Michaelle Louis's feet and legs are aching. She can barely walk. But she's 23 miles into a 45-mile march from Springfield to Ohio's statehouse in Columbus, surrounded by corn fields and the distant hum of a busy highway, demanding better rights for Haitian immigrants. The physical pain, she says, is nothing compared to the mental anguish of last summer.
In August, Louis spent five days huddled in her basement with her daughter and brother, curtains drawn, no electricity during daylight hours - all out of fear that ICE officers might come knocking to deport them. "I closed the curtains. I didn't want anyone to know there was people living in our house," she recalls. It's the kind of thing you'd expect in a dystopian novel, except it's happening in Ohio.
For months, ICE has reportedly terrorized Springfield's immigrant community, speeding after vehicles down normally placid streets and causing crashes. The city's Haitian community - who began arriving eight years ago to fill hundreds of open blue-collar jobs in the town of 60,000 - has been a primary target. But a Supreme Court ruling in July allowed the Trump administration to end temporary protected status (TPS) for more than 350,000 Haitian nationals, meaning they could no longer work legally. Within days, dozens of ICE agents descended on Springfield. In September, Homeland Security Secretary Markwayne Mullin said 380 people had been detained by ICE agents in the city.
Louis grew up in Port-au-Prince and came to Springfield in 2021, entering the country legally through the southern US border. Her 31-year-old brother was murdered by a gang in Haiti in December 2018. "I had so many threats from the gangs. I left three months after he was killed," she says. "It was very hard for my mom and dad to lose their son."
It's not just Haitians feeling harassed. When ICE began patrolling in August, resident Sean Moorman started monitoring their activities and following their vehicles. That drew unwanted attention from the agency. In a lawsuit filed by the ACLU of Ohio against seven ICE officers last month, Moorman claimed agents swerved a vehicle toward his, "as if to ram him," took photos of his car, and used several vehicles to corner him, "making him fear for his life." Agents also allegedly photographed his home while his wife was inside.
Last month, a federal judge ordered ICE to stop "retaliatory action" against Moorman and granted a temporary restraining order against seven unnamed agents. But many of those officers were moved out of state, and the order ran out on 18 September. "It is disappointing, but unfortunately not surprising, that ICE chose to play a shell game by shuffling their officers around rather than allowing them to face accountability in court for their lawless actions," says David Carey, managing legal director at the ACLU of Ohio. "We certainly disagree with the court's decision to entertain that shell game, but the fact that the court had already entered and extended a temporary restraining order against these officers also sent the most important message: ICE does not have a blank check to violate first amendment rights."
Moorman declined an interview, fearing further retaliation. His lawsuit was thrown out by a federal judge on 2 October. ICE says it "is aware of the lawsuit filed by the ACLU in Ohio and is reviewing appropriate next steps in coordination with the Department of Justice." A spokesperson added: "Every day, [the Department of Homeland Security] is conducting law enforcement activities across the country to keep Americans safe. Under President Trump and Secretary Mullin, if you break the law, you will face the consequences. Illegal aliens are not welcome in the US."
Around the country, ICE "watchers" like Moorman have become essential in bringing to light the agency's dangerous actions. More than two dozen people have been shot by ICE officers since the Trump administration's immigration crackdown began in February 2025 - many in front of their children. Among them are three US citizens shot dead in Minneapolis and Texas. Two of those, Renee Good and Alex Pretti, were monitoring ICE agents, like Moorman.
For Louis, Trump's false claim during the 2024 campaign that immigrants in Springfield were eating people's pets hurt the most. "That opened my eyes. Until then, all I did was go to work and come home. I wasn't that interested in community issues. I was helping people - Americans facing domestic violence. I served the nation; I served citizens," she says. "And when you say I'm eating dogs and cats and I'm coming illegally, that's something that's shaken me. I was sleeping and now I woke up for my community."
Millions of immigrants from dozens of countries have lost the ability to work legally under the Trump administration. According to the Migration Policy Institute, ICE and Customs and Border Protection (CBP) have deported 980,000 people since the start of Trump's second term.
Louis says the three-day march is to raise awareness for demands to end ICE's detention of and use of ankle monitors on immigrants, for agents to leave Springfield, and for a permanent residency pathway for Haitians who have contributed to life in the US. On day two, as a large Amazon warehouse - where dozens of Haitians were employed before the crackdown - comes into view, Louis talks about a Haitian woman she knows whose husband was recently deported to Haiti, where violence and political unrest has reigned for more than a decade. "They had bought a house here [but] now they are moving back to Haiti," she says. "I think this is a method by ICE - take the man and the family will follow."