[Religion News Service] On Friday evening, Aug. 14, Philomene Philostin, a local youth pastor, business owner and nonprofit leader, stood on the street corner outside Springfield, Ohio’s City Hall, crying out in Haitian Creole. Pastor Fontil Daity, a Haitian immigrant who leads a local Pentecostal Haitian church, interpreted in English: “Haitians! Haitians! … We cannot take it anymore. We ask for God in heaven to hear our cries!” About 75 people gathered around them in the sweltering heat, many holding signs that read, “Love your neighbor” — a reference to the biblical command to love one’s neighbor as oneself. Philostin told Religion News Service she initiated the gathering in response to a new flurry of ICE raids in the city starting the day before. The peaceful protest wove together prayers and testimonies from community members, lawyers and faith leaders. Daity, singing in Haitian Creole, then in English, led attendees in the hymn “Precious Lord Take My Hand.” For many of the more than 10,000 Haitians in the city of about 58,000, their faith in God — and the support of local immigrants’ rights organizers and faith leaders — is what’s sustaining them as they reckon with the end of Temporary Protected Status. Many of Springfield’s Haitians attend evangelical, Catholic, mainline and Pentecostal churches across the city. And in the months of dread and uncertainty before a federal judge cleared the way on Aug. 4 for the termination of Haiti’s TPS protections, faith leaders and congregations from within and beyond the Haitian community have emerged as pivotal actors in the support networks for affected families. Now, those networks are adapting in real time to respond to what they see as a human-engineered spiritual, moral and humanitarian crisis, especially as ICE activity stepped up over the weekend. A DHS spokesperson said they would not disclose details of its operations. That crisis had a face on Aug. 14 in the early morning. Charles Beaubrun Ardouin, a Haitian immigrant and Springfield resident who spoke at the protest that evening, was driving through the city dropping at least five other Haitian men off after their night shift at a local automobile factory when he was stopped by several ICE vehicles, he told RNS. Ardouin, a U.S. citizen, said about 10 agents — most wearing masks — demanded identification for everyone in the vehicle. After detaining the other men, ICE agents reportedly told Ardouin they would be taken to Butler County Jail in Hamilton, Ohio. Ardouin said all the men have pending asylum cases. “These people are coming to the United States of America for freedom. They’re coming for work. All they want is due process,” Ardouin told RNS. “The first time I came to the United States of America, I felt freedom. But now, I [feel] fear.” Pro-immigrant faith leaders had long been bracing for a Minneapolis-style ICE crackdown against the Haitian community in Springfield. Instead, ICE has shifted tactics: Beginning just over a week after the termination of TPS for the country’s 330,000 Haitian recipients became enforceable on Aug. 5, ICE has conducted several rapid, small-scale ICE detentions. And since late July, ICE has sent many Haitian residents in Springfield letters ordering them to report to the Blue Ash ICE office over an hour away, near Cincinnati. There, many former TPS holders, all of whom came to the U.S. legally seeking safety from disastrous conditions in Haiti, have reported being given the choice between self-deporting with $2,600, or being released with ankle monitors — which many in Springfield referred to as “shackles” — and a restriction to limit travel to within a 75-mile radius of their address. Without work permits, the Haitian residents are struggling to pay for rent and groceries. Some are hiding in their homes, too afraid of ICE to shop at local businesses or attend church. Others have had their drivers’ licenses expire or become nonrenewable. Parents are filling out legal paperwork to give power of attorney to neighbors and friends in case they get separated from their children, especially those born in the U.S. who have legal citizenship. This weekend, local Haitian leaders shared reports that one, possibly two, Haitian immigrants had committed suicide. RNS was unable to independently verify those claims. “Jesus says, ‘Come unto me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ And all that we can do is to go to Him right now, because we don’t have any other choice,” faith leader and executive director of the Haitian Supporter Center, Viles Dorsainvil, told RNS. On Aug. 14 in the afternoon, hours after the ICE raid Ardouin witnessed, staff and volunteers met with clients at the support center located in a Church of the Nazarene church. Beneath papered-over windows, boxes of diapers and food donations — Cheerios, black beans, ramen noodles — crowded one corner of the main room. In a three-hour span, nearly a dozen Haitians stopped in seeking help. One woman asked what her next steps should be after her cousin was detained. Several people arrived with ankle monitors, looking for legal assistance with next steps. As desperate as the situation has become in Springfield, Haitian community members do not want to return to Haiti. “They choose the ankle shackles because the whole world, they know going back to Haiti is being placed in a death sentence,” said the support center’s administrative assistant, James Pepitho Fleurijean. Armed gangs control most of Port-au-Prince and are expanding their reach into neighboring regions. Gang violence in Haiti has resulted in over 2,000 deaths in this year alone. “There are so many people that went back to Haiti, and when they get there, and you know the rest of the story: People have been kidnapped, people have been killed, young ladies have been raped,” Fleurijean said. In his office, Dorsainvil, a former TPS holder who moved to the U.S. from Haiti in 2020, sat at his desk answering a stream of phone calls and messages. He described living in Springfield […]