See how funny things get when it comes to the haitians and black migrants?
These people were given LEGAL, DOCUMENTED, AND PROTECTED STATUS.
These people are not illegally residing here in any sense.
This is precisely my point.
NO ONE CARES ABOUT BLACK LABOR OR IMMIGRANTS
motherjones.com
Trump is trying to deport Haitian immigrants. They're fighting back.
15-19 minutes
Children march with the Haitian and American flags.Joe Raedle/Getty
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Wilna Destin’s eyes fill with tears when she talks about her 10-year-old son. She describes how frightened he is she will leave him. He asks who will hug him, or make him dinner, or help him with his homework if she goes away. She tries to reassure him, but this is not just normal separation anxiety—his fears are well-founded.
As one of the 58,000 Haitian nationals with temporary protected status (TPS)—a special immigration status granted to nationals of a country experiencing a humanitarian disaster and that allows recipients to live and work legally in the United States—this 10-year-old’s mother may be forced to return to Haiti in a matter of months, another victim of President Donald Trump’s immigration crackdown. Last May, when the status was up for renewal, Haitians in Orlando took to the streets to rally for an extension. But that November, the Trump administration announced that the program would be ending for Haitians in July 2019, sending the community into a frenzy of panic and uncertainty.
I visited Destin in Orlando to talk about how the Haitian community here is coping with the impending end of TPS. A large number of the estimated 58,000 Haitian TPS beneficiaries live in Miami, which has one of the largest concentrations of Haitians in the United States—127,000 people—not all of whom are TPS recipients. But central Florida also has a sizable population, many working in the hospitality industry. Destin is an organizer with UNITE HERE Local 737 in Orlando, a labor union which represents thousands of workers in the hospitality sector, including Disney World.
She’s one of the 2,000 Haitians in the Orlando area who are TPS holders and whose lives have now been upended by the Trump administration’s attempt to strip away their legal status. With their fate hanging in the balance, left up to the federal courts, these Haitians have been thrust into immigration limbo. “Haitian immigrants have put down deep roots in the United States,” Rachel Gumpert, national press secretary for UNITE HERE, told Rewire News last year. “They are gainfully employed, working legally, and contributing to their local economies in huge ways. Florida tourism is run by Haitian immigrants.”
Most Haitian TPS beneficiaries, like Destin, are gainfully employed and completely integrated into American life. Seventy-five percent of TPS holders from Haiti report speaking English well, very well, or exclusively. Seventy-one percent completed high school and 37 percent attended college. Eighty-one percent have jobs, with the food service industry being the largest employer among them. And most notably, the estimated 58,000 Haitian TPS beneficiaries have 27,000 American-citizen children. One question that arises about the potential deportation of so many Haitians is how the tourist industries in which they work are preparing for their absence.
Temporary protected status was created as part of the Immigration Act of 1990 and was first granted to migrants from El Salvador who were fleeing the country’s civil war. Today, there are 10 countries with TPS, including Honduras, Somalia, and Nepal. Haitians were included in the program in 2010, when a 7.1 magnitude earthquake struck outside the Haitian capital of Port-au-Prince, impacting its 2.8 million residents. The quake leveled buildings, killed tens of thousands of people, and left more than 1 million people displaced—damage that is still present today. The Obama administration granted Haitian nationals temporary protected status in 2010.
Destin came to the United States in 2000, well before the special status was granted. She filed for asylum but was denied and told to go back to Haiti. “The first 10 years were hard,” she says of her time as an undocumented immigrant. When the Obama administration granted TPS to Haitians, Destin and many others took advantage of the chance to emerge from the shadows. The Obama administration regularly renewed the special status in 18-month intervals.
After that, Destin was a housekeeper at Disney World until she landed her job at UNITE HERE as an organizer helping lead the campaign to raise the minimum wage. Destin sits in the main meeting union office in a nondescript Orlando office mall, dressed appropriately in a red union shirt. As we chatted about her previous jobs and her children, smatterings of conversations in Haitian Creole and Spanish echoed in the room.
Destin is one of nine TPS holders from all over the country who, along with their US citizen children, sued the federal government in March, arguing that the Trump administration’s decision to terminate TPS for Haiti, El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Sudan was illegal. The lawsuit, which was organized with the help of the American Civil Liberties Union of Southern California and the National Day Laborer Organizing Network, argues that school-aged US citizen children, like Destin’s, have a fundamental right to live in the country and be raised by their parents, and that the decision to terminate TPS was based on intentional discrimination. “I’m going to stay no matter what,” she says. “I don’t want to take [my kids] to Haiti, and I don’t want to leave them with the Department of Children and Family Services.” She shook her head, saying the government didn’t even consider one central point: “Even if you want to send the parents, what about the kids?”
These people were given LEGAL, DOCUMENTED, AND PROTECTED STATUS.
These people are not illegally residing here in any sense.
This is precisely my point.
NO ONE CARES ABOUT BLACK LABOR OR IMMIGRANTS
motherjones.com
Trump is trying to deport Haitian immigrants. They're fighting back.
15-19 minutes
Children march with the Haitian and American flags.Joe Raedle/Getty
Looking for news you can trust?
Subscribe to our free newsletters.
Wilna Destin’s eyes fill with tears when she talks about her 10-year-old son. She describes how frightened he is she will leave him. He asks who will hug him, or make him dinner, or help him with his homework if she goes away. She tries to reassure him, but this is not just normal separation anxiety—his fears are well-founded.
As one of the 58,000 Haitian nationals with temporary protected status (TPS)—a special immigration status granted to nationals of a country experiencing a humanitarian disaster and that allows recipients to live and work legally in the United States—this 10-year-old’s mother may be forced to return to Haiti in a matter of months, another victim of President Donald Trump’s immigration crackdown. Last May, when the status was up for renewal, Haitians in Orlando took to the streets to rally for an extension. But that November, the Trump administration announced that the program would be ending for Haitians in July 2019, sending the community into a frenzy of panic and uncertainty.
I visited Destin in Orlando to talk about how the Haitian community here is coping with the impending end of TPS. A large number of the estimated 58,000 Haitian TPS beneficiaries live in Miami, which has one of the largest concentrations of Haitians in the United States—127,000 people—not all of whom are TPS recipients. But central Florida also has a sizable population, many working in the hospitality industry. Destin is an organizer with UNITE HERE Local 737 in Orlando, a labor union which represents thousands of workers in the hospitality sector, including Disney World.
She’s one of the 2,000 Haitians in the Orlando area who are TPS holders and whose lives have now been upended by the Trump administration’s attempt to strip away their legal status. With their fate hanging in the balance, left up to the federal courts, these Haitians have been thrust into immigration limbo. “Haitian immigrants have put down deep roots in the United States,” Rachel Gumpert, national press secretary for UNITE HERE, told Rewire News last year. “They are gainfully employed, working legally, and contributing to their local economies in huge ways. Florida tourism is run by Haitian immigrants.”
Most Haitian TPS beneficiaries, like Destin, are gainfully employed and completely integrated into American life. Seventy-five percent of TPS holders from Haiti report speaking English well, very well, or exclusively. Seventy-one percent completed high school and 37 percent attended college. Eighty-one percent have jobs, with the food service industry being the largest employer among them. And most notably, the estimated 58,000 Haitian TPS beneficiaries have 27,000 American-citizen children. One question that arises about the potential deportation of so many Haitians is how the tourist industries in which they work are preparing for their absence.
Temporary protected status was created as part of the Immigration Act of 1990 and was first granted to migrants from El Salvador who were fleeing the country’s civil war. Today, there are 10 countries with TPS, including Honduras, Somalia, and Nepal. Haitians were included in the program in 2010, when a 7.1 magnitude earthquake struck outside the Haitian capital of Port-au-Prince, impacting its 2.8 million residents. The quake leveled buildings, killed tens of thousands of people, and left more than 1 million people displaced—damage that is still present today. The Obama administration granted Haitian nationals temporary protected status in 2010.
Destin came to the United States in 2000, well before the special status was granted. She filed for asylum but was denied and told to go back to Haiti. “The first 10 years were hard,” she says of her time as an undocumented immigrant. When the Obama administration granted TPS to Haitians, Destin and many others took advantage of the chance to emerge from the shadows. The Obama administration regularly renewed the special status in 18-month intervals.
After that, Destin was a housekeeper at Disney World until she landed her job at UNITE HERE as an organizer helping lead the campaign to raise the minimum wage. Destin sits in the main meeting union office in a nondescript Orlando office mall, dressed appropriately in a red union shirt. As we chatted about her previous jobs and her children, smatterings of conversations in Haitian Creole and Spanish echoed in the room.
Destin is one of nine TPS holders from all over the country who, along with their US citizen children, sued the federal government in March, arguing that the Trump administration’s decision to terminate TPS for Haiti, El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Sudan was illegal. The lawsuit, which was organized with the help of the American Civil Liberties Union of Southern California and the National Day Laborer Organizing Network, argues that school-aged US citizen children, like Destin’s, have a fundamental right to live in the country and be raised by their parents, and that the decision to terminate TPS was based on intentional discrimination. “I’m going to stay no matter what,” she says. “I don’t want to take [my kids] to Haiti, and I don’t want to leave them with the Department of Children and Family Services.” She shook her head, saying the government didn’t even consider one central point: “Even if you want to send the parents, what about the kids?”
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