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"For Haitian TPS holders and their families, this decision provides immediate relief from the fear of family separation, job loss, and forced return to life-threatening conditions in Haiti."
Haitian refugees living in the United States with temporary protected status were given a reprieve Monday night when a federal judge blocked an order by the Trump administration to strip them of their TPS—an effort that many feared would lead to an immediate intensification of efforts to target such communities with the same heavy-handed tactics seen by federal agents in Minnesota, Maine, and elsewhere.
US District Judge Ana Reyes in Washington granted a request to pause the TPS termination for Haitians while a lawsuit challenging the order issued by Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem in November proceeds.
The termination of TPS for Haitian nationals was set for Tuesday, but Reyes's 83-page order stated that it "shall be null, void, and of no legal effect."
Rose-Thamar Joseph, the operations director of the Haitian Support Center in Springfield, Ohio—which has a large Haitian community that has been the target of racist and xenophobic attacks from President Donald Trump, Vice President JD Vance, and their allies—said the judge's ruling means "we can breathe for a little bit."
The residents of Springfield and surrounding areas have been anxious that their community would be the next target for Trump's aggressive deportation tactics. The legal challenge to the termination of TPS for Haitians alleges that the secretary acted with "animus," as evidenced by repeated public remarks from Noem and other administration officials.
Reyes, in her ruling, determined that the suit stands a good chance of winning on the merits, writing: “The mismatch between what the secretary said in the termination and what the evidence shows confirms that the termination of Haiti’s TPS designation was not the product of reasoned decision-making, but of a preordained outcome justified by pretextual reasons."
Jerome Bazard, a member of the First Haitian Evangelical Church of Springfield, told NPR that life in Haiti remains too dangerous for many in his community to return.
"They can't go to Haiti because it's not safe," Bazard said. "Without the TPS, they can't work. And if they can't work, they can't eat, they can't pay bills. You're killing the people."
The sense of relief was felt beyond Ohio, as people from Haiti living with TPS status live in communities across the US.
Tessa Petit, executive director of the Florida Immigrant Coalition and a native of Haiti, said the ruling is a welcome development for the approximately 330,000-350,000 people living in the country with TPS, which allows them to work and pay taxes. In her ruling, Reyes noted that Haitians with TPS generate $5.2 billion annually in tax revenue.
"For Haitian TPS holders and their families, this decision provides immediate relief from the fear of family separation, job loss, and forced return to life-threatening conditions in Haiti," said Petit, "where political instability, gang violence, and humanitarian collapse remain acute. No one should be deported into crisis, and today’s ruling affirms that the law cannot be twisted to justify cruelty.”
“Today’s ruling is a victory for the roughly 350,000 Haitian TPS holders whose status was set to expire tomorrow,” said Sen. Ed Markey (D-Mass). “By providing a safe haven to those who cannot return home safely, TPS embodies the American promise as a land of freedom and refuge. Haitian TPS holders are deeply rooted in our Massachusetts communities—from Mattapan to Brockton. They are our friends, our family members, our neighbors, our colleagues. I will keep fighting to protect the Haitian community.”
Aaron Reichlin-Melnick, senior fellow at the American Immigration Council, said that even though Monday's ruling is sure to be appealed by the Trump administration, it arrives as a "huge" win.
With the order, he said, "350,000 people can breathe a sigh of relief and go to work or school tomorrow without suddenly having been rendered 'illegal' and forced to either go back into danger or risk being rounded up by ICE agents on the street."
"Who, ultimately, will assume responsibility for this attack: The prime minister? The transitional presidential council? Private security companies? The leadership of Haitian National Police?” asked one advocate.
A weekend attack by a pair of so-called "kamikaze" drones attributed to Haiti's fragile government killed at least 11 people including eight children, drawing widespread condemnation this week and demands for accountability.
The Miami Herald reported Monday that kamikaze drones, also known as suicide drones, targeted a party in Simon Pelé, a gang-controlled area in the Cité Soleil neighborhood of the capital, Port-au-Prince, where Albert Steevenson, a gang leader also known as Djouma, was celebrating his birthday and handing out gifts to local children.
According to The New York Times, the first exploding drone killed three adults including a pregnant woman and eight children ages 2-10, and wounded six others. A second drone then exploded outside the gang's headquarters, killing four members and injuring others.
Mimose Duclaire, 52, told the Herald that children including her 4-year-old granddaughter Merika Saint-Fort Charles were playing outside when she heard an explosion.
"I heard a ‘boom’ and when I looked I saw her both of her knees were broken and her head was split open," Duclaire said.
"If they cannot effectively use the drones they need to stop their use."
Nanouse Mertelia, 37, told The Associated Press that she was inside her home when she heard an explosion and ran outside to see what was happening, because her son had just left to go get something to eat. That's when she saw her child on the ground with one of his arms and legs blown off.
“Come get me, come get me, please mama,” she said he told her, but it was too late. “By the time we got to the hospital, he died.”
There is still some uncertainty over who carried out the attack. There has been speculation that mercenaries from the private contractor Vectus Global, which was founded by Erik Prince—the founder and ex-CEO of the notorious mercenary firm formerly known as Blackwater—was involved in the strike.
The Times previously reported that Haiti's government is working with Prince “to conduct lethal operations against gangs that are terrorizing the nation and threatening to take over its capital.”
According to the new Times reporting, it is unclear whether Prince's contractors or the Haitian National Police (HNP) were responsible for Saturday's massacre. Neither Prince nor the HNP have responded to Times' requests for comment.
Romain Le Cour, head of the Haiti Observatory at the Global Initiative Against Transnational Organized Crime, told The Guardian Tuesday that the attack raises “urgent questions of accountability."
“It has now been [over] 48 hours since the incident, and the authorities have yet to issue any official communication or assume public responsibility," Le Court said. "Who, ultimately, will assume responsibility for this attack: The prime minister? The transitional presidential council? Private security companies? The leadership of Haitian National Police?”
Regardless of who committed the killings, they have sparked renewed focus on the use of kamikaze drones in Haiti. Pierre Esperance, who heads Haiti's National Human Rights Defense Network, told the Herald that—as in the case of the killing of two elite police officers in a drone strike last month—the culprit appears to be lack of coordination and oversight.
“We’ve always said that the use of drones have to be coordinated with the security forces,” Esperance said. “This is why you have collateral damage... If they cannot effectively use the drones they need to stop their use."
Someday Israeli leaders will stand in The Hague for what they have done in Gaza, and they will deserve to. But if we are honest, we know US leaders belong there too.
I have met people who gave me grace in Iran, in Mexico, in Haiti, in Gaza, in Cambodia, in Vietnam. People who understood the difference between ordinary citizens and the governments that rule them. People who offered me kindness when they had every reason not to. That grace stays with me.
As a US citizen and physician, I have lived my life trying to hold onto a sense of responsibility. But what I see now, in Gaza, in Haiti, in the wake of Iraq and Afghanistan, is the full weight of what psychologists call diffusion of responsibility. It is the shrug that says: Someone else will answer for this, someone else will carry the shame.
The United States cannot keep living in that shrug. We armed, funded, and protected Israel as it has carried out the genocide of the Palestinian people. We have supplied not only weapons but coordination, intelligence, and political cover. We let the American Israel Public Affairs Committee function as the arm of a foreign government, not as a lobbying group. We looked away from the checkpoints, the administrative cruelty, the killing of children. This is our legacy.
But Gaza is not an aberration. It is a mirror held up to the long history of our interventions. We overthrew Mohammad Mossadegh, the democratically elected prime minister of Iran, in 1953, not because he was a tyrant but because he dared to nationalize oil. We turned that nation toward dictatorship and decades of repression, then had the arrogance to call it democracy. In Central America, we toppled leaders and propped up death squads. In Chile, we helped usher in the bloody reign of Augusto Pinochet, betraying yet another democratic choice in favor of authoritarian brutality.
We speak of Russian President Vladimir Putin’s murderous ways as if they are foreign to us. They are not. We have assassinated leaders. We have sanctioned extrajudicial killings, calling them “targeted strikes.” We have funded militias and trained torturers. We still carry Guantánamo on our conscience. We are not better than Putin. We are his rival and his mirror.
We should be an anti-interventionist nation, one that stops imagining itself as the builder of nations and instead takes responsibility for its own failures, its own violence, and its own complicity.
In Vietnam, we unleashed hell. Entire villages were burned to the ground. At My Lai, US soldiers slaughtered more than 500 unarmed civilians, women, children, elders. It was not an accident, not a one-off. It was part of a culture of violence we exported and excused.
And then there is the School of the Americas, now rebranded as Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation, a US military institution in Panama where we trained some of the worst dictators and death squad leaders in Latin America. The manuals we gave them were explicit: torture, execution, terror as tools of governance. We sowed horror and called it security.
Someday Israeli leaders will stand in The Hague for what they have done in Gaza, and they will deserve to. But if we are honest, we know we belong there too. For Mossadegh, for Pinochet, for Central America, for My Lai, for every extrajudicial killing and every sanctioned massacre, and most immediately for Gaza, we should be in the dock as well. We should stand in handcuffs, our heads lowered in shame, finally facing the truth of what we have unleashed in the world.
The truth is that our foreign policy has been one long history of intervention, violence, and betrayal of human dignity. We were in Haiti. We were in Iraq. We were in Afghanistan. We have left the Middle East, Latin America, and Africa littered with the bones of our experiments. Always we tell ourselves it was complicated. Always we tell ourselves we meant well. But what we meant was power, and what we left was ruin.
What reparation looks like now is not cash or aid dropped into a void. It is restoring justice. It is ending our culture of nation building and intervention, and replacing it with support for people, families, language, culture, dignity, and jurisprudence. It is standing against genocide, no matter who commits it. It is admitting that our strength lies not in military power but in whether we can build schools instead of prisons, communities instead of empires.
This is not just a populist opinion. It is a moral imperative. We should be an anti-interventionist nation, one that stops imagining itself as the builder of nations and instead takes responsibility for its own failures, its own violence, and its own complicity.
I am a doctor. My oath is to heal, to do no harm. But as a citizen, I see harm everywhere our government touches. We cannot keep pretending that this is someone else’s crime, someone else’s burden. This is ours.
The reckoning will not wait forever. The question is whether we face it with honesty now, or whether we let it destroy us later.