Marie Ange Blaise died waiting for help in a country that calls itself civilized. She didn’t die in the shadows, either—she died with her name on a clipboard, her body logged into a system that forgot her before she stopped breathing. Broward Transitional Center is a bureaucratic slaughterhouse where medical care is a coin toss and the coin is always rigged.
Trump didn’t build Broward, but under his hand, it blossomed like rot. The policies sharpened, the indifference deepened, and the cost was Marie’s life. She was forty-four. She was Haitian. She was a detainee. She was disposable.
This wasn’t an accident. It was arithmetic. Cut care, cage humans, let time do the killing. Trump’s brand of governance is just a spreadsheet where the margins bleed and no one bothers to mop up.
Marie Ange Blaise’s heart was doomed the moment they laid eyes on her passport. She wasn’t some border crosser in the night—she was in St. Croix, a U.S. territory, boarding a flight to Charlotte, North Carolina. That was February 12th. By February 14th—Valentine’s Day, fitting for a nation that loves its cages—she was in ICE custody. That was the beginning of the end, but she didn’t know it yet.
They passed her around like state secrets gone sour—Puerto Rico, Louisiana, Florida—each stop stripping her down, each transfer a countdown her body could hear even if no one else was listening. By the time she landed in Broward, her heart was already making threats. Her blood pressure, a loaded gun. She begged them—my chest, it hurts. They gave her pills and told her to lie down and wait.
And when her heart finally gave up, when she started screaming, shaking, clutching at a chest full of dread, the only thing waiting was concrete and the fluorescent hum of indifference. CPR came, sure, after the damage was done. Emergency services arrived to document a corpse that had been living on borrowed time since February.
ICE says they’re investigating. Trump doesn’t have to say a damn thing—he built the machine that ground her up. She didn’t die because of a fluke. She died because the system made sure she had nowhere else to go but down.
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This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.