In a squat building in Springfield, Ohio, that houses a Haitian community center, the FBI has arrived to investigate threatening phone calls telling the immigrant community in this small American town to leave.
But in a few rooms, attention has focused on more immediate concerns: how to pronounce “refrigerator.”
The syllables jumble together, ground out by the five Haitian students sitting in front of the whiteboard as they try to exercise mouth muscles they had never thought about before.
Local volunteers teaching English classes are part of a different side of Springfield, which has been drawn into the national spotlight after racist rumors about immigrants amplified by Republican politicians have escalated into bomb threats and harassment.
As the class walks through parts of a house, they find it easier to pronounce the word “cabinet,” while Creole-accented chants of “cab-i-net” light up the room.
“I just want to help,” says Hope Kaufman, the retiree who leads the class. “It’s hard to be involved in a new culture, with a new language. If there’s anything I can do, even if it’s just a little, that’s what I want to do.”
The predominantly white Midwestern city has experienced a population boom in recent years, driven mainly by Haitians attracted by its economic revival and by new businesses eager to attract workers.
But frustrations over the growing headaches in the city, which has seen an influx of 10,000 to 15,000 Haitians into a town that had fewer than 60,000 residents in 2020, eventually spilled over into racist rumors that migrants were stealing and eating people’s pets, putting the city in the national spotlight.
But none of that chaos is present during the hour-long class, as Kaufman and his colleagues add vocabulary words to the board, quizzing Haitians about “sinks,” “sofas” and “closets.”
“I have more than one chair in my living room,” Kaufman laughs, explaining, with a smile, the difference between plural and singular.
“Okay,” says student Edougie Joseph deadpan, his eyes fixed on the blackboard and focused on the lesson.
Then, amid nervous laughter, the students pull out cards for a memory game that quickly spirals out of control as they insist on sharing their answers and helping each other.
“I live in this country and if you don’t speak English you can’t work, you can’t express yourself to people,” Joseph, a factory worker, told AFP.
But it’s not easy.
“The hardest thing is to refri… refrigerate,” adds Yranor Estime, before giving up on “refrigerator.”
But “the cabinet,” he adds, “is poetic.”
Finally, the time has come. Much of the house has been conquered, from the “stoves” to the “sofas”.
Next week: the bathroom.
no ro/md
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