When Empathy Fades, People Suffer: The Truth About TPS Ending for Haitians

When I first heard that Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for Haitians might be extended again, I exhaled. But now? That breath is stuck in my chest.

Because as of this week, the Department of Homeland Security has reaffirmed the Trump-era decision to revoke TPS for Haitians, with plans to strip legal protections and work permits from hundreds of thousands of people starting September 11, 2024.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t just paperwork. This is people’s lives.

This decision puts countless Haitian families at risk of deportation, economic instability, and forced return to a country facing political chaos, gang violence, and humanitarian collapse.

And yet—so many in this country won’t blink. They won’t read past the headline. Because disassociation is the real epidemic in this country. And it’s burning through our humanity like wildfire.

“It’s Not My Problem” Is the New Normal

Disassociation is how people survive things they can’t emotionally process. But it’s also how folks ignore harm they choose not to face.

It shows up in all the predictable places:

• “They knew what they were doing.”
• “Why didn’t they come the right way?”
• “We have to take care of Americans first.”

That kind of logic cloaks cruelty in patriotism.

It erases the historical and present-day U.S. involvement in destabilizing countries like Haiti.

It erases the fact that people migrate because they’re forced to—by poverty, by violence, by climate disasters, by corrupt governments that often receive backing from the very countries now telling them to “go home.”

And it erases the most basic truth: Haitian immigrants are people.

They are mothers. Fathers. Students. Children. Employees. Caregivers. Friends.
And their lives should not be reduced to numbers in a policy memo.

TPS Is Not a Gift. It’s a Lifeline.

Temporary Protected Status exists for a reason—to shield people from being sent back to countries experiencing armed conflict, natural disaster, or other extraordinary conditions.

If any country fits that description, it’s Haiti.

• The country is currently going through a humanitarian crisis marked by gang violence and political instability.
• The assassination of President Moïse in 2021 left a political vacuum that has yet to be filled with any real stability.
• Schools, hospitals, and supply chains have collapsed.
• Citizens are being kidnapped and extorted at staggering rates.
• Even the U.S. has told it’s citizens not to travel to Haiti.

And yet, the U.S. is saying—you’re good to go back now.

That is policy dressed in cruelty. It’s the performance of legality covering up a total disregard for reality.

This Is Personal

As someone who has experienced the pain of immigration bureaucracy—being separated from parents for years due to paperwork—I feel this news in my bones.

I know what it’s like to live in limbo. To wonder if safety and stability are temporary.
To feel like a decision made in a government office could erase your life in one breath.

When people say things like “that’s just how the system works,” they forget there are real children, real families, real futures on the other side of that indifference.

The system doesn’t need passive acceptance. It needs pressure.
It needs people to care even when they’re not directly affected.

Why Empathy Has to Be Loud

One reason I write, speak, and post about this is because silence helps no one. And I refuse to stay quiet while people act like immigration is just a political nuisance rather than a human rights crisis.

And let’s be honest—this isn’t just about Haitians.

When we let this happen to one group, we open the door for it to happen to many.

Because disassociation spreads. It numbs people to suffering they don’t see as their own. It convinces us that someone else’s life has nothing to do with ours.

But if there’s anything we’ve learned in the last few years—from COVID, from border ‘crises’, from racial reckonings—it’s this: We are more connected than we think.

So when we say “justice for all” in this country, I want to know:

Does that include the Haitian man who delivers food while wondering if he’ll be deported next month?

Does that include the Haitian mother who keeps her kids quiet at night so ICE won’t hear them?

Does that include the Haitian teen who just wants to finish high school and not disappear into a detention center?

If the answer is no, then “justice for all” is just a slogan.

What You Can Do (Right Now)

If you’re wondering what role you play in all of this, start here:

• Talk about it. Don’t keep the conversation in the shadows. Bring it to your circles—especially the ones that don’t normally talk about immigration.
• Challenge harmful rhetoric. When someone casually repeats anti-immigrant myths, ask them where they got that info. Share the real facts.
• Support Haitian-led advocacy groups. They’re on the front lines and know exactly where resources are needed.
• Call your representatives. Yes, even if you think they won’t care. Every voice counts.

Disassociation is contagious. But so is awareness.

Final Thoughts

This country has the resources, the space, and the moral responsibility to do better.

Extending TPS wasn’t just the right thing—it was the bare minimum. Reversing that now? It’s not just dangerous. It’s shameful.

If you care about freedom, about justice, about what it means to live in a democracy—you need to care about this too.

Because the fire may not be at your door yet.

But the smoke is already in our lungs.

#disassociationInAmerica #HaitianAdvocacy #humanDignity #immigrantRights #TemporaryProtectedStatus #TPSForHaitians #USImmigrationPolicy