Ohio churches resist Trump’s attacks on Haitian community: ‘We’re powerful when we come together’

At morning services at Central Christian Church in Springfield, Ohio, on Sunday, congregants greeted one another with hugs and expressed gratitude for a rare piece of good news. Nearly a week before, a federal judge blocked the Trump administration’s attempt to end legal protections for 350,000 Haitians in the US.

The church is one of several in Springfield that provide services in Haitian Creole and has opened its doors to thousands of Haitians living in the small city in south-western Ohio. Addressing the ruling, pastor Carl Ruby explained in his sermon that during times of suffering, the silence of God doesn’t mean the absence of God.

“Through all these calamities, fear, anxiety, panic and uncertainty, God is going to do something,” said pastor Viles Dorsainvil, who settled in Springfield in 2021 and also preaches at the church. “That’s what I took from that.”

Haitians in Springfield have faced uncertainty and upheaval ever since Donald Trump amplified false claims that Haitians there were stealing pets and eating them during his 2024 presidential run. All the while, the city has erected a resistance infrastructure to protect the community. A local network of churches like Central, legal advocates, non-profits and volunteers have loudly proclaimed that Haitians are welcome – especially in a time when finding places to feel safe in the city has become harder.

After Trump’s rhetoric hit the national stage during a presidential debate against Kamala Harris, schools and corporate and government buildings received bomb threats and white nationalist groups marched through the city to demand that Haitians leave. When Trump became president months later, his administration announced the termination of the temporary protected status (TPS) that had allowed Haitians affected by political unrest or natural disasters to legally live and work in the US. Even though a federal judge blocked the order, the administration has appealed. For now, Haitians with TPS are in the US legally, but are in limbo amid an escalating legal battle over the future of TPS.

This was on top of speculation that federal immigration agents were going to be deployed to the city to detain Haitians. Just this week, schools and county offices across the city received another round of bomb threats: “The whole essence of the threats were the Haitians should be out, get rid of the Haitians,” Republican Ohio governor Mike DeWine said in a press conference.

Amid the growing threats and uncertainty, advocates across the city are expanding their efforts to support Haitians. “There are so many good people in Springfield,” Dorsainvil said. “So many people have come out to support Haitians in Springfield and that shows how powerful we are when we come together.”

Churches are the backbone of Springfield’s resistance

Even before Trump thrust Springfield into the national spotlight in 2024, churches were already quietly organizing to support Haitians.

Dorsainvil opened the Haitian Community Help and Support Center in 2023 to advocate for and serve the Haitian immigrants who began moving to Springfield in large numbers during the pandemic, finding employment opportunities and affordable housing. Early on, the center welcomed hundreds of people to its office for civil rights training sessions, English lessons taught by Ohio natives and church services.

Other churches offered English language classes for parents and their children, too, often in Sunday schoolrooms. Churches also partnered with social service agencies to connect families to health screenings, vaccinations and school readiness programs.

The ‘Greetings from Springfield’ mural painted by Victor Ving and Lisa Beggs is seen in downtown Springfield, Ohio, on 5 February. Photograph: Matthew Hatcher/AFP/Getty Images

Through church-organized transportation networks, volunteers are trained to drive immigrants to court hearings and medical appointments, serving as chauffeurs and also witnesses. Volunteers are trained to carry emergency contact information in case a family member is detained and does not return from an appointment.

“It’s about reducing anxiety and making sure someone isn’t alone,” Michelle Boomgaard, an Episcopal reverend in Springfield, said.

But as enforcement threats have intensified, the nature of support has shifted from services to protection. The Haitian Community Help and Support Center has shuttered its doors and is offering services remotely to ensure its members are safe.

Church leaders have also had to speak more publicly, Boomgaard said. In a recent open letter, 154 Episcopal bishops from across the US called on Americans to “trust their moral compass”, question rhetoric rooted in fear rather than truth and to stand with vulnerable people, even when doing so carries personal risk.

“We don’t preach politics,” Boomgaard said. “But we do preach standing with the vulnerable.” Even after a judge temporarily blocked the termination of TPS, fear has not subsided, she explained.

“For a lot of white Americans, there was a sigh of relief – like, ‘crisis over,’” Boomgaard said over the TPS ruling. “But for Haitians, the fear is still very real. It’s not just about the law. It’s about the attitude [of hate] that made all of this acceptable.”

Other community members and organizations have also stepped up. Margery Koveleski, a Haitian-American interpreter and community organizer who moved to Springfield in 2001, has become a lifeline for families navigating uncertainty.

Now, as a full-time organizer, Koveleski begins her day by responding to dozens of calls and text messages from families in need. She then hosts office hours in a convenience shop where Haitians can drop in to ask questions about anything, from work permits to passport applications to medical paperwork. The demands of the job have ebbed and flowed as Haitians have left Springfield after Trump’s comments in 2024.

“People are terrified,” Koveleski said. “They don’t want to leave their homes. Some don’t even want to go to court.” The fear in the community has been compounded by reports that federal agents are preparing a large-scale operation in the region, possibly involving roadblocks, workplace visits and enforcement near schools and social service agencies. City officials have warned residents that local authorities cannot stop federal actions.

For families, the emotional toll was profound, Koveleski said, as she described seeing children clinging to their parents and crying at their homes ahead of the TPS pause last week. “You see the horror on their faces,” she said. “They’re asking: ‘Why? We’re not causing problems. We’re working hard. We’re minding our business.’” She often comes home numb, she said, after spending the day comforting families with no clear answers. “It’s like watching someone drown and not having a lifejacket,” she said. “You just hold them and cry.”

After watching violent ICE operations in Minneapolis and other areas, the community is preparing for worst-case scenarios. “The panic is still here, and we don’t know what the final verdict will be,” Dorsainvil said. “But I think the final ruling will come soon, and we have to be ready.”