Haitian Community Faces Uncertainty as Deportation Policies Reshape American Town

At a nearby grocery store operated by Paschur Castelly, who left Haiti two decades ago, most shelves stand bare, save for religious candles and framed images of Catholic saints cherished by this devout community.

“I cannot restock merchandise because customers are no longer coming in,” he said.

“Our community includes doctors, engineers—people who came here seeking a better life and striving to support their families in Haiti. Our homeland does not offer us security,” he added.

After twenty minutes in the store, the first customer arrived. The man, who requested anonymity, said he had worked at a warehouse for three years.

However, like others who have lost Temporary Protected Status, he likely also lost his authorization to work.

While speaking with Castelly, he lifted his pant leg to reveal a large ankle monitor.

ICE has described these devices as part of its Alternatives to Detention program. “I was given a choice: wear the ankle monitor and check in every two weeks, or sign my deportation order,” he said.

As they left the store, Castelly locked the door, which he now keeps secured. When a neighbor noticed them and feared an ICE raid, she called out to ask if Castelly was all right.

The moment underscored how deeply this town remains a symbol of two contrasting visions of America—years after Trump thrust it into the national spotlight, and weeks before voters head to the polls to shape the remainder of his presidency.

With additional reporting by Gringo Wotshela

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