“Are Haitians Bad?”: American Christians, Haitian Migrants, and the Cost of Silence

Haitian Paul Perissien says “local punks” repeatedly attacked his family’s home in 2021. After “rocks and bottles came flying” toward his house as his 2-year-old son rode a tricycle in the courtyard, he left his homeland and returned his family to the United States.

Perissien says he first moved to the U.S. in 1996 after his father procured citizenship for his family. He met his wife Bethany stateside and they moved to Haiti in 2014. There, they served with Mission Haiti, a Christian non-profit based in Bethany’s hometown of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. After the violence they experienced, Bethany explained their return in a Facebook post: “The country of Haiti is taking an unprecedented . . . turn toward gang-control and continued hostility . . . pray for rest for the panting and exhausted country of Haiti.”

A few years later, Perissien says his two oldest children — ages 8 and 7 and still living in Sioux Falls — have asked questions like “Are Haitians bad?” and “Is what they’re saying about Haitians true?” as they grapple with their heritage being demeaned in the country where they hoped to find safety.

During the 2024 U.S. presidential campaign, Donald J. Trump and his running mate, J.D. Vance denigrated Haitian migrant populations in Springfield, Ohio and Charleroi, Pa. Perissien, who serves as executive director of Mission-Haiti, says he has watched with frustration as fellow Christians respond apathetically to political remarks that would have been jarring less than a decade ago. He recalls a 2017 incident where Trump derided Haiti as one of several “shithole” countries. Then, Perissien says, “more Christians stood up” and responded with outrage. Today, he’s seen “way less believers” express concern.

Jake Johnston, a researcher at the Center for Economic and Policy Research in Washington, D.C., also notes the “lack of a moral or righteous response” to Trump’s remarks.

“When this got brought up on the debate stage, it was kind of just ‘laugh it off,’” Johnston says, “and not, ‘hey, this is serious, this is significant, and . . . this is the manifestation of . . . a bigger problem we all need to address and confront.’”

Johnston explains: “There’s a response to the rhetoric, which is violent hate activity . . . And I think there’s a very reasonable fear that that will continue or increase under this new administration.”

Andy Olsen is a senior writer and editor at Christianity Today. In his 2023 article, What Evangelicals Owe Haiti, he writes, “Haiti has been one of the world’s most active mission fields for American evangelicals.”

An AP News poll from November showed that around 80% of “white Evangelical Christians” voted for Trump. Yet as Olsen explains in his article, evangelicals from the U.S have also spent decades establishing missions organizations and sending church-goers on “tours” to Haiti.

Johnston notes a “long historical thread . . . on religious entities’ interest in Haiti” which “has a lot to do with the view of Haiti as this backwards savage outsider in need of saving.” He says non-governmental organizations — NGOs — “that have religious affiliations . . . are providing services that could be very beneficial to communities . . . but much of this is informed through a logic of saving people who don’t believe in things you believe in.” Given these motivations, Johnston says it’s not surprising when American Christians respond unenthusiastically to migrants in their communities.

But some Christians do prioritize Haitian self-determination within U.S. communities. After pastoring for “about 15 years,” Aaron Earlywine says he moved to Ohio and began working as area director at CarePortal, a non-profit which he says matches community members’ needs with resources.

The City of Springfield believes about 12,000–15,000 immigrants live in the city and surrounding county. Despite efforts by the city, “a lot of times the Haitians didn’t have a voice,” Earlywine says, “so they were told what their resources needed to be — where they needed to be helped.”

Seeing this lack of agency, Earlywine says he kickstarted the “Haitian-led” Haitian Community Help and Support Center in early 2024. “Currently I am the only non-Haitian on the board,” he explains, “and then I will be stepping down as soon as we get everything ordered.”

Earlywine cultivates trustworthiness as he works among the Haitians. “Haiti has historically had an issue with American NGOs coming into Haiti and exploiting their people [and] resources,” he explains, leaving Haitians “feeling as though they’ve been taken advantage of.” He says his wife Heidi — who has taught English classes to Haitians in Springfield — does not charge for the classes. “One of the reasons that we’ve been able to build trust,” Earlywine explains, “is that we’ve never asked a dime from any of the Haitians.”

Less than a four-hour drive from Springfield, Charleroi was home to a little over 4,200 residents in 2020 according to Census Bureau data. On Sept. 27, The New York Times reported: “Borough officials estimate that about 2,000 immigrants are now living in Charleroi, many of whom arrived after the last census. That figure includes roughly 700 people from Haiti.”

“This flood of illegal aliens is also bringing massive crime,” The Washington Post reported Trump saying. “Char-le-roi, what a beautiful name. But it’s not so beautiful now.”

James Davenport III serves as a pastor at The Hallelujah in downtown Charleroi. He describes it as a non-denominational church offering two services, one in English and one in French and Creole for a congregation of 40 to 50 Haitians.

Davenport believes his faith compels him to “be compassionate and merciful towards the immigrants.” And he refers to the 25th chapter of Matthew’s Gospel, where Jesus tells his disciples that serving those in need is tantamount to serving him.

But Davenport also expresses concern about migrants who may not be in Charleroi legally. “As Christians . . . we are to obey the law,” he says, “I am for coming into this country . . . legally, not illegally.”

He’s convinced that Trump will help with that. “Most of Charleroi, they’re like, ‘oh, Trump, he wants to ship everybody out of here,’” Davenport explains. “Well, I didn’t hear that personally . . . it’s the illegal [migrants], and I think it’s good . . . because it’s really unfair to the ones who do come over here legally.”

According to an October Politi-Fact article, Vance has defined migrant status differently than “immigration law” does. The article argues that although many Haitians are legally allowed in the country under Temporary Protected Status or humanitarian parole designations, Vance has dismissed the validity of such policies.

Bill Nealey Jr. is the executive director of Mission to Haiti, a Christian organization which he says “is helping children to get a Christian education” in Haiti.

When he began his work in Haiti, Nealey believed: “‘I’m going to fix Haiti by trying to get everybody to act like me, like an American.’ And I realized after a time that didn’t work. In fact, I found that I’m most successful if I start acting like a Haitian in Haiti . . . if [Haitians in Springfield] want to be successful, they’re going to have to act like Americans if they’re going to stay in America . . . It doesn’t mean you have to give up your culture.”

When asked if this approach would be difficult for migrants temporarily in the U.S., Nealey replied, “it will put pressure on people to make a decision. They have to change or they have to leave.”

Perissien says that despite his citizenship, he will “never be full-on American.” He recounts how his children wear Haitian flags on their clothing, and he comforts their fear that people will start to think of them as pet-eaters.

Elana Elmore manages her congregation’s efforts to serve the community at Central Christian Church of Springfield, which she says is not an evangelical church. Since 2020, she says, her church has parked a food truck in the same downtown spot on Thursdays, serving around 300–350 meals weekly to those in need. “Immigrant populations . . . should feel valued, they should feel welcomed,” Elmore says. “They should know that they matter in the communities that they are entering.”

Elmore says her church works to overcome language barriers for the city’s migrants. Volunteers learn simple phrases, use their phones to communicate, or hand out cards promising safety and welcome in Creole. “This is a safe space,” Elmore wants to tell “all communities” in Springfield, “a safe landing ground where your culture, your values, the things that are special to you — they have a place here within our community.”

Perissien names minor cultural differences Haitians bring to the U.S. — strolling through a department store with their speakerphones on, the smell of spices in their cuisine, or the men’s heavy perfumes. But more significantly, Perissien says that Haitians are hospitable people. “I think one of [the cultural] differences is just opening your home so easily in Haiti,” he explains, “Anybody can visit at any time . . . it’s a very, very communal way . . . of living.”

Just over a mile away from Elmore’s church, Chris Wilson pastors Northside Baptist Church. Wilson says that the Haitians his church has encountered have been “especially kind people” and reminds his congregation not to “dehumanize people.” He says: “The poor Haitians, they’ve done nothing right or wrong as far as I can tell. They’re just caught in between two political worlds that are using them.”

Wilson says he collaborated with Haitian Southern Baptist pastors after the presidential debate. Together, they’ve considered hosting an “assimilation training” in Springfield. As best as he understands it, the Haitian church leaders could “[explain] the differences between what the American culture is in Springfield versus what the Haitian culture that they’re used to is . . . so that they can understand a bit better about what might cause tension.” That tension, Wilson says, stems from disappointment that local resources are allocated to migrants instead of needy long-term residents of the city. It is unclear how the envisioned programs would address this perceived discrepancy.

Amy Willmann directs Springfield’s Nehemiah Foundation, which — according to its website — ultimately hopes to “build God’s kingdom in Springfield and Clark County.” Willmann says she enables churches to work together, and some of her work involves the immigrants in her city. She believes “biblical writers made it clear that it’s not enough to just have the right heart and to just not be a racist, or to not express xenophobia or to not be hateful towards the immigrant . . . the Bible actually uses the word ‘defend’ — to defend the vulnerable.”

She’s seeing what Johnston called a “response to the rhetoric” directed at her and others in the community. “When the neo-Nazi hate groups came to town, they were doing a lot of that psychological warfare,” Willmann says. “They’ll just stand there and stare, but they’ve got assault rifles. And masks over their faces, and . . . they’re very scary to kids.”

Perissien knows what it’s like to have scared kids; he says his family has suffered from PTSD and sought “counseling” because of the violence they experienced in Haiti. Today, he hopes his fellow Christians will “step up” and speak out against the threats Haitians face stateside. “Most Christians, most believers, have done a lot for Haiti,” he says, “and a lot of them have gone to Haiti and have helped Haitians. And now . . . there are now a lot of Haitians in our doorsteps next to us . . . Do we love them as much as we say we do — that we would go to another country to go see them and serve them, but now that they’re here . . . we’re not stepping up for them?”