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What will it take for all of us to continue to care about what's happening in Haiti?

There is something adrift — or perfectly in line with the machinations of white supremacy — amongst the current crop of wealthy, Republican elite flaunting their power in D.C., when The Washington Post writer Jennifer Reuben has to describe the Trump administration’s decision to deport 50,000 - 60,000 Haitians from the United States, as “abject cruelty”. There is no particular need –aside from red meat for the anti-immigrant base — to expel these law-abiding people who have made their home here for as long as seven years,” Reuben writes. This isn’t surprising. Throwing red meat at the conservative base, most of whom hold anti-immigrant prejudices, has been an indispensable component of President Trump’s domestic policy. And as recently as last week, Trump reportedly called Haiti and El Salvador, predominantly black nations, “shithole countries,” a move which quickly prompted U.S. Ambassador to Panama John Feeley to resign from office. Abominable as Trump’s comment is, as with everything else this president does, it seems to have been the spark that sent outraged Haitian protesters to the streets. AJC.com reports that 400 Haitian protesters and allies marched on Trump’s Winter White House in West Palms, Florida, demanding an apology. In an interview with Wear Your Voice (WYV), DJ Sabine Blaizin, WYV's co-host of LaKay Se Lakay: The Revolution and a Haitian artist who is deeply attuned to the issues that impact Haitians across the diaspora, expressed concern that the Haitian community seemed to be too complacent in the face of the federal government’s obvious coldheartedness. Asked why resistance to Trump’s revocation of Temporary Protection Status (TPS) appeared low, Blaizin suggested that Haitians may be unaware of the serious ramifications of what’s about to go down 17 months from now, when Haitian refugees are expected to “make arrangements” to return home.

For all the clamor and the rush to post, protest, and support undocumented people, there are millions of immigrants whose experiences have been erased from the story.

Earlier this week, Donald Trump’s administration announced its decision to rescind the Obama-era policy of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, shaking the nation’s immigrants, especially the 11 million undocumented people. The decision will allow renewals until March 2018 for current DACA recipients to work or study in the US, but the administration will no longer consider new applications. Since then, tweets and posts have flooded social media and people scrambled to change their profile pictures to say, “I stand with immigrants”. Demonstrations were held, reactions have come from members of Congress and prominent religious groups. The decision was even met with a bipartisan-sponsored revival of the DREAM Act, pushed for by Sens. Durbin (D-IL) and Graham (R-SC). Yet for all the clamor and the rush to post, protest, and support undocumented people, there are millions of undocumented immigrants whose experiences have been erased from the story. They are those at the intersections of identities that further marginalize and disadvantage. They are the poor, they are Black, they are trans, they are disabled, they are refugees. They are those whose features and skin tones don’t match the ones on brochures or fliers that activist groups pass out. They are the ones whose stories are not the “rags-to-riches” narratives that appeal to donors. They are the ones already most at risk for deportation. They are the ones who are forgotten. For decades the US has peddled the myth of a meritocratic Land of Opportunity. The lie was spread that if you only work hard enough and pull yourself up, then you too can make your life better. This great U.S. tradition is co-opted and continued by the media in portrayals of undocumented immigrants.

We must refuse to uphold the colonial logic underlying claims of legal presence and borders.

By Natascha Uhlmann The Trump administration’s decision to end Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) is morally repugnant. This much is self evident — no human being is illegal, period. But we can do better. DACA granted a sense of normalcy to a young generation that has known no other home. It has spared some, at least, from a heinous deportation apparatus. But as much as it was a resource for anti-deportation advocates, so too it was a tool for ICE. US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS), the department that manages DACA applications, states that they do not share information with immigration officials except in the event of criminal offenses or threats to public safety. This language, draped in fear, shields ICE from scrutiny as they terrorize migrant communities. Benign — and often class linked — offenses like jumping a subway turnstile are sufficient to have one's information turned over. These provisions, alongside the systemic racialization of police violence means that lower class immigrants of color have a constant target on their backs. In aggressively pursuing minor infractions of this nature, ICE has effectively made poverty a deportable offense.

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