the need for support for Asian-owned businesses in America.
