MONTREAL — In the biting cold of mid-January, a 25-year-old Haitian woman trudged through knee-deep snow in a dark, icy forest near the Quebec border, clutching her young daughter in one arm and a cellphone in the other. Temperatures hovered around -11 C as she followed voice instructions from a smuggler guiding her and four other migrants on where to walk, wait, and turn. “It felt like a race with time,” the woman recalled in a recent interview with The Canadian Press.
Weeks after this harrowing ordeal, the mother and her daughter are now seeking asylum in Canada, having fled what she describes as an increasingly hostile environment in the United States under President Donald Trump. The woman, who asked not to be named out of fear it could jeopardize her immigration application and her child's future in Canada, had been living in Georgia for the past two years. She first entered the U.S. from Haiti via a humanitarian parole program established during former President Joe Biden's administration. But in late May 2025, Trump ended that program, leaving her without legal status.
She applied for temporary protected status (TPS) shortly after, but according to her account, she never received a response. The Trump administration is now moving to terminate the TPS program for Haitians as well, a policy shift that could affect thousands facing deportation to a homeland plagued by political instability and violence. “Am I not human? …. Why is someone so cruel and mean? Is that normal? Is it acceptable?” the woman said, expressing her frustration with Trump's anti-immigrant rhetoric, which she said has heightened her fears.
Before embarking on the journey north, the mother knew the risks involved. “I prepared for the worst. Even if we got caught, I would have begged them to let my child in. I just wanted her to be safe,” she told interviewers. With no clear path forward in the U.S., she paid about $4,100 — nearly all her savings — to a local group in Georgia to arrange transportation to Canada. The group connected her with smugglers who promised a 35- to 45-minute walk across the border, but the trek stretched into hours, starting around 5 p.m. and not ending until about 2 a.m.
Dressed in boots, coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, the group set out, but the woman soon emptied her backpack to lighten the load, keeping only identification documents for herself and her daughter. In the process, she lost a glove. The path was treacherous; another mother and child in the group repeatedly fell behind, forcing the others to pause and wait. As they neared the Quebec border, the woman, her daughter, and one man waited about three hours in near-darkness for the rest to catch up, around 11 p.m.
Hiding along roadside hedges, they sat directly on the snow to stay somewhat warm, with the woman's daughter eventually falling asleep from exhaustion. During the wait, she called Frantz André, head of a Montreal-based migrant advocacy group, pleading with him not to alert border authorities. André, who had been in contact with her since last June, later said he feared they wouldn't survive the night. “We were so cold,” she recounted. “I told him that if nothing happened by 3 a.m., then he could call. I was conscious of the limits that should not be crossed, especially for my child.”
A vehicle finally arrived around 2 a.m., and the woman was the first to board with her daughter. They were dropped off at a motel, where exhaustion set in but sleep did not come easily. “I was keeping an eye on my daughter,” she said. Migrant advocates, including André, describe such journeys as increasingly common amid fears over Trump's immigration policies. Republicans in the U.S., however, have defended the measures, insisting they aim to end what they call lawlessness in the immigration system.
Since Christmas, at least 27 Haitian migrants have been arrested after crossing into Canada on foot, according to reports. Some were hospitalized with hypothermia and frostbite, while others were immediately returned to the United States. A spokesperson for U.S. Customs and Border Protection stated that migrants without lawful status may be transferred to the custody of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE.
The crossings occur against the backdrop of the Canada-U.S. Safe Third Country Agreement, which requires asylum seekers to apply for refugee status in the first safe country they reach — typically meaning those in the U.S. cannot simply cross into Canada to claim asylum. However, exceptions exist: migrants who cross undetected and remain in Canada for two weeks can apply, as can unaccompanied minors. The woman and her daughter invoked this exception, hiding in an undisclosed location north of Montreal for two weeks after their arrival before emerging to pursue their claim.
During that time, she met with The Canadian Press in the Montreal offices of André's organization, where he is assisting with her asylum application. André expressed optimism about her prospects. “If everything goes well, in two years, she will have her status. For now, she can look forward to a future without fear,” he said. The woman's story highlights the desperation driving such risky migrations. She described the border crossing as “throwing yourself, body and soul, into the unknown, with nothing but a voice, a phone number, without a known identity.”
Haiti's ongoing turmoil provides critical context for her flight. The Caribbean nation has faced severe political instability, gang violence, and natural disasters, prompting waves of migration. The U.S. humanitarian parole program under Biden had allowed temporary entry for many Haitians, but its abrupt end under Trump, coupled with the push to revoke TPS, has left thousands in limbo. TPS, which shields eligible immigrants from deportation due to unsafe conditions in their home countries, currently covers over 100,000 Haitians, according to immigration data.
Advocates argue that Trump's policies, including mass deportation plans and rhetoric targeting immigrants, are pushing vulnerable people toward dangerous routes. The woman echoed this sentiment, saying the administration's actions made her feel dehumanized. On the other side, Trump administration officials and Republican supporters maintain that stricter enforcement is necessary to secure borders and prioritize American citizens, pointing to what they describe as overwhelmed systems and unfair burdens on U.S. resources.
Since her arrival in Canada, the mother has been processing the trauma of the journey. “I haven’t cried yet. Maybe one day I will, to free myself. But for now, I still have things to do,” she said. She hopes to enroll her daughter in school soon and envisions a quiet life free from fear. Her birthday on February 12 holds new significance this year. “I’ve already given myself my gift,” she noted. “It was getting myself out of the mess I was in in the United States.”
The broader implications of such stories extend beyond individual fates. Migrant crossings at the northern border have surged in recent months, straining resources on both sides. Canadian officials have reported increased interceptions, while U.S. authorities emphasize joint efforts to deter irregular migration. For families like this one, the path to stability remains uncertain, hinging on asylum decisions that could take years.
As the woman settles into her new reality, her experience underscores the human cost of shifting immigration landscapes. With Trump's policies set to reshape lives for many, advocates warn of more perilous journeys ahead unless diplomatic solutions emerge. For now, she focuses on the present: safety for her daughter and a chance at a fresh start in Canada.