Bomb threats have triggered fear, and businesses are closing early as tensions rise in Springfield, Ohio, a small town that recently became the focus of conspiracy theories targeting its growing Haitian immigrant community,
According to AFP, this predominantly white Midwestern town has seen a notable population increase in recent years, with many Haitians arriving, drawn by Springfield’s economic revival and a demand for labour.
Despite fleeing gang violence in Haiti, these newcomers now find themselves facing a new kind of threat, the possibility of becoming targets of hate crimes as political rhetoric heats up.
Republicans have intensified tensions, using the influx of Black immigrants to fuel divisive narratives during an election cycle.
Romane Pierre, who manages the Rose Goute Haitian restaurant, has felt the pressure firsthand. He decided to close the restaurant early around 8:00 pm on Thursday, concerned about his employees’ safety as they walked home after dark. “Some of them want to leave town, some have already left,” he explained.
What initially seemed like the growing pains of a fast-expanding town has morphed into a storm of baseless allegations, accusing Haitian immigrants of everything from causing crime to stealing and eating pets.
The situation reached a boiling point when former President and current Republican candidate Donald Trump claimed during a Tuesday debate, “They’re eating dogs,” exacerbating tensions in the community.
The fallout was immediate. A bomb threat on Thursday forced the closure of city hall and a local public school, home to a large number of Haitian children.
By Friday, schools were evacuated for a second day, and the FBI began investigating calls threatening the Haitian Community Help and Support Center, telling them to “fucking leave,” according to the center’s executive director, Viles Dorsainvil.
“It’s a sad reality, putting people in panic,” Dorsainvil said, reflecting on the growing fear among Haitians in Springfield. “We are trying to help them understand this is just a political agenda.”
In some ways, Springfield’s rapid growth was a success story, the result of a carefully crafted economic strategy designed to bring new businesses to a town that had once suffered the same fate as many post-industrial cities in the heartland—declining populations and dwindling job prospects. Springfield’s efforts worked, drawing between 10,000 and 15,000 Haitians to a city that had fewer than 60,000 residents in 2020.
But the rapid expansion has overwhelmed local resources. The housing market, already tight, is now under even more pressure.
Emergency services, schools, and the healthcare system are similarly stretched. The former pastor at the First Baptist Church, Wes Babian, acknowledged the strain but also criticized the increasingly “racial overtones” in how residents voice their concerns.
“There’s been a lot of controversy over the last year or so with regard to the new neighbors,” Babian said. “It’s understandable in some respects, but it’s migrated to a much more negative, even dangerous level.”
Many of the Haitians living in Springfield have legal status or are under some form of protection. Some have lived in the U.S. for years. However, they are now accused of being sent to the town by the federal government or living lavishly on public benefits while locals suffer.
In reality, the stories of Springfield’s Haitian community are far more nuanced. Some, like Philomene Philostin, who became a U.S. citizen, have managed to start businesses. Philostin runs a grocery store offering Haitian staples such as djon-djon seasoning and dried lalo leaves.
Others, like Fritz, are struggling to get by. After arriving at the U.S.-Mexico border five months ago, he was allowed to cross and seek asylum. Now, he depends on food assistance but is unable to pay rent. He has recently found a night-shift job at a food service company, but “they haven’t paid me yet,” he said. His family’s housing situation—living with friends—is precarious, especially as he and his pregnant wife care for their two-year-old son.
Standing downtown near the closed city hall, Fritz experienced another sign of hostility when a car drove by, its occupants shouting obscenities at him.
Since the debate, Daniel, a Haitian immigrant living in Springfield under Temporary Protected Status for four years, has felt unsafe leaving his house unless absolutely necessary. Yet, despite the rising tension, he believes that the majority of Springfield’s residents are not hostile.
“The threat is real,” Daniel acknowledged. “But it’s not the entire community.”
Some of Springfield’s long-time residents have voiced their support for the Haitian newcomers.
Vietnam War veteran William Thompson, sitting on his front porch with an American flag fluttering overhead, reflected on what he believes is the true meaning of freedom.
“It’s the land of the free,” Thompson said. “They got an opportunity to come be free.” If things escalate into violence, he added with a laugh, “I’ve got my weapons inside the house.”
