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racial justice
The Trump Administration’s Anti-Blackness is Showing on the Global Stage
The United States’ actions are not just a betrayal of the rest of the world; they are the latest examples of the Trump administration's betrayal of its own people—and in particular, of the 45 million Americans who are of African descent.
Apr 22, 2026
On March 25, the International Day of Remembrance of the Victims of Slavery and the Transatlantic Slave Trade, the United Nations General Assembly adopted a historic resolution marking an extraordinary step forward for global racial justice. Spearheaded by Ghana and co-sponsored by more than 65 countries largely from Africa, the Caribbean, and Latin America, a declaration designating slavery as the gravest crime against humanity passed the General Assembly. Through this, the majority of the world aligned on one key message: The enslavement of millions of Africans and their descendants for over 400 years is the gravest crime against humanity, we are still dealing with the consequences, and there must be reparatory justice to address the lingering impacts.
In a shameful moment for Americans and the world, the Trump administration voted against this resolution on behalf of the United States—only 1 of 3 countries to do so. This decision comes just months after the US withdrew from the UN Permanent Forum on People of African Descent, falsely claiming it was “racist.” These two actions show that the Trump administration’s anti-Blackness is not limited to its domestic policy—it’s on full display on the global stage, too.
The history bears repeating: The slave trade ignited 400 years of racialized chattel slavery, representing the longest running system of organized human exploitation in history. This period marked the first time in human history when race defined the global political, economic, and social hierarchy. The United States was a driver in creating and perpetuating this unprecedented form of slavery. Across the globe, countries mimicked the United States’ policies to deprive an entire race of its humanity. The centuries-long system impacted millions upon millions of people of African descent, and even after this inhumane system of trafficking, selling, and enslaving human beings was abolished, its legacy continues to be felt today.
The resolution spearheaded by Ghana represents the worldwide atonement for chattel slavery that continues to have immeasurable consequences on the world. Because it is not legally binding, the only rationale for a country like the US to vote against it is that its leaders believe in erasing our world's greatest atrocity. It signals to the international community that the United States refuses to recognize the ugly parts of our past and how it impacts current realities.
The Trump administration’s actions to undermine forums at the UN designed to promote the rights and equality of people of African descent will be a stain on our nation’s history.
In his opposition to the resolution, the US representative characterized it as a scheme for developing (read: African) countries to gain leverage for the future allocation of resources. Additionally, he accused the resolution of being an attempt to establish a hierarchy of crimes against humanity (note: This was the same justification that the UK, Canada, and EU countries cited as explanation for their abstentions). Yet, this narrow-minded mischaracterization fails to recognize that the transatlantic slave trade and racialized slavery comprised all crimes against humanity: trafficking, forced labor, sexual assault, disease, famine, and the dehumanization of an entire race.
And yet, this is not the only instance of the Trump administration displaying its anti-Blackness on the world stage. When the administration made the decision in January 2026 to withdraw from the UN Permanent Forum on People of African Descent (PFPAD) because it was “contrary to the interests of the United States,” it was saying the quiet part out loud: This administration does not care about or represent the interests of Black Americans.
The UN PFPAD was created in 2021 as a space for people of African descent to discuss ways to improve the quality of life and livelihoods of people of African descent and share recommendations with member states. Its mandate includes promoting “the full political, economic, and social inclusion of people of African descent in societies in which they live as equal citizens without discrimination of any kind” and “ensuring equal enjoyment of all human rights.” The forum’s annual meeting represents the largest UN gathering of Black civil society from around the world. Its fifth session just concluded in Geneva, Switzerland, where the US government’s absence was noticed, but overshadowed by the energy and momentum behind Ghana’s historic resolution.
Civil society from around the world noted the fact that the world’s “superpower” was 1 of 3 countries to vote against the resolution, but the sheer number and diversity of Black American civil society leaders present at the forum made it clear that this shameful vote does not reflect our unwavering commitment to and solidarity in the global struggle for reparatory justice.
The United States’ actions are not just a betrayal of the rest of the world; they are the latest examples of the Trump administration's betrayal of its own people—and in particular, of the 45 million Americans who are of African descent. This is why the video message from Congressional Black Caucus Chair Rep. Yvette Clarke (D-NY) in the PFPAD closing ceremony was so important: When the federal government fails to represent our interests or even be present in rooms where our issues are being discussed, Black civil society and congressional leaders have always stepped up to fill the void.
The Trump administration’s actions to undermine forums at the UN designed to promote the rights and equality of people of African descent will be a stain on our nation’s history. The administration is telling us loud and clear that it does not view ensuring Black people’s equal human rights as a priority. So, while this administration falsely claims that “President Trump has done more for Black Americans than any other president,” we must remember the words of our great James Baldwin, “I cannot believe what you say because I see what you do.”
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Eulogy for My Friend and Freedom Fighter, Yanar Mohammed
Yanar knew that wherever there is terrible violence, there are people behaving magnificently. She was one of them.
Mar 29, 2026
The first time someone threatened to kill Yanar was in 2003.
That was the year she returned to Baghdad, after having fled with her infant son during the first US war seven years earlier.
With Iraq now under US occupation, Yanar noticed something that the media did not: The US had unleashed and empowered Iraq’s most reactionary political forces, and like fundamentalists everywhere, their first priority was to subjugate Iraqi women and girls.
Yanar wasn’t having it.
Yanar would also want us to remember that the timing of her murder has everything to do with the war on Iran launched by the US and Israel just three days before she was killed.
She saw what was happening and launched the Organization of Women’s Freedom in Iraq (OWFI) to fight against the dismantlement of women’s rights and the terrible rise in violence against women. The organization’s first office was a bombed-out bank in central Baghdad.
From that moment, Yanar became a lightning rod for anti-feminist attacks, and very soon after, the threats began.
In 2004, I published an open letter to the chief of the US administration in Baghdad, reminding him that the United States was legally obligated to protect Yanar’s life and the lives of all Iraqi civilians under occupation. I didn’t know Yanar yet, but she wrote to thank me, and we arranged to meet in New York.
We sat on a lumpy couch in MADRE’s old office and talked about building a network of safe houses, where women fleeing violence could find safety and solidarity. Then we went to Macy’s, and Yanar tried on every single lipstick at the makeup counter.
Over the next 22 years, Yanar became one of MADRE’s closest partners, and to me, she became family.
MADRE accompanied Yanar as she brought her visions for revolutionary feminism to life again and again, founding a network of shelters for women and keeping them operational through attacks by clans, militias, and the State.
She launched a feminist newspaper and radio station and staffed them with women who rebuilt their shattered lives through the care, feminist education, and job training that OWFI provided.
She created safe spaces for young people to come together across sectarian lines to defy the logic of the US-caused civil war and create art, music, and poetry.
She co-founded the first organization of Afro-Iraqis, understanding that there is no feminism without racial justice.
She built an underground railroad to free women who were enslaved by ISIS.
She fought like hell to defend women’s legal rights, understanding that the more we lost, the more critical every victory became.
She led protests, campaigns, and coalitions that brought down a corrupt government and forced its successor to answer to demands for accountability from Iraq’s most marginalized people.
Yet, as extraordinary as Yanar’s legacy is, she was so much more than the sum of her accomplishments.
Yanar loved jazz, sushi, and beer. She also worried about her son and spent years hoping to find love. She loved her husband, who made her so happy these last few years.
Yanar was also despondent at times. More focused on all that was left to do than on what she had achieved. Her moments of exhaustion and frustration always reminded me that we don’t have to be infallible heroes in this work; we just have to keep doing our part and take care of each other along the way.
Yanar would also want us to remember that the timing of her murder has everything to do with the war on Iran launched by the US and Israel just three days before she was killed. The Iranian-backed militias that had threatened Yanar for years have been galvanized like never before by this war.
In January, when Yanar and I spoke about the killing of Renee Goode in Minneapolis, we were both struck by the parallels between those militias in Iraq and Immigration and Customs Enforcement in the United States.
“Now you have what the US brought to Iraq,” Yanar said, “A paramilitary force working for the worst reactionaries in government, terrorizing communities and committing extrajudicial executions.”
We talked about the beauty and the power of the organizing to protect immigrants, and the militant joy of people coming together to remake the world: in Minneapolis, in Baghdad, in Gaza, in Darfur, and in Haiti.
Yanar knew that wherever there is terrible violence, there are people behaving magnificently:
Heating soup and handing out blankets,
Offering sanctuary to those who are under attack,
Spinning the ideas that will move everything forward,
And putting their bodies on the line again and again.
Yanar did all of these things. And she did them with joy in her heart and fire in her belly. I loved her for that.
Two years ago, when I was in Jerusalem, where I lived as a child, Yanar wrote to me about her hopes for the future:
My plan for the coming decade is to have a small house with a big garden in a Baghdad suburb, where I will get a dog, and plant all the flowering trees and vegetables. And I hope the day will come when we can both visit each other in our home cities without any fear.
This is the legacy Yanar leaves us to enact—to fight for each other and spend time together in the flowering gardens we’ve planted.
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Without Haitians There is No Collective Liberation
Two Haitian immigrant advocates chart out a path for what a truly liberatory policy toward Haitian and other Black immigrants could look like.
Feb 26, 2026
We started Black History Month with a critical—though potentially momentary—win for Haitian immigrants, specifically those with Temporary Protected Status. Although the Trump administration has appealed the decision, the current pause of the termination of TPS for Haitians has been a moment of reprieve for our community.
In this period of polycrisis, this victory also demonstrated the continued power of community organizing. But, in order to ensure this win is sustained and pushes us toward Black liberation and collective justice, we have to amplify the monumental role of Haiti and Haitians in our shared struggles for equity and justice in the US—past, present, and future. There’s a great deal for us to learn from Haiti and Haitians about collective liberation.
We felt momentary relief with the court ruling on TPS, but the unease we carry was not able to dissipate altogether because we know this government is undeterred from flouting the legal system. Living in limbo is already difficult for TPS holders, but like with all immigrant communities, there is the heightened fear of Immigration and Customs Enforcement and its inhumane and life-threatening tactics, which we see vis-a-vis their modern-day recreations of slave catchers.
Furthermore, Haitians live with another kind of fear—the fear of being both invisible and hyper-visible, but never fully human. This characterization has been deliberate and by design; a punitive response to Haiti’s successful revolt against slavery—the first in the world—and what it set in motion for Black and other colonized people across the world.
When we say we must continue to fight, we mean all of us. Anyone who says they are for justice and collective liberation must meet us on the streets and in the courtrooms.
The paradox of hyper-visibility paired with erasure is part of a larger pattern of anti-Blackness in this country. White supremacists tend to treat Haiti as symbolic of everything they intentionally mischaracterize or misrepresent about Black people, as a pretense to spew racialized anti-Black hatred. The public imagination they craft around Haiti is carefully curated to dehumanize us and to stoke fears around Black people rising up once again. We are an enduring threat to white supremacy and racial capitalism, which is why we continue to be punished and targeted as a people and a country.
This public imagination is exactly what the Trump administration leveraged to spread sensational lies that many Americans went on to accept as factual. It is why our community faces higher detention and deportation rates, and sees disproportionately lower rates of being granted asylum. And, it contributes to why philanthropy has not prioritized sustained giving to Haitian organizations. Even though we face unceasing attacks from the administration that have stripped over half a million Haitians of their statuses, targeted them repeatedly for halts on adjudication for almost all forms of relief, and imposed the most severe forms of travel bans for both non-immigrants and immigrants, we are not seeing a commensurate response to support us from the philanthropic community, to give us a fighting chance against these attacks.
Every day, there is a reminder of our invisibility. Language justice for Haitians is often an afterthought. We regularly have to advocate to immigrant rights organizations and grassroots organizing groups to provide Kreyòl interpretation for webinars, trainings, and materials that are directly applicable to hundreds of thousands of Haitians. Even though Haitian immigrants are the second-largest population with TPS, language access is usually not extended to Haitian TPS holders.
We are routinely rendered invisible by all factions of US society—policymakers, philanthropy, media, and even progressives—and yet we become hyper-visible in moments of crisis, political convenience, or scapegoating. We saw this hyper-visibility in the response to Haitians arriving in Del Rio, Texas, when Border Patrol agents were caught chasing Haitian refugees on horseback in 2021 and in the last presidential election when Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio were thrust to the center of Republican political theater vis-a-vis the circulation of blatant misinformation designed to incite anti-immigrant sentiment.
Being left out of—or misrepresented in—mainstream narratives of immigration and American identity has real-life consequences. We feel it in the lack of services tailored to our community, insufficient language access, and more. We see it when we’re treated as an afterthought in immigrant rights advocacy and grossly underfunded compared to other immigrant communities—multiplying the unseen labor of the few Haitian migrant groups that exist. According to the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy, “Black migrant justice groups received less than 2% of all funding for the movement, 0.04% of funding explicitly granted for Black communities in general, and overall less than 0.01% of all foundation grants given during 2016-2020,” which is why initiatives like the Black Migrant Power Fund—launched to address these gaps—are so crucial in this moment.
Our exclusion has also led to the distortion and flattening of our identity–we are often seen as victims with no agency, our significant present-day contributions have largely gone unnoticed, and centuries-old imperialist policies by the US and France continue to go unchecked despite playing a big role in the ongoing injustices in Haiti.
We reject this single story of victimhood and believe there is an urgent need to platform the pivotal leadership and perspectives of Haitian migrant rights’ leaders advocating for their communities across the region, which is why the Hemispheric Network for Haitian Migrants’ Rights was started. Haitian leaders’ initiatives and organizations are significantly under-resourced, yet they are undeterred in their battle against the anti-Blackness that knows no borders and confronts Haitians at every turn in their migration journeys.
In terms of contributions to the US, Haitian TPS holders alone contribute $5.8 billion to the US economy and pay $1.5 billion in taxes, but this is rarely considered in discussions about Haitian immigrants. Moreover, in our recent report from Haitian Women for Haitian Refugees, we shared that through the Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua, and Venezuela (CHNV) Parole Program, a two-year humanitarian parole program, CHNV immigrants contributed an additional estimated $5.5 billion to the US economy annually through spending alone.
The February 3 verdict offered momentary relief for the 350,000 of us who have TPS status, but we must continue to fight tooth and nail for humanitarian protection. It remains to be seen whether the appellate or Supreme Court will grant the administration’s emergency appeal, and strip so many people of merited and necessary protections. Legislative efforts to protect TPS continue, with a discharge petition proposed by Rep. Ayanna Pressley (D-Mass.) with over 155 co-sponsors.
When we say we must continue to fight, we mean all of us. Anyone who says they are for justice and collective liberation must meet us on the streets and in the courtrooms as the next phase of our fight starts up to protect not only TPS, but to advocate for all forms of policy and practice that ensure Haitian migrants can be safe and thrive. Philanthropy must provide sustained support to our organizations because supporting Black migrant communities is a moral and social imperative, particularly for any institution that espouses a commitment to racial justice.
But above all, we must push back against white supremacy and fascism by finally recognizing that how we treat Haiti and Haitian immigrants, and really any group of people who occupy this paradoxical position of invisibility and hyper-visibility in our society, is a barometer of our commitment to collective liberation.
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