Haitian migrants changed this US town - Trump's deportation drive is reshaping it again

Haitian migrants transformed this US town - and Trump’s deportation push is changing it again

Springfield, in south-west Ohio, was pushed into the spotlight in 2024 when Trump repeated a false claim about Haitian immigrants eating pets

In this tightly contested midterm election campaign, the small town of Springfield, Ohio, has come to stand for modern America. Yet that symbol shifts sharply depending on who is telling the story.

For President Donald Trump, Springfield embodies America’s troubles after years of uncontrolled immigration. He once repeated a false claim that Haitian immigrants were eating pets there. Now, he says his mass deportation campaign means residents are "getting their town back".

For others, though, Springfield reflects a familiar pattern in the history of modern America: the collapse of traditional industry, then a surge in immigration driven by cheap housing and low-wage work. It is a story repeated in communities across the country.

Pierre Damas Bel, 20, came to Springfield in 2024 to live with his father and stepmother.

He had fled Haiti, where political instability and gang violence were raging. He entered the US with government approval under a Biden-era programme that has since ended for migrants waiting in Mexico.

According to a family friend, Bel later received Temporary Protected Status (TPS), a humanitarian protection that allows vetted people to live and work in the United States.

TPS generally lasts 18 months, but it is often renewed for years if conditions in the country remain dangerous.

The friend said Bel hoped to make a future in America. He was an honours student, a gifted athlete and a cadet in a high school programme that trains students to become officers in the US Armed Forces.

But in June, the Supreme Court backed the Trump administration’s move to end TPS for about 350,000 Haitians in the US.

Pierre Damas Bel's family blamed his death on his feelings at having to wear an ankle monitor

Bel was instructed to report to an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) field office, where he was fitted with an ankle monitor used to track migrants facing deportation.

On Instagram, he wrote that he felt "shame and humiliation" about wearing the device. Then, on 31 August, he parked his car on the side of a highway near Springfield, walked into traffic and was killed.

His family said his death was caused by how he felt about being forced to wear the ankle monitor.

The Department for Homeland Security (DHS) did not answer BBC questions about Bel’s case. ICE has previously rejected "any attempt to blame ICE for the death".

"Remaining in the country illegally, while fighting removal, is a choice. Leaving with a free flight home and $2,600 is also a choice," a spokesperson told US media earlier this year when asked about the case.

In the weeks before he died, Bel had been attending a Springfield support centre for Haitians facing deportation.

Its co-founder, Viles Dorsainvil, told the BBC that Bel had been trying to file a motion asking ICE to remove the tag.

"He went twice to the ICE facilities… begging them to remove the ankle monitor," he said. "He did everything right to be here until they put the tag on him."

Altogether, the Trump administration has ended TPS for more than a million immigrants from 13 countries. The changes meant many people went from legal status to unauthorised migrants overnight.

In 2024, Trump made border security and the mass deportation of undocumented migrants central promises in his election campaign. Polls indicate that border policy still has strong backing among Republicans, but support for the broader immigration enforcement campaign has fallen this year.

Ohio has become a swing state in the upcoming midterm congressional elections, and one of its two Republican-held Senate seats is being contested. Trump has already visited the state twice in an effort to boost turnout and offset declining approval ratings.

At a rally in Youngstown, Ohio, earlier this month, Trump returned to Springfield.

"You have a little town, beautiful little town in Ohio where they dropped about 35,000 Haitians. Well, they're being taken out and they're almost going to be gone and we're giving their town back," he said to cheers.

The Trump administration first said in June 2025 that it would end TPS for Haitians, and the legal fight that followed reached the Supreme Court, which ruled for the administration in the summer.

"The T in TPS stands for TEMPORARY, yet many of these designations became de facto amnesty," James Percival, the general counsel for the Department of Homeland Security, said after the ruling. "This is a win for the rule of law and common sense."

In an August social media post, the Department of Homeland Security shared a video showing Haitians in chains and white uniforms being led onto a deportation flight. Set to upbeat music, the video told Haitians whose TPS had expired to "LEAVE IMMEDIATELY".

The Trump administration says it is carrying out law enforcement operations in the town to protect Americans. It also says Haiti is safe enough for people to return to.

But the country remains under the US State Department’s highest Level 4 "Do Not Travel" warning.

Signs of long-term economic decline are still visible in Springfield, from shuttered factories to boarded-up houses.

This part of the American Midwest was hit hard by last century’s de-industrialisation, when workers laid off from once-thriving factories moved to the coasts or headed to warmer southern states.

Over the past five years, an estimated Haitian population of about 20,000 has arrived in the town. Many fled the devastating 2010 earthquake. Others left Haiti in 2021 amid the violence and unrest that followed the assassination of President Jovenel Moise.

As a result, Springfield’s population grew quickly. With legal status under TPS, many Haitians took low-paid jobs in factories and distribution warehouses.

Rick Johnson is a strong supporter of ICE's deportation drive

Rick Johnson, a Marine veteran, has a porch decorated with flags. The Stars and Stripes flies beside a banner for the US Navy and another for the Marine Corps.

Johnson’s wife served in the Navy while he was in the Marines at Camp Pendleton in California. Outside his military service, he has lived in Springfield all his life. He made clear that he strongly supports ICE’s deportation drive.

"You get where we're coming from," he said. "We love America, we love Americans - any kind of Americans, but you kind of have to be American."

Johnson moved to this neighbourhood 10 years ago, but he said the loss of industry has left much of it deserted. "They've torn down every house around me, I don't really have any neighbours," he said. "The only neighbours I have are Haitians right here and they don't really bother me."

He said they moved in about four years ago, "but there's a lot of them". He also pointed to "the driving problems".

Other Springfield residents share that view, believing traffic accidents rose after the Haitian community arrived.

In 2023, 11-year-old Aiden Clark was killed when his school bus overturned in a crash with a minivan. The van driver, Herman Joseph, who was originally from Haiti, did not have a valid US driver’s licence and was jailed.

Aiden’s father, Nathan Clark, later addressed a Springfield City Commission meeting, where he condemned politicians for using his son’s death as a "political tool" to stir anti-immigrant feeling, saying his son had been killed accidentally.

Johnson’s concern is the scale and speed of the change. "Really it's the amount of them," he told the BBC. "If you come here you [should] come here legally. The Temporary Protected Status is done… it's time to go."

Within the last five years, a Haitian population estimated at around 20,000 arrived in Springfield

At a nearby grocery store run by Paschur Castelly, who left Haiti 20 years ago, most shelves are bare except for those holding religious candles and framed images of Catholic saints popular with this devout community.

"I can't purchase new merchandise because I don't have people coming in," he said.

"So, our communities, we have doctors, we have engineers… we came here to get a better life, to help our family in Haiti, you know? Our country doesn't offer us security."

After 20 minutes in the shop, the first customer arrived. The man, who asked not to be named, said he had worked in a warehouse for three years.

But like others who have lost TPS, he is likely to have also lost the right to work.

While speaking with Castelly, he lifted his right trouser leg and showed a large ankle monitor.

ICE says such devices are part of its Alternatives to Detention programme. "I was given a choice, wear the ankle monitor and report in every two weeks, or sign my deportation order," he said.

As we left the store, Castelly locked the door, which he now keeps shut. When a neighbour saw us and feared an ICE raid, she shouted over to ask whether Castelly was okay.

It was a reminder of how much this town still stands as a symbol - of two different versions of America - years after Trump thrust it into the national spotlight, and weeks before voters go to the polls to decide the rest of his presidency.