Marie (a pseudonym) lay on the cold examination table again, watching as the doctor moved the ultrasound wand across her belly. Eight months pregnant, after suffering a miscarriage in August 2025, she was navigating a high-risk pregnancy complicated by avascular necrosis, a condition that eventually led to a double hip replacement.
Now, as she listened to her baby girl’s heartbeat, she couldn’t help but wonder whether the receptionist had frowned at her because she was having a bad day or because something in Marie’s file had made her consider calling U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
As I sat with Marie, I watched as she held back tears when she spoke about her daughter and the guilt she felt. “I feel so bad for her sometimes… I’m sorry that I’m bringing her into this world under these circumstances. It feels like somehow failing in life.”
Marie’s exhaustion is not unique within the Haitian community. Earlier this month, the community buried Pierre Damas Bel, a 20-year-old Haitian college student who died by suicide on Aug. 31 after losing TPS and being required to wear an ankle monitor by ICE.
I asked Marie what she hoped for her daughter. Rubbing her belly, she said, “I would love for her to grow up in a world where she’s not going to experience the things that I’m experiencing … Being a community organizer, I’ve seen change happen in my lifetime, so I know it is possible for things to change. Nothing can stay the same. I’m hopeful that the generation that we are in will help turn the boat around.”
With the Nov. 3 midterm elections approaching, voters have an opportunity to examine where candidates stand on Temporary Protected Status, immigration enforcement and access to healthcare for immigrant families.
These aren’t abstract policy debates for people like Marie. They’re questions of whether a mother can afford prenatal care, whether she can work to support her family and whether she can imagine a secure future for her daughter.