TPS limbo puts financial strain on Springfield’s Haitians, slows down their businesses

SPRINGFIELD, Ohio — On a recent Sunday afternoon in early March, Claudette Mercibille, a cashier at Milokan Botanica in the Southgate neighborhood, slid a small stack of dollar bills into the register and gave her two customers their purchases from the religious and cultural items store. 

The women bought thick white candles that could burn for hours. The electricity in their apartment had been shut off after they lost their jobs and could no longer pay the bill. Along with the candles, the pair also bought a bottle of lwil maskriti, Haitian black castor oil, often used to ease aching joints or keep warm — small comforts when heat and steady incomes are no longer guaranteed. They then left, moving quickly. 

“Things have slowed down,” Mercibille said, her brow slightly furrowed and her voice edged with concern, rubbing her temple, her voice carrying the weight of long, exhausting days.

“Many people left Springfield,” she explained, adding that the shop’s activity has dropped about 40% as a result of the immigration detention scares. “A lot of them went to Columbus.”

Similarly, about 1.5 miles away along West Pleasant Street, activity at La Bendita Food Market had also slowed. According to manager Paschhur Castelly, the drop was also because “many families have already left town.”

Driving past these shops and surrounding neighborhoods, Springfield looks unchanged. But inside the small businesses and community spaces, many Haitian-owned or operated, stories from shopkeepers like Mercibille and Castelly point to how severely the uncertain future of Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for Haitians is reshaping how Haitian families earn and spend money. But as they cut back, the financial effects are rippling through the local economy, reaching landlords, neighborhood stores, transportation networks and relatives in Haiti who depend on remittances. 

To be sure, the shift in money habits has not triggered a sudden collapse of standard economic indicators. However, it has produced a quiet decline marked by smaller purchases, fewer transactions and product substitutions. Money circulates more cautiously. Restaurants see fewer customers. Remittance transfers decline. Retail purchases shrink.

Policy targeting specific groups hurts Main Street  

Reanne Frank, a professor of sociology and demography at Ohio State University, said the current mood and shifting habits are to be expected. A researcher of immigration and migration, social demography, racial and ethnic inequality, and health and mortality, she points out that communities across the country are adapting similar tactics.

“When immigration policy becomes uncertain, immigrant communities often respond by pulling back from public life, avoiding services, schools and even health care,” said Frank. “That can have real long-term consequences for families and local economies. 

“What we’re seeing in communities like Springfield shows the human consequences of policy decisions made far away,” she added.

Sharon D. Wright Austin, a political science professor at the University of Florida who also leads the National Conference for Black Political Scientists, sees more to the policy when it comes to Haitians. 

“Haitians seem to be particularly targeted because of their history,” Austin said. “That legacy has often translated into harsher treatment in immigration debates and policies, where Haitians are sometimes viewed through racialized and political lenses that do not affect all immigrant groups in the same way.”

In the case of Haitian workers, who came to Springfield to work in factories initially, Austin said their presence not only helped keep those factories open,” it also strengthened the local community and economy, something many people don’t realize.”

A fragile household economy

Haitian families are certainly feeling the financial strain as the administration threatens to end TPS, which allows 350,000 Haitians to live and work here legally. Last week, its lawyers asked the Supreme Court to allow it to end the program after two lower courts rejected the request — partly because the courts said the government’s reasoning suggested racial animus. The back-and-forth of legal proceedings, and the resulting trepidation among employers, state administrators and social services providers have intensified pressures as the financial toll rises.

“Even before the TPS situation, we were already helping families with food support,” said Rose-Thamar Joseph, co-founder and operations director of the Haitian Support Center in Springfield. “We do not have a formal housing program, but in urgent cases, we step in.”

The center has already assisted more than 200 families, Joseph said, and demand continues to grow. The most immediate economic shock for many households is the sudden loss or instability of income.

Some residents have lost their jobs due to complications with their immigration status or employer concerns. At the same time, driver’s licenses tied to TPS protections remain uncertain – forcing immigrants to spend money on legal alternatives to get around. 

Local support helps families hold on to cash

Food insecurity has become the most visible sign of the economic downturn.

At the end of 2025, the Haitian Support Center organized a two-week food distribution effort and has now restarted distributions due to demand. Families that once spent $300 to $600 per month on groceries were able to redirect limited cash toward rent or utilities.

“We have helped more than 200 families so far, and we are prepared to double that number,” Joseph said.

Housing pressure began to grow ever since Springfield saw a surge of Haitian migrants in recent years. Increased demand contributed to overcrowding and rising rents, with some residents reporting that landlords doubled prices for shared housing.

Deportation threats have created uncertainty for the city’s immigrant community, with some residents leaving and officials warning that losing work authorization for many immigrants could impact the local economy. When households lose wages, even relatively modest rents can quickly become unsustainable.

As of March 2026, the average rent in Springfield is about $826 per month, far below the $1,626 national average, but still difficult to manage without steady income. Typical monthly rents range from about $687 for a studio to $826 for a one-bedroom and more than $1,451 for a three-bedroom, with many units falling between $700 and $1,000.

The center sometimes intervenes during emergencies by writing checks directly to landlords to prevent eviction.

“We can’t pay someone’s rent for a year,” Joseph said. “But when a situation is critical, we help however we can.”

Transportation becomes an unexpected bill

Transportation costs have also grown as a financial strain. According to the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles, the licenses of Haitian TPS holders tied to the court orders are valid only through March 15, leaving workers unable to legally drive to their jobs.

Gas prices in Clark County average about $3.09 per gallon, and many families who cannot drive rely on friends or community members for rides.

Short trips within Springfield often require $10 to $20 in gas money, while longer trips to cities where immigration services and courts are located—such as Columbus or Dayton—can cost $25 to $60 in fuel.

Some people also pay $20 to $40 to informal drivers for rides to court hearings, medical appointments or legal consultations.

Businesses feel the slowdown

The financial strain extends into immigrant-owned businesses that rely on their community members’ spending.

At the popular Haitian restaurant, Rose Goute, a cashier said customer patterns shifted dramatically in recent weeks.

“Bizniz pa bouje,” he said, meaning business has been unsteady and disrupted.

At the height of immigrant detention operations earlier this year, he said, “for several weeks only white customers were coming to support.” 

Business is beginning to recover, but it’s slow going, he says.

At a nearby grocery and retail service shop, owner Philomène Philostin said she has seen a drop in activity and anxiety in people’s attitudes. Customers who once lingered now move quickly through the store.

“People are holding on to what little they have,” she said.

Remittance transfers to Haiti, once a regular part of many households’ finances, are also shrinking, Philostin said. Many customers previously sent $100 to $300 per month to relatives abroad. Now those transfers are becoming smaller or less frequent.

“Haitian migrants often face some of the harshest treatment,” Austin said. “Applying for asylum is extremely expensive and complicated, and sometimes their work permits are taken away. That says a lot about how immigrants are viewed, especially when they are Black immigrants. Haitians are often placed at the bottom of the social hierarchy.”

Even as the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) recently claimed erroneously on social media that remittances from Haitians in the United States amount to billions of dollars leaving the U.S. economy.

Inside Milokan, Jeremie Pascacle said the slowdown is tied partly to population movement.

“After what happened, people moved away,” he said. “When people leave, they buy things somewhere else.”

Uncertainty costs on the rise

Some families are also preparing for the possibility that TPS protections could end. But leaving the U.S. can cost several thousand dollars per person, according to service providers, counting airfare, paperwork and initial living expenses.

Jacqueline Downey, an attorney in private practice, has created a packet filled with guidance — titled “Smooth Transition: Preparing to Leave the U.S. After TPS Ends” — for clients to plan for a potential departure. It tells families how to secure birth certificates, gather school and medical records, review housing leases and arrange power of attorney so a trusted adult can care for children if a parent is detained.

About 75 Haitian residents had requested the packet as of early March. Completing the forms typically requires about two to three sessions with a legal representative, and costs between $50 and $100 per session.

Funded by the City of Columbus, with translation assistance from the Haitian Community Network (HaCoNet), the packets are available in Haitian Creole and distributed free of charge. Downey said preparation can help families maintain stability even in uncertain circumstances.

“It puts you in control of your destiny,” Downey said.

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