By Edmond W. Davis
A monster storm has just ripped through the Caribbean — let’s call it Hurricane Melissa, a Category 5 hurricane that slammed into Jamaica and Cuba. Homes flattened, crops destroyed, infrastructure shattered. These are our neighbors—a stone’s throw from Florida, part of our maritime backyard. Yet as the wind fades and the waters recede, we must ask: what will America do?
For the record, Donald Trump never actually used the explicit term “s–thole” in reference to Jamaica back when he made those remarks in 2018 to describe Haiti and African nations. But, given the close geographic proximity between the Caribbean nations, the question is does he know any differences between Haiti and Jamaica?
The U.S. often speaks of “shared hemisphere” responsibilities, yet when crises strike heavily melanated Caribbean nations, the tone and urgency of American compassion often shift. If a storm of this magnitude hits Jamaica or Cuba — places long associated with Black freedom and resistance — will the U.S. rush in? Or will the response be muted, delayed and secondary to global politics? America’s history suggests that the answer depends on skin tone, strategic value and headlines — not on human need alone.
According to Time magazine, President Donald Trump’s infamous 2018 comment, referring to Haiti, El Salvador and African nations as “s–thole countries,” still echoes in our foreign policy subconscious. When words like those seep into national identity, they shape how empathy is rationed. After all, if leaders can label entire regions “undesirable,” it becomes easier for systems to justify minimal aid or harsh immigration policies when disaster strikes.
A tale of two responses
When Ukraine faced invasion, the U.S. swiftly approved billions in humanitarian and military aid. When White South Africans emigrated, they found sympathetic policies and pathways to the U.S. in an expedient fashion. By contrast, when Caribbean and African nations are struck by catastrophe, aid often arrives late, is modest or is temporary. The difference reveals what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once called “the appalling silence of the good people.”
The disparity is not merely political — it’s moral. After Haiti’s 2010 earthquake, the U.S. initially pledged strong support, but by 2017, development assistance had dropped by nearly 18 percent under Trump’s “America First” approach. Haiti received debt, dependency and unfulfilled promises. The pattern repeats itself: billions flow eastward to Europe, while our closest Black neighbors to the south are offered thoughts, prayers and photo ops.
If Hurricane Melissa were real, striking Jamaica and Cuba as the strongest storm ever recorded, the correct U.S. response would be massive and immediate—FEMA-style rapid deployment, USAID airlifts, temporary immigration relief and disaster-parole visas for displaced families, and rebuilding grants—not loans— for critical infrastructure. But history warns us that political rhetoric will outweigh moral responsibility. We might hear condolences before action, promises before planes and policy red tape before real relief. Melissa is as real as Ivan, Floyd, Andrew and Katrina.
Disparities in compassion
Let’s name the disparities clearly:
● Media visibility: Crises in majority-Black nations receive far less sustained coverage than those in Europe or the Middle East.
● Immigration bias: Ukrainians and White refugees receive open pathways; Haitians and Jamaicans meet ICE enforcement and deportation.
● Aid inequality: Non-melanated regions receive billions in grants; Caribbean nations are offered symbolic gestures or loans.
● Geographic irony: The Caribbean lies closer to Florida than Europe, yet receives less U.S. strategic attention.
● Historical amnesia: The same West that profited from Caribbean slavery and sugar plantations now acts indifferent when those nations drown under rising seas.
A truly moral nation does not measure compassion by complexion. It acts out of conviction, not convenience. Yet our immigration policies often tell another story. When Haitians seek refuge from earthquakes or gang warfare, they’re met with border patrols on horseback and detainment. When Jamaicans, Cubans or Bahamians lose everything to storms, they’re told to “wait their turn.” Meanwhile, thousands of Ukrainians — documented or otherwise — were welcomed into temporary protected status with housing and employment support. Even well-to-do farmers of the Caucasian persuasion were given opportunities to live in the U.S. over all other melanated citizens, mostly African and Latino nations.
ICE, immigration and the American dilemma
Now, how will the creation of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and our immigration apparatus play a role in America’s efforts to “help” Jamaica and Cuba after such devastation?
Can the same system that deports asylum-seekers from Port-au-Prince truly embrace hurricane survivors from Kingston? How does a nation help without moving Jamaicans to safer ground when it airlifts Ukrainians, Afghans and White South Africans on government dollars straight into U.S. communities?
If Trump says he will help, what does “help” mean? Will it look like refugee resettlement, or merely political optics? Will Jamaicans receive the same treatment — the chartered flights, the housing vouchers, the fast-tracked work permits — that others from non-Black nations received? Or will they be offered prayers while ICE increases patrols at airports and seaports, ensuring “the crisis stays over there?”
This is the moral contradiction of Western humanitarianism: we extend our hand when it’s politically safe, but clench our fist when the victims are of a certain hue or background. If America’s aid comes without relocation, resettlement or real economic rebuilding, then it is not help — it’s a headline.
A predictable reaction under Trump
Under a returning Trump administration, the scenario is predictable: brief sympathy, politicized blame and minimal relief. Aid would be conditioned, visas restricted and the narrative reframed as “why can’t those countries fix themselves?” A “s–thole” mentality does not vanish with time; it mutates into policy. Immigration and Customs Enforcement would treat displaced Jamaicans as threats, not survivors.
Fox News would debate whether the U.S. can “afford” to help. Congress would deadlock. Churches might pray but hesitate to act.
The appropriate response
The U.S. must instead lead with moral urgency and Christian conviction:
- Create a Caribbean Resilience Partnership — a permanent USAID/FEMA collaboration pre-positioned for rapid storm response.
- Offer disaster-parole visas for Jamaicans and Haitians displaced by extreme weather.
- Forgive Caribbean debts tied to rebuilding infrastructure and agriculture.
- Fund climate adaptation programs to prevent repeat devastation.
- Acknowledge racial bias in aid distribution and commit to reform through equity audits.
If the West claims to be rooted in Christian ethics, then its actions toward the vulnerable must reflect that creed. Scripture reminds us: “Whoever has this world’s goods and sees his brother in need, and shuts up his heart from him, how does the love of God abide in him?” — 1 John 3:17
And again, “For I was hungry and you gave Me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave Me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite Me in.” — Matthew 25:42-43
These verses do not require theological interpretation — they demand moral application. When the Caribbean cries for help, when Jamaica’s mountains crumble and Cuba’s coasts vanish, when Haiti drowns again under history’s weight, the West’s reaction will testify to its true faith.
Will America live out the gospel it claims to follow — or retreat into the comfort of selective compassion or “selective adult deficiency disorder”(SADD)? Hurricane Melissa may be nonfictional today, but the next real storm will make the same moral test unavoidable.
The opinions expressed in this commentary are those of the writer and not necessarily those of the AFRO.