The cost of an American shame

If he were my son, I'd be beside myself with pride. He was a good student, graduating high school with a 3.8 GPA, a member of the National Honor Society. He held a job at a local restaurant, and was active in Marine Corps Junior Reserve Officers' Training Corps. He played varsity soccer, earned scholarships, volunteered to help students learn English and received offers from multiple colleges before settling on Wittenberg University. Then came the only trouble he'd ever had, through no fault of his own. Pierre Damas Bel, who'd come to Ohio from Haiti in 2024 legally, was one of about 350,000 Haitian nationals in the U.S. who suddenly lost their temporary protected status following a 6-3 Supreme Court decision in July. News of that ruling set of a riptide of fear and confusion right here in Ohio, where at least 12,000 Haitians settled in Springfield alone, welcomed in by our governor and many local officials who've repeatedly praised their economic and community impact on the city, county and state. On July 29, ICE strapped an ankle monitor on Bel. The agency said it was an "alternative to detention" while he continued his immigration proceedings. The next day, Bel posted on Instagram: "I came to this country to pursue my education. I didn't come here to commit a crime or hurt anyone." "Yet now I'm walking through the streets of the United States with a GPS monitor on my leg, carrying a feeling of shame and humiliation that I never imagined I would experience." In court proceedings, at least six character references wrote to the judge, including co-workers and a former teacher who said Bel refused to partake in senior skip day because education was too important and that he voluntarily helped peers in study halls who needed assistance. A retired Marine captain gave him his "highest endorsement" for his honor, courage and commitment. So many reasons for a parent to be so proud. For a community to be so proud. But that ankle monitor. Wittenberg University men's soccer coach Dwight Burgess, whose program had recruited Bel, said Bel was no longer able to play due to the ankle monitor shortly before the start of preseason training. Bel transferred to Wright State, where he enrolled as a physiology and neuroscience major. His dad said he was the only JROTC candidate who did not receive a uniform, due to his monitor. "I'm told by those that knew him that he had great dreams about what he could do in this country and what he could contribute to this country," DeWine said. Could do. Could have done. And that's the key here, because instead Bel Monday called his dad around 8 a.m. and said he needed help. He told his dad he was struggling mentally and emotionally with the shame of being forced to wear the ankle monitor, and said was "humiliated" by it and bullied at school. His dad said come home; let's talk. His father didn't get the chance. By 11 a.m., police were at his door. His son, his precious boy, walked in front of a semi truck on Interstate 70 east of Springfield. He was 20. If I were his mother, I would be beside myself with grief. Journalists don't use the word suicide lightly. We don't mention it in obituaries, unless it's a public figure or it happens in a public place, out of respect for the family. But in Bel's case, there is no other way to approach it: this young man, by his own family's admission, ended his life after speaking so openly of shame and despair. Until the Supreme Court allowed his immigration status to be called into question, there was "nothing illegal or criminalizing about Pierre Damas Bel, not even a traffic ticket," said Yola Lamarre, a friend and mentor of Bel's, told reporters. DeWine, a Republican, lamented his death. He called Bel's suicide a "horrible tragedy" that should never have happened. "I think we have to ask ourselves: Is this really good? Is it what we want done to people like this, being picked up and facing deportation? Do we want that being done in our name?" Bel leaves behind two siblings, ages 3 and 15. Friends of the family say the younger sibling doesn't quite understand yet, but the teen brother is extremely scared of being sent back to Haiti. With good reason: The U.S. Department of State currently has a Level 4 "Do Not Travel" advisory for Haiti "due to the risk of crime, kidnapping, terrorism, unrest, and limited healthcare." In June, Haiti's inspector general of police, his wife and the couple's 6-year-old daughter were kidnapped. But let's talk for a minute about shame. All of Bel's work and accomplishments couldn't overcome that ankle monitor. It stripped him of dignity, ostracized him, and blocked doors he'd worked to open. In the end, it drove him to despair. He did everything America asks of an immigrant. Work hard, do good, contribute to society. He even joined the JROTC. There is shame in this story, plenty of it, but it was never Pierre Damas Bel's. It was always America's. Author's note: September is National Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. If you or someone you know needs to talk about thoughts of suicide or needs support, call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline anytime, 24/7, or visit 988Lifeline.org. Contact Chronicle-Telegram columnist Rini Jeffers at rinijeffers@gmail.com.