I’m Haitian and Jewish. I refuse to have my identities be weaponized.
The right-wing incitement against immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, shows the importance of solidarity, writes Bend the Arc’s chief program officer
A mural is displayed in an alley in downtown Springfield, Ohio, Sept. 16, 2024. (Luke Sharrett/Getty Images)
(JTA) — Over the past two weeks, with their poll numbers sinking and desperation setting in, MAGA Republicans launched a brazenly racist campaign targeting Haitian immigrant communities in Springfield, Ohio. Their propaganda has lit a match under white supremacist forces in the small town and beyond, resulting in Proud Boys marching through its streets, children staying home after bomb threats targeted their school and local Haitian businesses shutting down due to threats.
I bring a unique perspective to this issue as the child of both Haitian and Jewish parents who worked tirelessly for community safety and democracy here in the United States. These horrific scenes recall some of the darkest chapters of my Jewish history. It’s no accident that some labeled what was happening in Springfield as a “pogrom,” the term originating from mob violence against Jews in the Russian Empire.
That’s why it was so disturbing to read the words of Cary Kozberg, Springfield’s only rabbi, last week, taking aim at Haitian residents as lacking “Western civilized values.” Not only do these words — which Kozberg recanted after a backlash — stand directly at odds with Jewish leaders in the Ohio who said they support the Haitian community — they also belie a fundamental misunderstanding of the Haïtian community in this country as well as the roots and machinery of antisemitism and racism.
I learned early on that racism and antisemitism are intimately linked, two sides of the same ugly coin used together to stoke fear and spread lies.
My parents worked tirelessly for community safety and democracy here in the United States. My father fled his cherished homeland, Haïti, in his early 20s, leaving behind beloved family and friends, organizations he’d helped build and strengthen, and a seemingly ceaseless battle with a vicious dictator. For more than a decade, he’d worked across class, religious and cultural differences, banded together, in solidarity, with his siblings, friends and neighbors, to fight for communities and a country where families could be safe and thrive.
Because of the racism, greed and constant quest for power under the dictatorship, with his life being threatened, he was forced to leave for safety in the United States. Under related circumstances, 200,000 other Haitians call the United States home under the Temporary Protected Status, granted by the Department of Homeland Security, to those who cannot safely return home.
My parents successfully fought for labor unions and built one of the most powerful tenants’ associations in the nation. They knew they couldn’t do it alone. Their success is owed to the coalition they built with their Haitian, Jewish, Italian, Irish, Puerto Rican and Indian immigrant neighbors. They knew that their unity wasn’t just for unity’s sake. It was strategy.
The extremist forces behind the Springfield attacks know that they can only succeed with division. They employ the machinery of antisemitism and racism to distract from the root causes of our collective struggles and turn us against each other.
I walk in the footsteps of my parents, having worked with unions like my dad, and grassroots efforts like my mom. And I’ve also set out my own way, co-leading the largest domestic policy group organizing Jews against these attempts to divide us from our communities. I know the machinery of racism and antisemitism can be slowed down at the ballot box, and that it can be broken with solidarity.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
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