Overview:
Two Haitian graduates in Columbus share similar dreams but face starkly different realities as immigration status shapes their futures.
COLUMBUS — Arriving from Haiti in 2024, Philsy Marcelin and Sophie Saint Phard found each other at YouthBuild Columbus Community School, a public charter school designed to re-engage young people and build futures. Together, the two young women navigated an unfamiliar school system, while mastering a new language and learning the culture.
Now, as they step into adulthood in the Buckeye State, their parallel journeys reveal the starkly different hurdles confronting the newest wave of Haitians. As members of the graduating Class of 2026, crossing the stage on June 1 means they are stepping into a complex matrix of immigration bureaucracy, physical barriers and deep cultural longing.
In a coffee shop interview and phone calls with The Haitian TImes recently, the pair shared their experiences, revealing how differently the United States has treated Marcelin, 21, and Saint Phard, 19, because of their immigration status.
Work, school plans on hold
Philsy Marcelin, a recent graduate of YouthBuild Columbus Community School, hopes to study law but remains unable to work while waiting for her asylum case. Photo by Rupal Ramesh Shah.
Marcelin, who initially immigrated from her home in Cap-Haitien to Florida before moving to Ohio, missed the designation cutoffs for Temporary Protected Status (TPS). Despite applying for asylum, she has been met with silence. She has no work permit, cannot apply for federal financial aid (FAFSA) and faces a wall that takes an exhausting mental toll.
“I was very excited about having a diploma, so I can work,” Marcelin says, reflecting on her determination to graduate. “I had a lot of fun. The only difficulty I had was because I don’t speak English well, but apart from that, I really liked and appreciated the schooling experience here.”
Yet, the inability to work affects her achievements.
“Here, I’m stressed,” she says. “I can’t work because I don’t have the appropriate paperwork.”
The contrast is felt acutely under her own roof. Marcelin lives with her mother and her 7-year-old sister. Her mother holds a stable five-year work permit, anchoring the family financially through her job at a local warehouse.
Working represents more than just a paycheck for Marcelin; it is a vital step towards adulthood.
“Working will give me some independence,” she notes, expressing a deep desire to not rely entirely on her mother’s wages.
An application for asylum has been met with the frustrating silence, a known feature of a backlogged immigration system. With her unresolved status, college remains temporarily paused. But her ambitions remain fiercely intact.
“I want to go to university to study law,” she says firmly. “I want to be a lawyer so I can help children.”
A life in transit, albeit slowly
Sophie Saint Phard, a recent graduate of YouthBuild Columbus Community School, recently secured work authorization and hopes to one day become a doctor. Photo by Rupal Ramesh Shah.
Saint Phard, originally from Saint-Marc in Haiti’s lower Artibonite valley, has walked a different bureaucratic tightrope. Having applied for asylum, her work authorization was approved in February 2026. The milestone brought immense relief and a rush of anticipation.
“I really want to work, so I’m excited,” Saint Phard says, who just started a full-time warehouse position through the staffing agency.
In this sprawling metropolitan hub, independence requires a vehicle. Living further from the city’s central corridors, transportation has become Saint Phard’s primary barrier since she does not have access to a vehicle.
Her new job relies heavily on coordination and sacrifice. Her father, who works in a local warehouse, must drop her off, and the family frequently relies on the city’s limited public transportation system. She balances these logistics while living with her father and her two brothers, ages 2 and 13.
It is a logistical puzzle that tempers her excitement, but does not dull her long-term ambition. Saint Phard views her current warehouse job as a stepping stone on the way to her ultimate goal of becoming a physician.
“I would like to become a doctor so I can help all people to get better,” Saint Phard said with enthusiasm.
But first, she wants to work.
Pair continues trend toward excellence
In the division of obstacles, Marcelin and Saint Phard are part of a collective struggle for genZ’ers in their predicament as immigrants. Doing everything right — earning diplomas, learning languages and aiming for law and medical schools.
Both graduates’ ambition reflects a broader, documented trend within the Haitian community across the U.S. According to the Migration Policy Institute (MPI), about 78% of Haitian immigrants 25 and older hold a high school diploma or higher.
While first-generation arrivals face immense language and bureaucratic friction, their children make a massive educational leap, the MPI reports. Its research found that while roughly 24% of first-generation Haitian immigrants lack a high school diploma, that number plummets to just 4% for the second generation.
While moving forward, the emotional weight of the women’s displacement remains a daily companion.
When the two friends talk about what they miss most, the conversation inevitably drifts from the abstract to the sensory. Saint Phard misses the traditional food of Haiti, but more than that, she misses the climate. Together, the two recall the unique, earthy aroma of Haitian rainfall hitting the dry ground — a specific smell of home that instantly triggers a shared wave of nostalgia.
But forward focused, they must be.
For Saint Phard, the decision to leave Haiti was final, driven by a sharp escalation of violence in her hometown. “I will not go back,” she states flatly.
Yet, she constantly feels like a stranger.
Marcelin, who spent her final three years in Haiti living in Port-au-Prince with her father, notices the social isolation of the American Heartland.
“In Haiti, you could rely on your neighbors immensely,” Marcelin recalls. “While here, you cannot rely on them like that.”
Faced with these day-to-day adjustments, while navigating an immigration system that feels increasingly gridlocked, Marcelin says she is keeping her options open. She recently began exploring immigration pathways to Canada, refusing to let her ambitions be suffocated by a lack of a work permit.
