The morning began with a semblance of normalcy for Mia Perez. Packing lunch for her 9-year-old daughter, the school drop-off routine – all before 9:30 a.m. meeting at a downtown Springfield, Ohio church. Beneath the surface of her composed demeanor, however, unease simmered. Whispers, amplified by the national political stage, were taking root in her town: immigrants, it was being said, were stealing and eating pets. The church meeting, convened by local religious leaders, was a desperate attempt to quell the escalating panic.
Perez was already on edge when her phone buzzed amidst the meeting’s tense atmosphere. Bomb threats near her daughter’s elementary school. Parents needed to collect their children – for the second consecutive day. “I spilled coffee all over myself when I got the call,” Perez recounted.
Rushing to the school, she was met with her daughter’s anxious questions. Was it a school shooter, mirroring the horrors broadcast on the news? “I tried to differentiate between an active shooter and a bomb threat, a daunting task for a 9-year-old,” Perez explained. But her daughter’s next question struck deeper: “Have we ever eaten a cat?”
Perez’s husband is Haitian. Perez herself is Cuban, with formative years spent in Haiti before Springfield became home in 2017. An immigration lawyer and interpreter, she dedicates herself to assisting Springfield’s new immigrant population – predominantly Haitian – in navigating their new lives. To her daughter’s question, she responded with a firm no, a touch of humor attempting to lighten the gravity, “Everything tastes like chicken to me anyway.” But behind the reassurance, Perez carried a heavy heart, tears becoming a near-daily occurrence since the rumors began to spread.
My arrival in Springfield coincided with the fallout from a presidential debate where Donald Trump declared, “They’re eating the dogs, the people that came in, they’re eating the cats. They’re eating the pets of the people that live there, and this is what’s happening in our country, and it’s a shame.” These pronouncements echoed similar claims made by J.D. Vance, Trump’s running mate and Ohio senator representing Springfield. The impact was instantaneous and chilling. White supremacist groups descended upon the town, distributing inflammatory flyers, attempting to link generalized anxieties to the presence of non-white residents. Vandalism, over 30 bomb threats, and a wave of outsiders arriving to assert to the new community members that they were unwelcome – Springfield was under siege of fear and misinformation.
The weekend following the debate, I encountered a group of approximately 30 Proud Boys, some accompanied by their children, clad in custom biker jackets emblazoned with the group’s emblem. One, face obscured by a bandana, refused to give his name but asserted that opposition to Haitians wasn’t rooted in racism. “We want the government to prioritize Americans over immigrants,” he stated. “If you want to come to our country and assimilate, we’ve got plenty of space. But you’ve got to do it our way, adopt our values. You can’t bring your culture here.” Another, when questioned about the pet-eating rumors, conceded, “It’s possible they aren’t. It’s just a meme. It’s just for fun at this point.”
The Proud Boys might have been finding amusement, but my weekend in Springfield revealed the stark consequences of political rhetoric taken to a dangerous extreme. The community, both long-term residents and newcomers, was already grappling with growing divisions. Now, amplified on a national stage, they were left uncertain and apprehensive about what lay ahead.
Springfield Under Scrutiny: Rumors and Realities
Despite the pervasive rumors of “Pet Eating Springfield”, my investigation yielded no evidence of such occurrences. However, the belief in these rumors, or at least the possibility of them, was readily found. Ron, a Springfield resident of nearly two decades, sat on his porch, flanked by Trump flags. His immediate neighbors are Haitian. “They stare at you,” he remarked. “I don’t hate them. It’s just the way they came over here to get all this stuff.” He considers the pet rumors plausible.
Ron, a former Walmart employee, now receives disability checks and food stamps since stopping work in 2012 at age 56. He expressed resentment over government assistance provided to immigrants, feeling it surpassed what he receives, mentioning his own meager $23 monthly food stamp allocation.
Ron, who is Black, rejected accusations of racism or bigotry, framing his concerns as demographic shifts, yet maintained uncertainty about the veracity of the cat-eating rumors. He also proposed a conspiracy theory: Haitians were deliberately brought in to replace him and his neighbors. “I see them getting all the houses,” he said, noting his own rent increase from $600 to $800.
Ron’s sentiments reflect a segment of Springfield residents. Tensions had been brewing for nearly a decade. Like many mid-sized Ohio cities, Springfield’s population had contracted following manufacturing job losses. In the mid-2010s, the city strategized to market itself as an affordable hub to attract manufacturers and revitalize job opportunities. When companies responded, a labor shortage emerged. This, combined with low living costs, made Springfield attractive to immigrants. Word-of-mouth led to a significant influx of Haitian immigrants, many holding Temporary Protected Status in the U.S., granting them Social Security numbers and work permits. Many arrived from Florida, already home to a large Haitian community, others directly from Haiti. Estimates suggest as many as 15,000 have arrived for work, bringing both economic contributions and new challenges related to jobs, housing, local services, and infrastructure.
The School Bus Tragedy and Rising Resentment
For many I spoke with, the current wave of anger and resentment traces back to a tragic accident in August 2023. A Haitian driver crossed into oncoming traffic, causing a school bus carrying 52 children to overturn. Aiden Clark, an 11-year-old boy, died, and many others were injured. (The driver, Hermanio Joseph, attributed the accident to sun blindness; police found no evidence of drugs or alcohol. He was convicted of involuntary manslaughter and sentenced to at least nine years in prison. Aiden Clark’s parents have publicly urged against using the tragedy to fuel anti-immigrant sentiment.)
The City Commission meeting following the accident, typically sparsely attended, was overflowing. Public comments were dominated by grievances directed at the new Haitian community. Perez, the immigration lawyer, described it as a “brutal awakening,” saying, “I expected it to be bad, but I didn’t know it was going to be that bad.”
Long-term Springfield residents voiced their anger, labeling Haitian neighbors “illegal,” spreading rumors about geese being stolen from parks, and portraying Haitians as uneducated, comparing them to monkeys littering, damaging cars, and driving up living costs. These accusations continued for several meetings. Perez witnessed familiar faces scapegoating Haitians for their everyday frustrations. “I felt attacked, violated, and dehumanized. Heartbroken,” she shared. One speaker was a friend of her husband. When asked if they were still friends, Perez’s response was a rueful laugh, “No, he is not.”
Community Lifelines and Shifting Atmospheres
My initial meeting with Perez was at the St. Vincent de Paul Community Center. For newcomers lacking English proficiency and seeking employment, the center is vital. Christian symbols, American and Haitian flags decorated the space, alongside toys and books for children. Volunteers, the backbone of the non-profit, manage the food pantry and medical clinic. The lively atmosphere usually resembles a large family living room.
However, the atmosphere had shifted. The entrance, once open, was now locked, opened only for পরিচিত faces or appointments. Earlier that day, police had reviewed security footage of suspicious individuals possibly casing the building. The center’s executive director, offering cake, declined to speak on record, citing recent online doxxing.
While acknowledging Springfield’s challenges and strains, Perez pointed to specific issues like “the driving issue,” referencing concerns about unlicensed and dangerous driving. (She recounted witnessing someone driving the wrong way on a one-way street that morning, joking, “People are looking down to see if that somebody is Black or a Haitian. Thankfully, it was a white person.”) Perez is involved in creating Creole instructional materials to address driving concerns, suggesting the city could also mandate valid driver’s licenses for vehicle purchases.
Rising housing costs were a common concern. Many mentioned houses being overcrowded with Haitians willing to pay more. However, Rachel, a Springfield rental property manager, emphasized that rising housing costs are a national trend, linked to increased property taxes, utility costs, and stagnant wages. “It’s not unique to Springfield,” she stated. Her company’s inspections haven’t revealed overcrowding: “We’re all feeling the strain, but blaming immigrants isn’t the solution.”
Haitian Voices: Resilience and Opportunity
Haitian residents in Springfield, many connected to the community center, spoke of feeling the tension since their arrival, but also of the opportunities Springfield offered. Harold Herad, who moved in 2022 after a 2019 visit, described Springfield as “quiet, almost too quiet, but I saw potential.” He brought his family. As more Haitians arrived, his integration eased. Seeing vacant homes occupied and new businesses opening reinforced his belief that Haitians were contributing positively.
Herad noted the varying levels of welcome from long-term residents. The pet-eating rumors particularly horrified him. Yet, he remained optimistic that local residents would eventually become more accepting. “We are a resilient nation,” he affirmed. “We’ve faced challenges before, and we’ll face this too. The truth will come out eventually.”
James Fleuri Jean, another recent arrival, acknowledged the community center’s vital support for Haitian families settling in Springfield, but felt it also fueled misconceptions about their success. “People think the government is giving us these homes, but the truth is we work hard. We’re always working—overtime, extra shifts, anything we can do,” he emphasized. He specifically refuted bad-driver stereotypes, as he drives trucks for Amazon. “I drive trucks for Amazon, and I’ve never had an accident. People have accidents everywhere, but when we do, it’s used as an excuse to make us look bad,” he explained. Haitians, he said, have become more cautious of neighbors but refuse to be defined by the negativity. “We’re not here to convince anyone. We just live our lives and hope that eventually, they’ll see who we really are.”
Keket, owner of KEKET Bongou Caribbean Restaurant, expressed dismay at the rumors, especially given her efforts to share Haitian cuisine. “It hurts,” she confessed. “When people say things about our culture without any evidence, it feels like they’re attacking who we are.” Her restaurant, a community hub, had become a source of unease due to the rising tensions. “When I hear bad things, I get scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” she admitted, echoing the hope of others: “I think, with time, things will be OK again.”
Finding Common Ground in Springfield
Contrary to expectations of hostility towards outsiders, my experience in Springfield was largely welcoming. Driving a rented Ford F-150, I received nods of acknowledgement. People were willing to discuss the rumors, sometimes more than I anticipated.
Mark Pearson, a lifelong Springfield resident, shared his own disturbing cat encounter. “I found the back half of one on my porch once. Looked like it had been skinned. That freaked me out,” he recounted. However, he didn’t suspect Haitian immigrants. He attributed it to an animal or a prank. He knew Haitians from work and, language barrier aside, had no issues.
At Walmart, a woman loading cat food into her SUV joked that her five cats were “all accounted for.” Nearby, a man near his pickup truck asserted that the influx of Haitians had improved Springfield. “They’re not eating no cats and dogs. That’s just being made up by racist people,” he stated.
High school students at Snyder Park, where rumors claimed geese were scared away, dismissed the pet eating Springfield claims as “old people being racist.” (Geese were, in fact, abundant.) The students discussed the town’s changing dynamics with curiosity and frustration. One mentioned language barriers in schools, “Half of them don’t even know English. It’s really hard to learn when they have to print everything in Creole and English. It wastes class time.” Another countered, “It’s not their fault.”
“They’re opening shops and stores in places that have been closed for years,” one student pointed out. “They’re contributing, and people don’t realize that.” When asked about bullying, one student replied, “These Haitians roll too deep. Nobody is going to mess with like 30 kids at once, and their cousins. We make fun of them, yeah, but they make fun of us too.”
“Once they’ve been here a generation and their kids grow up, it’ll get better. They’ll learn from us, just like our families did when they first came here,” another student offered. “We just need to help them out instead of criticizing them,” concluded another. “It’s all a learning process.”
Building Bridges and Broadcasting Unity
Saturday night, a gathering celebrated the launch of New Diaspora Live, a new Haitian radio station in Springfield. Miguelito Jerome, the driving force, emphasized the station’s mission to combat misinformation and promote unity for all Springfield residents, not just Haitians. Programs in English, Creole, and Spanish were planned. “The door will always be open,” he affirmed, including during live broadcasts, aiming to create a space “where everyone can feel heard and understood.”
While the timing might seem challenging, Jerome saw opportunity. “There’s a lot of fear and confusion right now,” he observed. “The Haitian community is very focused on work, but that sometimes leads to social isolation. We need more spaces where people from different backgrounds can come together, talk, and share experiences.” “We have to save Springfield,” Jerome declared. “We’re the builders, the workers, the ones pushing Springfield forward. If we can change things here, maybe we can change the whole country.”
That evening, Rose Goute Creole Restaurant was bustling. A white couple in line explained they were there to show support. “On the day that I heard that this community was being accused of those things, I was like, ‘This is freaking ridiculous.’ I was like, ‘We got to come up here and support the community,” one shared. Others from Boston and Texas had also made detours to Springfield to show solidarity and enjoy Creole cuisine. Disgust at the rumors was a common thread.
At the counter, the exhausted manager of Rose Goute Creole Restaurant said business had never been busier. Asked about the influx of non-Haitian customers, he responded, “We feel supported. We never expected this.”
Springfield, Ohio, confronted with baseless and harmful rumors of “pet eating”, is a microcosm of larger national conversations around immigration, misinformation, and community. While tensions and challenges are undeniable, the city also reveals resilience, a desire for understanding, and a burgeoning sense of unity amidst diversity. The voices of both long-term residents and newcomers suggest a path forward, one built on dialogue, shared experiences, and a commitment to truth over sensationalized falsehoods.
