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How false narratives fuel racism against Haitian immigrants | Opinion

Haitian migrants prepare to depart the U.S. Customs and Border Protection station in the Middle Florida Keys city of Marathon on June, 2024. They were among a group of almost 120 people who arrived in Key West earlier in the morning on a migrant boat.
Haitian migrants prepare to depart the U.S. Customs and Border Protection station in the Middle Florida Keys city of Marathon on June, 2024. They were among a group of almost 120 people who arrived in Key West earlier in the morning on a migrant boat. adiaz@miamiherald.com

The false claim that Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, were abducting and eating cats first caught my attention through my wife, who saw it trending on social media.

She mentioned how quickly the rumor went viral. However, it wasn’t until after the presidential debate between Donald Trump and Kamala Harris that I realized how far-reaching this lie had spread.

It had infiltrated presidential politics, aligning with the broader debate about immigration in the U.S.I later discovered that these claims originated earlier in the month, when Blood Tribe, a national neo-Nazi group, began spreading the rumor on social networks as part of a xenophobic campaign.

Springfield lie

This baseless narrative was picked up by members of a Springfield Facebook group, who, without firsthand knowledge, expressed concerns about the growing Haitian population in their city. The lie gained further traction when Vice Presidential candidate JD Vance, who hails from Ohio, claimed in a post on X (formerly Twitter) that recent reports showed Haitians were becoming an economic burden to the town.

He went as far as to allege that “people have had their pets abducted and eaten,” a statement amplified by Elon Musk.

The controversy reached its peak during the presidential debate, when Trump repeated the lie to a national audience. Despite debate moderators fact-checking the claim, Trump doubled down the next day in a speech promoting mass deportations.

All I could think was, “Not again.”

This wasn’t the first time I had encountered such claims.

My thoughts immediately turned to my parents, immigrant Haitians who arrived in the U.S. in the late 1970s during the wave of Haitian “boat people,” who were escaping the political repression of Haiti’s Jean-Claude Duvalier’s dictatorship.

In South Florida during the 1970s and 1980s, my parents faced rampant anti-Haitian sentiment.

My father often spoke about the resilience one needed to survive those times, crediting his faith and the spirit of the Haitian Revolution for keeping him strong. My mother, in her pragmatic way,refused to internalize the lies being spread. Both worked tirelessly to support our family—my father as a barber during the day and a waiter at night, and my mother as a beautician who also sold clothes at the local flea market.

AIDS stigma

Their hard work and quiet strength were the foundation that kept us afloat amid the discrimination and xenophobia we faced.Haitians were frequently dehumanized, labeled “boat people,” and stereotyped as dirty, poor and diseased, particularly during the HIV/AIDS pandemic. One of the most damaging falsehoods was the Center for Disease Control’s classification of Haitians as a high-risk group for HIV.

These stigmas contributed to widespread discrimination against Haitian immigrants in housing, employment, healthcare and education.As an 11-year-old, I struggled with the negative portrayals of Haitians in the media. Unlike my parents, I wasn’t so resilient.

Like many others, I tried to “pass” as someone who wasn’t Haitian. I wrote about this experience in the Miami Herald, prompted by the 1984 suicide of Phede Eugene, a teenager so ashamed of his Haitian heritage that when he was unwillingly “outed,” he took his life.Now, as we approach the 40th anniversary of his death, it is heartbreaking to see such falsehoods still circulating.These baseless claims have broader consequences, especially when they are used for political gain.

Today’s lies can lead to the stigmatization of Haitians in schools, workplaces, and healthcare systems. They depict Haitians, even professionals, as desperate and impoverished, fueling fears that immigrants will drain public resources or contribute to crime—a fear echoed by some Springfield residents toward their Haitian neighbors.

These false narratives also support University of Pittsburgh sociologist Ervin Dyer’s “concept of narrative blight”, where using damaging and persistent stereotypes and language negatively shape how Black communities are portrayed in the media and public discourse.

This concept is especially relevant when considering that harmful narratives about the Haitian people overshadow the rich,complex and positive aspects of Haitian life and culture.

It’s no surprise then that Haitians in Springfield now feel further alienated, especially considering the recent bomb threats that have disrupted the town.Haitians have a significant presence in the U.S., with more than 1 million Haitian immigrants living across the country.

My hometown of Miami is home to one of the largest Haitian communities, with approximately 300,000 residents of Haitian descent. Miami’s Little Haiti is a cultural hub for the community, but even there, stereotypes continue to shape public perceptions.

Today, I live and work in Charlotte, North Carolina, where the Haitian population is growing.

While Charlotte doesn’t have the same historical ties to Haiti as Miami, the same kinds of rumors and lies about Haitian people find their way into local discourse, often perpetuated by those unfamiliar with the culture and contributions of the Haitian diaspora.

Perhaps the most damaging narrative is that Haitians are not contributing members of society but are seen instead as parasites feeding off public resources. This is a consequence I study in my research on race and youth identity. In response to this pervasive issue,

Reclaim our identities

I started a Facebook group called Undercover Haitians, providing a space where those of us who were once forced into the shadows during our youth can share our stories, reclaim our identities, and support one another in overcoming the burden of these long-held stereotypes.

It’s important to recognize that these claims are rooted in a long history of racism against Haitians, dating back to 1804 when Haiti declared its independence from France.

Haitians have since faced economic punishment and exploitation by world governments, and criticism of their culture has persisted.

From the image of Haitians as witch doctors, to more recent lies about eating pets—these falsehoods serve to dehumanize a people whose only “crime” was fighting for their freedom. Such stereotypes, I feel, persist to fuel anti-immigrant sentiment and mask the insecurities of Americans who are uncomfortable living alongside Black people. These lies also reflect the broader issue of American racism.

In his work, James Baldwin discussed how the erasure of Black American history contributes to a narrative of inferiority. This resonates with the current erasure of Haitian contributions to society. Why is it that all we know about Haiti is its revolution, while the rest of its history is painted as a failure?

This void has been filled with lies and stereotypes, which are now weaponized in the immigration debate. I have, in my own way, tried to counter such narratives, to highlight, at least in part, the positive aspects of Haitian history. The recent controversy in Springfield is a stark example of how political figures exploit racism for personal gain.

Racists fears

By playing into a reservoir of racist fears about Black people,Trump and others stoked division for their own political purposes. It reminds me of Trump’s 2018 comments, when he referred to Haiti and other nations as “shithole countries”— to which I responded in an earlier article, voicing my protest. The solution is to reject these figures at the ballot box. If someone like Trump can rise to power by spreading such hateful lies, it speaks to the moral decay at the heart of our nation.

As was the case with my parents and later with me and my siblings, I now find myself having to warn my children to guard himself against these same baseless claims. When will we ever stop the cycle?

Now, I have children. Three generations of my family have faced these lies. When will this cycle end?

Three generations is enough.

Yven Destin is a history teacher at a private school in North Carolina. He is the author of What Can James Baldwin’s “Little Man” Teach Us About Children and Our Responsibility to Them?

This story was originally published September 18, 2024 at 5:52 AM.

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