An Open Letter to Haitian-American Kids in Springfield, Ohio
Reflections on a painful, pathetic, and all-too predictable week.
I am so, so sorry that this is happening to you.
I’m sorry that the whirling wheel of misfortune has stopped at your slice of the American Pie this time. I’m sorry that in the hyper-evolved media landscape of 2024, there’s no way to escape any of this without cutting yourself off entirely. I’m sorry that at the start of a school year that’s already been riddled with violence across the country, something that we apparently have no way to stop, you now have to deal with bomb threats at what should be the safest of spaces — something that history has shown, 61 years to the day, demands to be taken seriously.
I’m sorry that for some of you, this is going to be the first moment you truly realize that you’re an Other in this country, and just what that means. I’m sorry that it couldn’t have happened when you were older. I’m sorry that there’s no way to go back. I’m sorry that for some of you, you’re going to have to grapple with a triple consciousness beyond W.E.B. Du Bois’ wildest nightmares from here on out. I’m sorry that for the rest of your lives, there will be those to whom you are not truly Black, not truly Haitian, and not truly American.
