upworthy

prejudice

Photo by chris robert on Unsplash

11-year-old Aiden Clark was killed in a school bus accident in August of 2023.

Stoking fear about immigrants for political gain is nothing new, but a particularly heinous wave of fear-mongering over Haitian immigrants in Ohio has prompted one grieving family to speak out in a powerful way.

The parents of 11-year-old Aiden Clark, who was killed in a school bus accident in August of 2023, stood together at the podium at a Springfield City Commission meeting on September 10, 2024, begging people to stop invoking their son's name to spread hate. The driver of the minivan, 36-year-old Haitian immigrant Hermanio Joseph, crossed the centerline, colliding with the school bus carrying Aiden and around 50 other students and causing the crash. Aiden was killed and around 20 other students were injured in the accident.


Aiden Clark's father says he wasn't murdered

Along with spreading unfounded accusations of Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, stealing and eating pets, some Republican politicians have used Aiden's death to support anti-immigrant rhetoric. Even vice presidential candidate JD Vance posted on X that "a child was murdered by a Haitian migrant," appearing to refer to the accident that killed Aiden.

"My son, Aiden Clark, was not murdered," Aiden's father, Nathan Clark, said at the meeting. "He was accidentally killed by an immigrant from Haiti. This tragedy is felt all over this community, this state and even the nation. But don’t spin this towards hate."

Clark didn't mince words sharing his feelings about how "reprehensible" it is that people would use his son's death as "a political tool."

"You know, I wish that my son, Aiden Clark, was killed by a 60-year-old white man. I bet you never thought anyone would ever say something so blunt. But if that guy killed my 11-year-old son, the incessant group of hate-spewing people would leave us alone," Clark said.

"The last thing that we need is to have the worst day of our lives violently and constantly shoved in our faces. But even that’s not good enough for them," he continued. "They take it one step further. They make it seem as though our wonderful Aiden appreciates your hate. That we should follow their hate. And look what you’ve done to us. We have to get up here and beg them to stop."

Nathan clark asks people to "live like Aiden"

Clark pointed to specific politicians who have invoked his son's name "for political gain" and called for such rhetoric to end.

"This needs to stop now," he said. "They can vomit all the hate they want about illegal immigrants, the border crisis, and even untrue claims about fluffy pets being ravaged and eaten by community members. However, they are not allowed, nor have they ever been allowed, to mention Aiden Clark from Springfield, Ohio. I will listen to them one more time to hear their apologies."

Clark said that Aiden "researched different cultures to better appreciate and understand people he interacted with." He said he told his son he would try to make a difference in his honor and invited people to "live like Aiden."

"In order to live like Aiden, you need to accept everyone," he said. "Choose to shine. Make the difference. Lead the way and be the inspiration. What many people in this community and state and nation are doing is the opposite of what you should be doing."

Springfield, Ohio, has seen an influx of Haitian immigrants over the past several years, with approximately 15,000 Haitians making their way to work in the struggling industrial town of nearly 60,000. The swift population growth has come with growing pains including rising rents due to increased demand and an increase in welfare and federal assistance. But contrary to the fear-mongering rhetoric, violent crime and property crime have not increased, according to Reuters.

Others in Springfield speak out against hate for Haitian migrants

The Clarks are not the only Springfield residents to come to the defense of Haitian immigrants in the wake of hateful allegations about them. Springfield metal factory owner Jamie McGregor told PBS NewsHour that he has hired 30 Haitians, about 10% of his workforce, and he wished he had 30 more.

"Our Haitian associates come to work every day," McGregor said. "They don't have a drug problem. They'll stay at their machine, they'll achieve their numbers. They are here to work."

The United Farm Workers labor union also spoke out about the baseless, disgusting allegations against Haitian migrant workers in a post on X.

"We organize with Haitian-origin farm workers in NY. They’re as American as the apple pie their work makes possible, but right wing racists are spreading dehumanizing lies. Haitians are not eating pets. They’re feeding America. The anti-Haitian bigotry we’re seeing is repulsive," the union wrote. "(Cannot believe this is something we need to say.)" they added.

And yet, the rumors about the Haitian population in Springfield persist in right-wing circles on social media.To be extra clear, a spokesperson for the Springfield police issued a statement saying, "In response to recent rumors alleging criminal activity by the immigrant population in our city, we wish to clarify that there have been no credible reports or specific claims of pets being harmed, injured or abused by individuals within the immigrant community."

Unfortunately, using fear and prejudice against immigrants—or anyone easily deemed an "other"—has proven for decades to be an effective political strategy. Fueling our most primal instincts of self-preservation and fear of the unknown is the playbook dictators and autocrats have used time and again to rise to power and successfully commit atrocities. Especially when coupled with economic anxiety and times of uncertainty, scapegoating immigrants works. It may be an unjust and hateful strategy, but it works.

The more voices like Nathan Clark and Jamie McGregor and the United Farm Workers we have to counter the purposeful fear-mongering about specific populations, the better. There are legitimate conversations to be had about managing immigration and ensuring migration is handled in a sustainable way, but equating a car accident with murder and claiming without evidence that people are eating people's pets are not it.

More

She got a call on-air from a prejudiced man. What resulted is a lesson for all Americans.

'It’s difficult to step out, but in the end, you’re going to be a stronger person.'

True
Starbucks Upstanders Season 2

Heather McGhee received a rather unusual call from a self-proclaimed racist when she appeared on C-SPAN in August 2016.

McGhee is the president of Demos, a public policy organization that advocates for social change. As a black public figure, she's no stranger to receiving retorts from racially prejudiced individuals. However, the experience she had with the caller on C-SPAN's "Washington Journal" was altogether different.

[rebelmouse-image 19477090 dam="1" original_size="700x318" caption="McGhee on "Washington Journal." All photos provided by Starbucks." expand=1]McGhee on "Washington Journal." All photos provided by Starbucks.


After the caller announced himself as someone who is prejudiced, McGhee braced herself for a rant but was surprised to hear a simple ask instead.

"What can I do to change?" asked the caller, Garry Civitello. "You know, to be a better American?"

He said he thought he was getting good information from the news but would often see minorities portrayed in a negative way. He genuinely wanted advice from McGhee on how to alter his viewpoint.  

Civitello.

McGhee was surprised by Civitello's question, but eager to help.

It was no doubt refreshing, given the escalating social and racial discord ignited by the impending presidential election, to come across someone eager to close the disparity gap. So McGhee offered him some places to start off the top of her head.

"Get to know black families. Turn off the news at night. Read about the history of the African-American community in this country. Foster conversation in your family and in your neighborhood."

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. statue.

Little did she know that Civitello would follow each and every suggestion she made to the letter.

He began opening up to the people of color in his community. It wasn't easy on the outset — the first few conversations were a bit awkward, but it was a start. He went to the black history section in his local bookstore and invested in a small stack of books. Slowly but surely, he began to get to the root of his prejudice.

Everyday, he continues to push through the misconceptions that used to blind him.

"I’m not proud, but I’m not going to be ashamed because I’m working on being different," Civitello says.

Since their on-air meeting, and because of his determination, McGhee and Civitello have formed an unlikely friendship.

Civitello and McGhee in Civitello's home.

They spoke on the phone a number of times and visited each other in their respective cities. They have talked through racial issues Civitello is having trouble with, and McGhee has tried to lead him toward the best course of action. His continued desire to grow inspires her to keep the conversation going.

McGhee hopes their connection will help other Americans see what positive things can happen when you step outside of your comfort zone and confront your prejudices head-on.

"There is something that connects us beyond our differences," McGhee explains.

Their experience is not the ultimate antidote to racism, but it's a pretty good step in the right direction.

Civitello meeting his neighbors.

The fact that their initial encounter was viewed over 8 million times shows there's at least a common interest in the idea of changing these prejudices to which so many people hold fast. If just a small percentage of those viewers go out and attempt to break through racial barriers, progress will have been made.

"It’s difficult to step out, but in the end, you’re going to be a stronger person," Civitello explains. "You get all that just from shaking somebody’s hand."

Learn more about Civitello and McGhee's friendship here:

He felt himself being prejudiced, so he asked for help. Then a beautiful friendship blossomed.

Posted by Upworthy on Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Apparently, the first day of Donald Trump’s new immigrant crime hotline went amazingly — just not in the way the Trump administration had probably hoped.

Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images.

The Victims of Immigrant Crime Engagement Office (VOICE), established to assist victims of crimes committed by "removable criminal aliens," was reportedly prank-called all day by protesters claiming to have been abused by E.T., Jabba the Hutt, and other notorious creatures from outer space.

The trend was first noticed by Robbie Gramer, a writer for Foreign Policy.  


An Immigration and Customs Enforcement spokesperson told BuzzFeed that the hotline was "tied up" throughout the day by the protesters.

Alexander McCoy, a Marine Corps veteran and progressive activist, claims to have kicked off the tongue-in-cheek protest with a tweet Wednesday afternoon.

"I swore an oath to defend my community and uphold the Constitution," McCoy says. "I see speaking out as a way of continuing to fulfill my oath and standing behind the immigrant community that is under attack."

McCoy, who explains that he finds the term "aliens" intentionally dehumanizing, called the hotline and — after waiting on hold for 20 minutes — was asked if he was calling to report a crime by an "illegal alien."

He told the operator that he'd been abducted and taken to a UFO.

"I heard them give a long sigh," he says. "And they closed out the conversation saying that they'd make a note of it."

Critics of VOICE allege that it unfairly demonizes immigrants — singling them out for suspicion based on their status.

The office was announced during Trump's Feb. 2017 address to Congress during a tribute to four guests whose family members were killed by undocumented immigrants.

Photo by John Moore/Getty Images.

Two recent studies conducted by The Sentencing Project, a criminal justice reform organization, and the Cato Institute, a libertarian think tank, found that immigrants — whether documented or undocumented — commit crimes at lower rates than native-born residents.

An ICE official told Upworthy that the VOICE office is intended to provide information to crime victims and does not receive crime reports, and also that he considers the protest a "shameful" stunt at victims' expense.

After McCoy's tweet went mini-viral, other prank-tivists began calling in, adding their own spin.  

Michigan resident Lisa Polmanteer used her time on the phone with a VOICE representative to troll Melania Trump — claiming to have been "victimized" by an immigrant living off her tax dollars in New York City.

According to Polmanteer, the operator asked if she was talking about the first lady. When she said yes, he hung up.

Others on Twitter suggested an entirely different, punny approach.

While the prank was undoubtedly silly, its message was incredibly serious.

"I feel like the administration is going to use these stories to further demonize immigrants [and] refugees," Polmanteer says. "My grandparents were immigrants. I take it personally, I guess."

McCoy hopes the protest will move participants to support the efforts of immigrant rights groups, like United We Dream, Presente, Mijente, and the DRM Action Coalition, who have been, as he says, "fighting this fight much longer than I have."

He also hopes people will continue to take action against attempts to stigmatize those who come to the U.S. seeking a better life.

For now, that means fighting efforts like VOICE — even if it means being a little annoying.

Or especially if it means being a little annoying.

"I feel like the only thing I can do about it is be disruptive." Polmanteer says. [I'm] feeling pretty overwhelmed and powerless, you know? So I'm a jerk wherever I can be."

Photo by Frederic J. Brown/Getty Images.

This post was updated with comments from ICE.

Back in July, I had a racist encounter. I say "encounter" because when you have skin as light as mine, experiences with racism can feel pretty alien.

All napkin illustrations by Anisa Rawhani. Used with permission.

I should start from the beginning.


My boyfriend and I hop on the subway. The man standing next to us strikes up a conversation. We laugh and chat, enjoying the company of a stranger.

Then the man begins to speculate about my white boyfriend’s background, to which he responds that he’s British.

Then it’s my turn.

“And you, you must be Portuguese or Italian,” the man says.

“I’m actually Persian-Iranian.”

The man turns to my boyfriend.

“Be careful. She’s going to blow up.”





Unwanted attention. Everyone has experienced it, albeit to varying degrees.

Most women experience it when they’re belittled because of their gender. Catcalls, harassment, day-to-day indignities — all to make us feel like we don’t have a right to the space we’re occupying.

None of that is new to me, and each time one of these gender-based indignities happens, I grow a little less shocked and a little more outraged. Each incident piles on and crawls further under my skin, echoing every other time it’s happened to me or a friend.

But when I heard a man say I’d blow up, I entered uncharted territory. Suddenly, my race was the target.

At first, neither of us understood what he meant. My boyfriend thought "blow up" implied I’d get emotional. I thought it meant I’d get fat. Seeing our confused expressions the man clarified: He was talking about bombs.

Maybe if he’d said that to someone browner — someone more "ethnic" — the penny would have dropped faster. When it finally did, I remember feeling shocked and disappointed. That was about it.

It wasn’t like those times men harassed me because of my gender. This man’s words didn’t inspire deep emotions because there were no memories to be recalled. There was no wound for him to reopen and exploit.

Indifference in the face of racism is an unbelievable luxury.

That someone was unable to cause me pain or reduce me to a feeling of nothingness with mere words is not a mark of my own strength, but a mark of my experiences — or lack thereof.

That I’m not insecure about my race isn’t because I’m a confident woman; it’s because I so rarely have to think about it. I’m not constantly being reminded.

After the man on the subway clarified what blowing up meant, I remember:

Feeling my face fall, seeing my boyfriend’s jaw flex, the man sensing the change and backtracking because we were taking what he said too seriously. He wasn’t racist. His girlfriend was Indian and Muslim, which he explained smugly.

When I see racism from the outside I leap to my feet; I’m ready to take on anything. But when it was about me, I couldn't do it.

I just wanted to be as far from that man as possible.

In the time that immediately followed, I thought about all my non-white friends who’d confided in me about moments like this. I thought back on all the times my friends told me about racist encounters with classmates, professors, and strangers. How often I’d thought: Why didn’t you do anything?

I know now what an unfair standard that was.

When you become the target of racism, you’re stripped of valid choices. That doesn’t mean you’re powerless, but you’re working within a set of circumstances that are fundamentally unjust. You’re expected to rise to the occasion when someone’s attempted to strike you down. It’s easy for people with their feet planted firmly beneath them to say stand up for yourself.

We’ve all heard about racist incidents — many far more disturbing than what I described. Many of us (myself included) would like to think if we were in that situation we’d have a witty response on hand — or at the very least that we’d give them a piece of our mind.

It’s rarely so simple.

Option A: You can try to back up and disengage.

Option B: You can blow up. You have every right to be upset, so you confront the person’s prejudice. You make it clear just how out of line they are.

Option C: You can speak up. When you’re the victim of a racist incident, you’re immediately racialized. When you speak, you aren’t speaking as yourself, you’re speaking as an ambassador of "your people." That’s a lot of pressure.

It’s great in theory, but difficult and emotionally taxing in practice, especially when you’re not exactly prepared for it.

Whether someone speaks harmful words out of ignorance or because they have deep-rooted hatred, they tend to grow defensive very quickly when confronted with their indiscretion.

Not every ear is willing to listen, not every person is worth pursuing, and it’s not the responsibility of victims to educate their assailants.

For those of us who aren’t victims (or rarely are), remember that raising expectations and what-ifs, or questioning why a victim responded the way they did, isn’t helpful.

After the man rambled on about why what he said wasn’t offensive, the train started to slow and my boyfriend said this was our stop. We left the car and waited on the platform for the next train to come.

Some things about this incident remain unclear, but one thing I know for certain: As I waited on that subway platform for the next train to come, I was sure glad I wasn’t alone.

This post first appeared on Raw Honey and is reprinted here with permission.