FROM HERE TO HAITI

Most people I know have never been to Haiti, and for many, their only knowledge comes from headlines or misconceptions. But I’ve been there. I’ve seen the struggles and resilience of the Haitian people. Over time, I’ve realized how misrepresented they often are, especially in discussions about immigration. Recently, misinformation has spread about the Haitian community in Springfield, Ohio. This kind of distortion breeds fear and misunderstanding, steering us away from the compassion we should embody. Their fight for survival goes far beyond what most of us can imagine. I want to share my experience, not just to highlight life in Haiti but to remind us of the spirit we should uphold as Americans—one of opportunity and compassion. That’s why I’m speaking out now.

In 2003, I stood in Cite Soleil, a place I had only heard about until I saw it for myself. It’s not a city as we think of one—it’s a slum. Crowded, hot, and desperate. Homes—or what passed for them—were makeshift structures of rusted tin, plastic sheets, and cardboard. When it rained, everything turned to mud, sewage, and garbage.

I was there with Aaron Jackson, Margarite Smith, and Corinne Coffey, trying to set up a temporary medical clinic. Four people hoping to make a difference in a sea of challenges. For three days, we saw over a hundred patients each day—mothers with sick children and elders suffering from diseases that would have been easily treated in America. But this wasn’t America.

One baby, in particular, was barely holding on. His mother was too ill to feed him, and without her milk, he was wasting away. Aaron held the fragile child, doing what he could. His face carried a mix of hope and heartbreak—a look I saw often in Haiti. And despite their hardships, the people smiled. What struck me most was how they still showed kindness even in the worst circumstances.

One evening, we attended a local church service after a long day at the clinic. The building was modest, but the voices that filled it were anything but. Despite the suffering we had witnessed, the space filled with a chorus of love and faith. The congregation sang with the most beautiful voices I had ever heard—songs that seemed to rise from the depths of their hearts, praising God and life. Their music lifted the weight of everything we had seen, transforming it into something sacred.

Those memories stayed with me long after I returned home. Years later, when I learned about the growing Haitian community in Springfield, Ohio, they resurfaced once more. The journey from Haiti to here isn’t just a matter of distance—it’s a leap between worlds. Unfortunately, with this growth, misinformation has surfaced, painting the community in an unfair light. This does nothing but create more division and misunderstanding. Haiti has endured political instability, natural disasters, and extreme poverty, but its people are strong. Many come to the U.S. seeking safety and opportunity, fleeing circumstances far worse than most of us can comprehend. I often reflect on how fortunate we are to live in a place where food isn’t scarce, where rain doesn’t mean sewage in our homes. It’s easy to forget that not everyone shares that privilege.

The truth is, the Haitian people coming to America aren’t looking to take advantage. They’re looking to survive. I saw it firsthand in Haiti. They want the same things we do—food for their families, a safe place to sleep, a chance at a better life. The only difference is, we were born into those privileges, and they weren’t. And that’s not something to take lightly. When the most vulnerable among us are struggling, pushing them down further doesn’t raise us up; it diminishes us.

We can do better. Our immigration system is flawed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t improve it. We can show more compassion, more understanding. These people have lived through hell and deserve a chance at something better. If we spent even a minute in their shoes, maybe we’d understand that more clearly.

Compassion isn’t just a feeling—it’s action. There are ways to help the Haitian community in Springfield, Ohio. The Haitian Community Support and Help Center (HCSHC) provides essential services like housing, job searches, and welfare assistance. You can support their efforts through their website and directly to Paypal as well.

So, when you see someone from Haiti or any other place like it, approach them with an open heart and mind. Remember that they’ve left behind a life most of us would never survive. And remember how fortunate we are—not just to be here, but to have the chance to support others. We can be better. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that we must be.