Although he pointedly avoided any direct response to the lies Donald Trump and his running mate, JD Vance, continue to spread about Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, during a Springfield town hall Thursday night, former Republican presidential candidate Vivek Ramaswamy did not exactly refute the provenly false and racist claims. “‘I’m not here to talk about the issues that the media has really loved to obsess over — OK? — cats and dogs. We’re not talking about that time. We’re talking about human beings,’” Ramaswamy said when the issue was raised. Of course, human beings are exactly who those false claims impact, in very dangerous ways. As the child of Haitian immigrants, I know this firsthand.
At first, I thought it would be one of those quick, headline-grabbing stories that would fade once the media moved on to the next outlandish comment from a GOP candidate. But the story hasn’t moved on.
The first time I remember encountering racism was in high school in Elizabeth, New Jersey. We were playing a soccer match against Westfield, and I tackled a gangly striker outside the box, rolling over him in the process. As we both hit the ground, he angrily spat out, “Get off me, you N—–.” For a moment, I was stunned. But rather than backing down, I switched tactics, marking him one-on-one for the rest of the match. Every time I tackled him, I made sure he felt it.
That incident, though painful, was also an awakening. It made me realize that racism wasn’t some abstract concept from history. It was alive and well, confronting me on the soccer field. In many ways, Springfield reminds me of Elizabeth. A place once abandoned by industry, it is now being revived by hardworking immigrants, much like my parents and the other newcomers to Elizabeth all those years ago.
That’s why it was especially triggering to hear the hateful rhetoric spewed by Trump and Vance. Their inflammatory remarks — suggesting that Haitians in Springfield were “eating people’s pets” — felt like a slap in the face. At first, I thought it would be one of those quick, headline-grabbing stories that would fade once the media moved on to the next outlandish comment from a GOP candidate. But the story hasn’t moved on. We have become part of it.
That’s unsettling for me. I’m a journalist; I ask the questions, I tell the stories. I’m not supposed to be the story. But last week, that changed.
For the last three years, Springfield has quietly absorbed more than 12,000 Haitians. They’ve been on our radar at The Haitian Times for some time now, as reports of attacks and assaults on the Haitian community there have steadily increased. It’s a growing crisis that had us considering how best to cover the 2024 election, especially in a place like Ohio, with its long-standing reputation as a political bellwether.
Our special projects editor, Macollvie Neel, had the brilliant idea to anchor our coverage there. Not only is Ohio politically significant, but Springfield itself was also emblematic of many American cities where the struggles of immigrants, especially Haitians, are at the forefront of the conversation. But we didn’t want to just drop in, do some parachute journalism, and leave. We wanted to engage with the community, understand its pain points and help tell its stories from the inside out.
That’s why we organized a town hall for Haitian residents as an opportunity to listen to their concerns and give them a platform to voice their struggles. We also planned a second gathering for city officials, hoping to bridge the gap caused by language barriers and cultural misunderstandings that have plagued the city’s efforts to serve its new residents.
But things didn’t go as planned. Soon after announcing our town hall, city officials informed us that they couldn’t guarantee our safety. There had been bomb threats and a march of far-right anti-immigrant extremists through downtown Springfield was in the works. We moved our event online, streaming it on Facebook, but things became so tense we had to cancel the second gathering altogether.
I was stunned. How, in 2024, could I not hold a peaceful town hall in America because of safety concerns? This country is supposed to be a beacon of democracy, a place where people like Martin Luther King Jr. fought and died to protect the very rights I was now being denied.
Before I could fully process what was happening, things escalated further. Macollvie and one of our collaborators were doxed and swatted. A barrage of law enforcement officers descended on their homes after someone falsely reported a murder at their addresses. These incidents weren’t just an inconvenience; they also put our team and our collaborators in very real danger.
But we’re not backing down. In the face of these threats, we’ve found strength in our colleagues and the wider journalism community who have rallied around us with moral, financial and informational support to help keep us safe. We may be under siege but we are not walking this path alone. Since the 1970s, Haitians have been arriving in the United States in large numbers, building communities, raising families and contributing to the American dream. What’s happening in Springfield is a reflection of something much bigger — something that goes to the heart of America’s identity. The hateful rhetoric coming from Trump and the MAGA movement isn’t new. It’s rooted in the same racism and xenophobia that have long plagued this country, the same toxic ideology that tried to prevent my parents from making a better life for themselves in Elizabeth. What’s different now is how disinformation, amplified by deep-pocketed extremists, is disrupting the natural process of immigrant assimilation and integration. In the past, immigrants may have faced hostility but eventually they became part of the fabric of their new communities. Now, instead of integration, we’re witnessing division. The hateful rhetoric coming from the right isn’t just talk; it’s also action, designed to tear apart communities like Springfield. In doing so, it weakens American democracy itself. There’s a reason the Civil Rights Act includes “national origin” in its list of protected classes. While we’ve made significant progress in addressing discrimination based on race, gender and religion, we’ve left the immigrant part of the equation unfinished. This is the moment to take up that fight from the 1960s. Immigrants need to stand up and be counted. Haitian Americans, in particular, have a unique opportunity. There are more than 750,000 of us who are eligible to vote. Imagine the impact we could have if we mobilized and voted as one bloc, standing together to push America forward. The road ahead is tough but it’s one we’ve been walking for generations. Since the 1970s, Haitians have been arriving in the United States in large numbers, building communities, raising families and contributing to the American dream. But the challenges we face now are as great as any we’ve ever encountered. The question is: what kind of community do we want to be? Are we ready to recruit allies in this fight and shed the “I” for the “We”? This fight isn’t just about us — it’s about protecting the values of democracy, freedom and justice that this country is supposed to stand for. It’s time for us to stand together, for ourselves and for the future of America — especially knowing that with leaders like Trump, Vance and even Ramaswamy broadcasting and pushing their xenophobic agendas, this task is harder than ever.
Garry Pierre-Pierre
Garry Pierre-Pierre is a Pulitzer-prize winning, multimedia and entrepreneurial journalist. In 1999, he left The New York Times to launch the Haitian Times, a New York-based English-language publication serving the Haitian diaspora. He is also the co-founder of the City University Graduate School of Journalism‘s Center for Community and Ethnic Media and a senior producer at CUNY TV 
