Magdalee Brunache is from Haiti, and is currently a doctoral student in the Department of Political Science, specializing in Development Studies and Women and Gender Studies at the University of Toronto
As I sit down to write this, it has just been announced that the humanitarian parole program, which allowed Haitians to enter the United States over the past two years, will not be renewed. This means that starting in January 2025, hundreds of thousands of Haitians, along with Nicaraguans, Venezuelans, and Cubans, will face the threat of deportation unless they can find alternative legal means to remain in the U.S. This decision heightens the uncertainty that has loomed over them for nearly two years.
Haitians who came through what some call the “Biden program” are receiving this news as reports emerge of a Savien gang’s mass killing of over 70 people in Pont Sondé, in the Artibonite department of Haiti, forcing thousands to flee their homes without support from the Haitian state. These humanitarian parole measures are intended to protect people fleeing countries deemed unsafe, which makes the timing of their cancellation particularly ill-timed. Meanwhile, the Dominican Republic has announced plans to deport up to 10,000 Haitians per week. Compounding these challenges, Haitians at home continue to grapple with widespread hunger, insufficient access to clean water, and inadequate medical care. In short, the imperialist grip on Haiti has made staying in the country untenable for many, yet wherever we Haitians go, we are in danger.
I can only imagine how devastating it must be for the Haitian community in Springfield, many of whom arrived under the Biden program, to not only be uncertain of their legal status but also find themselves the targets of hate, calumny, and vilification. Haitians, it seems, can never catch a break. Amidst the life-or-death situations that my people are facing, it feels even more exhausting to continually respond to absurd rumors like those about Haitians eating pets. I shouldn’t be discussing this. Instead, I should be focusing on the daily struggles of my people to exist and survive. Racism, as many have pointed out, is a powerful distraction. As Nobel Laureate Toni Morrison has noted, ““The function, the very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being. Somebody says you have no language and you spend twenty years proving that you do. Somebody says your head isn’t shaped properly so you have scientists working on the fact that it is. Somebody says you have no art, so you dredge that up. Somebody says you have no kingdoms, so you dredge that up. None of this is necessary. There will always be one more thing”.
In a recent piece for The Washington Post, renowned Haitian author Edwidge Danticat pondered, “How should we best proclaim our humanity?” This question has prompted me to reflect on Martiniquais author Frantz Fanon’s Black Skin, White Masks, which illuminates the inherent challenges in this task. I have seen many of my compatriots feeling hopeful and thankful that Springfield residents are discovering Haitian cuisine, and that U.S. politicians are stepping up to assert how hardworking Haitians are and how much they have contributed to revitalizing the local economy. This article is an attempt at making sense of why even seemingly sympathetic comments on the matter have felt fundamentally wrong in my view.
The events themselves and their chilling consequences are by now familiar to anyone with internet access. What I want to focus on here is the multitude of voices, from politicians and employers to NGO workers with experience in Haiti, as well as Haitians themselves, who have rallied to defend and salvage Haitians’ reputation. For instance, in an article by The Nation, Haitians were described as “hardworking people who pay their taxes and commit fewer crimes.” In yet another response to Trump and Vance’s claim, a factory owner has come out to say that he’s never seen a Haitian crackhead. This caught my attention because the successive and ongoing drug epidemics in the U.S. have never raised questions about the humanity of the white individuals affected. When do Haitians get to simply be humans without qualifications?
An opinion piece in the Brainerd Dispatch characterized Haitians as “generous, hardworking, grateful people who worship God.” The article goes on to state that Haitians “take jobs no one else wants.” According to the piece, they are driven to the U.S. by “gangs of criminals, extreme poverty, disease, hurricanes, earthquakes, corrupt government, no or sporadic electricity.” This narrative conveniently omits the role of the U.S. in causing instability in Haiti, including the influx of weapons into the country, the backing of corrupt leaders, and the maintenance of an interventionist stance that has contributed to the very conditions from which Haitians are fleeing.
Although those making these claims likely mean well, they are inadvertently promoting a discourse that reduces Haitians to grateful, labouring subjects, overshadowing the broader political and historical context that has shaped their migration. By failing to confront root causes such as foreign intervention and exploitation, these claims reinforce a story that absolves the U.S. of responsibility while celebrating Haitians for fitting neatly into roles as labourers in a neoliberal economy. In the wake of the recent incidents, it is imperative to encourage a shift in the narrative surrounding Haitians and their place in the world. This shift must center on Haitians’ undeniable right to be recognized as humans without the incessant need to justify their presence, contributions, or worth.
A familiar trope
The accusations of Haitians eating pets in Ohio can be tied to longstanding racist narratives that portray Black people as “less civilized” or “animalistic.” In American culture, animals like dogs and cats are often viewed as “honorary humans.” Thus, beneath the pet-eating allegations lies the old discourse of cannibalism resurfacing. The roots of this trope are well-known, particularly its emergence during the Haitian Revolution and its intensification following Haiti’s independence, which challenged the global imperialist order. Framing Haitians as savages was a way to “put us back in our place.” This discourse is based on a selective narrative that reaffirms the superiority of white bodies by scandalizing the violence perpetrated against them in Haiti during the revolutionary war while dismissing the brutal actions of the Napoleonic army against Haitians fighting for their fundamental freedom. Even worse, the violence of chattel slavery is trivialized; before the Haitian Revolution, the average lifespan of an enslaved Black person in Saint-Domingue was a mere seven years upon arrival from the slave trade.
This narrative implies that violence is an inherent trait of Black people, and, if we are to believe this discourse, Haitians are particularly adept at it. It also sustains a hierarchy where Black bodies are considered expendable in the protection of white humanity.
The point I am making is that this trope is almost as old as the existence of Haitians as a people. By bringing it to the surface once more, Western imperialists ensure that it remains alive and potent. Republican Vice-Presidential candidate JD Vance is tapping into long-standing stereotypes about Haitians, particularly the damaging imagery associated with “cannibalism.” Ultimately, whether the story is true or not is irrelevant. What should get our attention is how effortlessly this narrative was constructed using familiar and easily recognizable elements. This ease reveals just how deeply ingrained these harmful images and tropes are in our collective memory. The discourse itself remains the same, even as its elements are slightly tweaked.
The limitations of framing legality and labor as measures of humanity
The narrative surrounding economic participation aims to highlight the entrepreneurial spirit of Haitians. But while these defenses aim to show Haitians in a positive light, they do so by framing them as hardworking and economically productive individuals who contribute to the economy. This type of defense assumes that Haitians must prove their worth through their labor, which ultimately ties their humanity to their ability to perform under capitalism. It ignores that many Haitians, particularly those who entered the United States under the so-called Biden program, find themselves working in industries that rely on cheap, expendable labor and deny them fair wages, rights, and protections. Moreover, in the United States, work authorization can take months to be delivered or renewed for holders of Temporary Protected Status, leaving them in a state of limbo.
Thinking with Fanon, I argue that this framing mirrors colonial dynamics where the Black subject is only valued for their labor and their capacity to be useful to the colonial or capitalist system. Instead of challenging the root of dehumanization, these narratives reinforce the idea that one’s worth is dependent on one’s productivity and legal status. When legality is also invoked to assert humanity, it becomes a powerful capitalist tool. It obscures legal standing and hangs over immigrants like a Damocles sword, making them vulnerable to super-exploitation and forcing them to accept the most degrading, exhausting, and underpaid jobs.
Using legality and labor as the foundation of defenses also falls short because these are categories that can easily be manipulated by political forces. Even legal immigrants are often still treated as “illegal” in public discourse. As Fanon has argued, power structures create arbitrary divisions to maintain dominance, and this is echoed in modern immigration debates where even “legal” immigrants can never fully escape criminalization.
Finally, there is a certain irony in defending immigrants as “hard workers” when the dominant narrative often frames them as “job stealers.” As noted from the Republican perspective, the issue is constructed as “a flood of migrants who are now stealing (Black) American jobs.” By engaging in this defense, people accidently feed into a capitalist framework that pits immigrant workers against native-born workers, rather than dismantling the structures of economic inequality and the manufactured scarcity that fuel this fear in the first place. The concerns expressed by Springfield residents, highlight real anxieties about the strain on local infrastructure and rising housing costs. However, the lack of affordable housing, adequate public services, and job security are byproducts of a system that prioritizes profit over people, and immigrants often end up being used as scapegoats.
Thinking liberation with Fanon
At last, I am beginning to understand why supportive comments about the pet-eating rumors have hit me so hard. It is undeniable that the recent attacks on Haitians have highlighted powerful displays of unity and community, particularly within Springfield. However, I believe it is important to remember that even when allyship is well-meaning, it can inadvertently perpetuate oppressive narratives. To truly advocate for the dignity and humanity of Haitians, the conversation must move from one that provides justification to one that embraces the inherent rights of all people to exist and thrive. When Haitians are defended solely based on their economic productivity or legal status, the deeper issues of dehumanization as well as racial and economic injustice remain unaddressed. These discourses are not isolated; they are part of a broader historical pattern that dehumanizes Black bodies for economic gain while simultaneously criminalizing them to justify exclusion and exploitation.
Only by addressing these systemic issues can we hope to create a more just and equitable society for all. True liberation will not come from conforming to the roles prescribed by colonial or capitalist systems but from rejecting those roles altogether and embracing a fuller sense of humanity that isn’t tied to labor or legality. Beyond all else, Haitians and all people should be valued for their existence and shared humanity.
