By Judaea Ingram
Special To The Carolinian
Fireworks burst across the sky last month as Americans celebrated Independence Day. For many, the crackling explosions meant joy, tradition, freedom. For a 31-year-old Haitian woman living in Florida, they sounded like something else entirely: the gunfire she spent years trying to survive.
Before she fled Haiti in 2021, falling asleep to gunshots was routine. Violence was the background noise of her life. Now, even the harmless pop of fireworks can send her spiraling into panic, pulling her back into memories she has tried desperately to outrun.
For a moment, she believed she had finally found safety.
That sense of security shattered when the Trump administration moved to end Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for Haiti, the program that allowed her to rebuild her life in the United States. Without it, she fears losing her job, her independence, and the fragile stability she has fought for.
The decision could affect hundreds of thousands of Haitians who rely on TPS protections. For her, it feels like being pushed toward a country she no longer recognizes. One where political chaos, gang rule, and daily violence make survival uncertain.
She was willing to share her story, but asked to remain anonymous for safety reasons.
Created by Congress in 1990, TPS allows people from countries experiencing armed conflict, natural disasters or other extraordinary conditions to temporarily live and work in the United States. Haiti first received the designation following the devastating 2010 earthquake and remained eligible as the country continued facing political instability, natural disasters and escalating gang violence.
The administration has argued TPS was designed to be a temporary humanitarian program rather than a permanent immigration solution. Advocates, however, argue Haiti remains unsafe for many people to return because of ongoing violence and instability.
For the Florida resident, the decision represents more than a change in immigration policy.
"The question that I ask myself is, when am I finally going to be and feel safe?" she said.
Raised by a single mother in Port-au-Prince, Haiti’s capital, she attended private school before continuing her education in college. Her mother dedicated her life to providing her with opportunities, and she eventually became a young entrepreneur with plans to build her future in Haiti.
Leaving her home country was never part of that plan.
But, as political instability worsened, she said her involvement around political circles made her feel increasingly unsafe. She said she narrowly escaped being kidnapped, an experience that convinced her she could no longer remain in Haiti.
She does not discuss the details of the incident, but said the experience changed the way she viewed her future in Haiti. She no longer felt she could safely remain in the country.
She arrived in the United States in 2021 intending to apply for asylum. When Haiti received TPS protections, she instead applied for the temporary status. The process took months, leaving her unable to legally work while waiting for approval.
During that time, she relied completely on family members for support.
"If they don't cook, I wouldn't eat," she said, explaining that she depended on her aunt while waiting for authorization to work.
After receiving TPS and employment authorization, she began rebuilding her life. She found jobs, created friendships and discovered a community that welcomed her despite being thousands of miles away from home.
"I found a place in a new community that has welcomed me, regardless of my roots," she said.
But building that new life came with sacrifices.
She missed family funerals in Haiti. When her mother suffered four strokes, she could only help by paying medical expenses rather than sitting beside her. One of her nephews no longer recognizes her because he was only a baby when she left.
Those were losses she accepted for the opportunity to live somewhere she believed she could be safe.
Now she fears losing that security.
Without TPS, she said she can no longer work and faces uncertainty about what comes next. She worries about losing her independence and becoming dependent on others again, as she was when she first arrived.
The uncertainty has also taken a toll on her mental health.
When news of the TPS decision spread, she said her first reaction was disbelief. As a woman of faith, she said she continues to believe there is a path forward, but the fear returned after seeing reactions online and hearing concerns from others.
"I don't want to be in those detention centers," she said. "When am I gonna finally be and feel safe?"
Returning to Haiti is not simply a matter of moving back to where she was born. She said the country she left no longer exists in the same way.
Since the assassination of President Jovenel Moïse in July 2021, Haiti has continued to face political instability. Powerful gangs have expanded control over parts of the country, forcing residents to flee their homes and making everyday activities increasingly dangerous.
Those dangers are not just stories she sees in the news. They are experiences she has watched happen to people she knows.
She recalled classmates and acquaintances who were kidnapped or killed despite having no political involvement. One woman she attended college with was kidnapped and later found dead, her body abandoned beneath a mountain, she said.
Growing up in Haiti, she learned that danger could come without warning. She saw ordinary people become victims while going about their daily lives, whether traveling to work, visiting family or simply stepping outside their homes.
She said many Haitians feel trapped between two extremes: being poor enough to avoid attention or wealthy enough to afford protection. Those living in between, she said, can become targets for kidnapping because they are seen as having enough resources to pay a ransom.
"Whenever you can make a decent living, you can have a nice life, you can do everything for yourself, you become a target," she said.
She said the violence has reached a point where ordinary people live with constant fear of becoming victims.
"In my country, the bottom line is when you get kidnapped, you pay your ransom and they release you if they want," she said. "If they don't want to, they keep you and they ask for more. Or they kill you."
The neighborhood she once called home has also changed. She said many residents have left because of the violence, leaving her uncertain about where she would return.
She said the streets she once walked have changed, with gangs controlling parts of the area and many residents leaving for their own safety. The homes and community she remembers are no longer the same.
Returning, she said, would not mean going home.
Even while living thousands of miles away, the trauma has followed her.
In Haiti, gunfire became a sound she learned to live with. In the United States, fireworks now bring those memories rushing back.
"When I used to sleep through gunfire, I used to sleep to that sound," she said. "Now I can't even hear fireworks. Whenever I hear it, I go into panic mode."
Rather than focusing only on her immigration status, she said she has spent recent days trying to protect her mental health.
She fears what could await her if she is forced back: the same violence she escaped, and the same fear she has carried since leaving Haiti.
"Enough lives have been ruined in my country," she said. "Let's not give opportunity to more lives to be ruined."
