On Jan. 15, three days after the earthquake in Haiti, the White House announced it would give eligible Haitians already living in the U.S. the chance to remain and work here legally for 18 months under temporary protected status (TPS). The Haitian community and immigrant advocates felt it was long overdue.

For years, those calling for the humanitarian protection believed that conditions in Haiti — the aftermath of massive hurricanes, political upheaval and abysmal poverty — should have led the U.S. to issue TPS to Haitians.

Attorney Bridget Kessler and law students Clement Lee and Cialinett Colon, right to left, assist Haitian clients with the TPS application at a Brooklyn, N.Y., clinic. (Photo by Naomi Abraham/CNS)

Most recently, in 2008, after four violent storms hit the country, Haitian President René Préval, sent an official letter to then President George W. Bush requesting TPS for undocumented Haitians. But Bush and, later, the Obama administration declined to give the protected status to Haitians on the grounds that it would increase illegal immigration by Haitians.

When asked about Haitian TPS in April 2009, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton said the Obama administration “did not want to encourage other Haitians to make the dangerous journey across the water.”

Since the TPS designation was incorporated into immigration law in 1990, undocumented nationals from countries such as El Salvador, Honduras and Somalia have been eligible for the status. All in all, six countries reeling from natural and political disasters have been granted the status over the past two decades. TPS allows people from countries deemed to be under extreme crisis situations to live and work in the U.S. legally for a set period of time.

About 350,000 immigrants from El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Somalia and Sudan are living in the U.S. under TPS, according to Department of Homeland Security statistics. Ever since TPS was started, the situation in Haiti has been perhaps just as grave as situations in those countries that were given this special designation, but Haitians were passed up year after year.

Nonetheless, many Haitians living in the U.S. without immigration status were relieved to hear the news from the Obama administration.

Tiyo, 20, who asked that his real name not be used, immediately jumped at the opportunity to get legal status, even if only for 18 months. He says there were too many opportunities that he has missed because of his undocumented status. Until recently, he had hid his predicament from even his best friend, whom he has known since he arrived in Florida 10 years ago. “When I couldn’t get my driver’s license or a job like all my friends,” Tiyo says, “I would just tell them my mom wouldn’t let me.”

Now with TPS, Tiyo is looking forward to getting a part-time job, getting his driver’s license and helping his mom, who makes less than $20,000 a year cleaning motels. Yet under TPS guidelines, Tiyo is ineligible for the federal student loans that he sorely needs. Also, unlike marriage to a U.S. citizen, TPS is unlikely to lead to any kind of permanent immigration status.

Currently enrolled in a community college and graduating this spring, Tiyo says he may never fulfill his dream of going to law school: “I don’t know what will happen after 18 months, but I’m willing to take the chance.”

In the days following the news from the White House, scores of Haitians lined up outside churches and community organizations in places like Miami, Boston and Brooklyn, N.Y., to get help with the six-page application for TPS. But the long lines started to dwindle after the initial excitement died down. Advocates observed that the numbers of people coming forward was not meeting original predictions, which claimed that anywhere from 100,000 to 200,000 applications would be filed.

According to immigration officials, to date about 28,000 Haitians living in the U.S. have applied for the status. The federal government has also temporarily halted the deportation of some 30,000 Haitians.

Bridget Kessler, a clinical teaching fellow at the Benjamin N. Cardozo School of Law, runs a TPS help clinic at the center of Brooklyn’s Haitian immigrant community. She says in the first month after Haitian TPS was instituted, there was a good flow of people coming to apply or get information on TPS. But now she and the law students she works with spend most of their time waiting for clients. “Now we get just one or two people a day,” she says.

Although the deadline for filing the application is not until July 22, Francesca Menes and other advocates say that the low tide is not simply a matter of people waiting until the last minute.

“We fought eight years for this moment, but people have mixed feelings,” she says. Menes, a Haitian-American community organizer in South Florida, explains that while one segment of the Haitian community believes that President Obama will either renew the TPS program after 18 months or pass a bill legalizing all undocumented immigrants, there is a sobering flip side that may have Haitians opting out. “People think the government will come knocking on their doors and ship them off to Haiti after the 18 months is up,” she says.

The U.S. government has always been careful with policy decisions related to Haiti because of the belief that any kind of leniency will result in the mass exodus of Haitians to the U.S. TPS was no different — so much so that when making the announcement that TPS would be granted to Haitians, Secretary of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano made a point to reiterate that it would be good for only those currently living in the U.S.

Eugene Valcin, a naturalized citizen from Haiti now living in Brooklyn, says her family is scrambling to find the money to pay for the application, which costs $470. Though there is a fee waiver, some Haitians either don’t know about it or don’t think they can provide the necessary documentation to show their inability to pay the hefty fee.

Besides, Valcin says, with the economy, family members wonder if it will really make any difference in their lives. “They already work under the table, or they have their own businesses,” she says. “They don’t think they will find a better job, even if they have papers.” Still, most of her family members are going ahead with the application because they think TPS might give them a chance to obtain legal status down the road.

Stacy Ann Harris, an immigration attorney working with CAMBA, a Brooklyn-based nonprofit, says there is a great deal of misinformation circulating in the Haitian community. “It is either of deportation or the false idea that they will get a green card after TPS,” she says.

But Subhash Kateel, an immigrant advocate working with the Florida Immigration Coalition, an immigrant rights organization, says that the many years of being denied TPS have compounded the fear and distrust Haitians have of the U.S. government. He adds, “They’ve seen TPS get renewed over and over again for other immigrants here, but they think the government will treat them differently.”

Kessler says people are scared and don’t want to expose themselves. “Immigration enforcement is more in-your-face now. We have widespread immigration raids and the expansion of detention removal,” she says.

The prospect of deportation may be proving to be a deterrent for Haitians living in the U.S., many of whom are shouldering tremendous responsibility to take care of their families here and in Haiti.

According to U.S. Census data, there are 785,000 Haitians in the U.S., and collectively they make significant contributions to Haiti’s economy. In 2008 alone, approximately $1.9 billion flowed into the country through remittances. A good portion of that money was sent by individuals like Valcin, who supports her mother, aunts and cousins living in Haiti. “My family is small, but most Haitians have large families and a lot of people calling them for money,” she said recently on her way to the hospital with her uncle, who had recently suffered two successive strokes. Scholars and advocates say the money Haitian immigrants send to their family members in Haiti will be critical to the rebuilding process.

Tiyo says he will be happy to get his first job, even if it’s at a fast-food chain. He talks excitedly about buying a car for the family but quickly realizes that it may be a long shot. “No, I probably won’t be able to get a car in 18 months,” he says. “I need to help my mom with the bills and send money to my aunts in Haiti.”