For almost two decades now, sisters Marina Shimelfarb and Liliya Gokhberg have run their contemporary fashion boutique, Atelier957, out of St. Paul, Minnesota. But in 2026, the store has largely remained closed, in a display of solidarity with the immigrant communities being targeted by ICE in the Twin Cities. Here, Gokhberg reflects on seeing her home state in turmoil—and how she’s finding hope in a city rallying for change.
My sister lives in St. Paul and I live in Minneapolis. We are both immigrants. We came to the United States [in the late 1980s] from the former Soviet Union, and lived in what is now called Kiev, Ukraine. We are Jewish, and Jews in the Soviet Union were considered second-class citizens.
We were adults when we came over. My sister came with her husband and son, and I came with my husband and daughter. Then, about 17 years ago, we became business partners and opened our boutique in St. Paul. My sister, Marina, was a seamstress. She had a custom clothing shop but wanted to convert her business into retail. We [settled down in Minnesota] because our cousin came here a year before my sister. Minnesota now feels like home: We have lived here longer than we lived in the Soviet Union. Our kids grew up here, and we built our business and community here. Our whole life is here.
Right now, the whole city is very tired and angry. It’s exhausting to hear and see what is happening daily. Things have intensified since Christmas. Restaurants are closing because they want to protect their workers. A lot of events have been canceled in the Twin Cities. It’s extremely challenging as a business owner. Right now, people feel it’s frivolous to go shopping because people are really suffering, and are so stressed and scared. Fashion and retail have always been affected by the economy, politics, weather—but right now, it feels very different.
When you are driving, you have to be vigilant; you look for unusual or unmarked cars. The streets are empty, with the exception of protesters and whistleblowers. Schools are closed; kids went into remote learning in both St. Paul and Minneapolis. My daughter works as a teacher in a private school, and she had to go through a training on how to protect her kids. It feels like a war zone. It feels like we’re under siege.
We’ve also had to make choices: Do we talk about [ICE], as a business, or do we continue business as usual? We made a decision to speak up, and we will not continue business as usual. Our doors have been closed. We accept visitors by appointment only. We are right in the middle of downtown, so there’s a lot of activity around us. It doesn’t feel safe. Fashion is tricky because we sell luxury—we don’t sell necessities. In times like this, we are the first ones to suffer economic effects. But we understand [we should be] part of this fight. On Friday, we had an economic blockout in Minnesota, which allowed employees to freely protest. We were part of it because there’s no other way of dealing with the situation.
My sister also went to a vigil on Saturday evening in St. Paul, and I went to a vigil with my daughters in Minneapolis. The Minneapolis one was held two blocks from where [Alex Pretti was shot by Border Patrol agents]. The street where Alex was murdered, it’s in an immigrant community. We call it “Eat Street,” because since the early 1990s it has been a street with all kinds of ethnic restaurants. It’s probably four or five miles of different businesses—Vietnamese, Cambodian, Malaysian, Mexican, Jamaican. Minneapolis is extremely diverse—specifically south Minneapolis, where [the ICE raids are] happening.
When we went to the vigil on Saturday, it was extremely cold—probably 10 below—yet there were thousands of people. On Friday, when we had our march downtown, we had over 50,000 people marching in 30-below weather. It’s extremely inspiring. It’s also spontaneous. People just get together in different places and they protest.
We are very proud of Minnesota. We’re very proud of the peaceful rallying that has been happening. We know what we’re fighting for, and we are protecting our way of life. I am a person who came from a country that did not have democracy; I know what it is to live in a country with one person in power.
For the sake of my kids and our grandchildren, we hope that things will change, and that [rallying] will make a difference. We’re hoping that this movement will not die down. Do I feel hopeful? I’ve always been hopeful. That’s why I came here. I brought my kids here to have a better life than we used to have. But right now, it doesn’t feel that way. Right now, I don’t recognize this country.