What do you call a gathering of Franco-Americans and friends of Franco-Americans? If you are in central Maine, it’s a Rassemblement, and you are sure to see it happen every spring.

The latest installment of the Rassemblement, an annual tradition for the Franco-American Centre at the University of Maine, was a tremendously thought-provoking and inspiring event, not least by virtue of the diverse voices that shared the stage. As a gathering of scholars, students, creative writers, artists, and community members, the event continues to offer insight on Franco-Americans’ history, memory, and identity. Immense thanks and kudos are due to Susan Pinette, Director of Franco-American Studies, and Lisa Michaud, the Community Engagement Coordinator, for the event’s success.

This being my first Rassemblement—caveat lector—I was thrilled simply to listen and learn. But I was also privileged to share some of my research and engage historically with other attendees.

The weekend was prefaced with a panel titled, “Franco-Americans, Acadians, and the Great War: The Legacies of World War I.”

Severin Beliveau—an attorney, former state legislator, and prominent advocate of Franco-American rights and culture—discussed his father’s experience in the Great War through the lens of his diary. (Stay tuned for his book!) Historian Mark Richard built upon prior research to discuss the effects of xenophobia on Franco-Americans; he notably drew from F. X. Belleau’s letter on the balance of survivance and legal Americanization. Doctoral candidate Elisa Sance brought much-needed attention to the struggle for equal rights in education in the Saint John River valley, in northern Maine. I learned a great deal from all three of my co-panelists, as I am sure our audience did.

I added my own touch by delving into the relatively unexplored field of Franco-American politics by addressing electoral success in the context of hardline Americanism. As many in the room recognized, my findings did not coincide perfectly with existing narratives on the subject.

There is ample knowledge of the discrimination and marginalization that people of French-Canadian descent faced on U.S. soil. No one denies it. It is, in fact, central to Franco-Americans’ historical consciousness. But researchers can do more to explore how Francos reacted and found modes of expression, which were religious but also political. At times they resisted, at times they conformed. Often they eagerly moved between two cultures—one of baseball and motion pictures, the other of parish rites and bilingual schooling—and this only served to raise suspicions among their neighbors. But the way in which Franco-Americans interpreted opportunities and viewed life in the United States appears to have undergone a significant shift in the period anchored by the Great War; further exploration of the crucial era may change how we understand Francos’ “arduous ascent,” as I put it. Without offering my research (indeed, still in its preliminary stage) as the last word on the subject, I hope I invited scholars to keep probing longstanding narratives.[1]

Our moderator, author David Vermette, actually opened up the discussion by sharing some of the dominant narratives of the Franco-American community.

• In regard to their relationship to the past, some Franco-Americans speak of decimation and decline; some offer a resolute, “We are still here!” Although few broached the question, the Rassemblement seemed in its humble but spirited way to weigh in favor of the latter.

• Another important theme is the issue of labeling. Again, few touched on this. Yet it is apparent that many in the community, regardless of generation, grew up identifying not as Franco-American, but as French or French-Canadian, or even Acadian in some areas of Maine. The term Franco-American seems to long have been elites’ preferred designation and seems to have become a more common label only in recent decades. There is still some resistance to the term. I leave the matter to those who claim that heritage… whatever “that” might mean to them.

• At last, there is the big question of Franco-American solidarity—whether Francos truly support one another. Beliveau and others recalled that doubts among fellow Francos sank Elmer Violette’s congressional campaign in the 1970s. That, of course, is assuming that solidarity, no matter what, should trump other interests that might arise, as some early twentieth-century editors and activists argued. With the Franco-American community—even this is a lofty term—being more diverse and divided now than perhaps at any point prior, unequivocal solidarity might be too remote a luxury. The governorship of Paul LePage has had the dubious virtue of showing how unlikely Franco political consensus has become—and with good reason.[2]

Historical research on Franco-Americans, however anchored in past events, inevitably touches on these identity-related themes, the first one in particular.

All historians are implicated in this. From a personal standpoint, none of my research is prescriptive.[3] I write about past people in past circumstances as honestly and as far as my sources will enable me. I believe this is true of most of my colleagues in the field—although few would relinquish their own agency as citizens. Yet I am keenly aware that my findings may not coincide with Franco-Americans’ vision of their own past—or that they may interpret my research in ways I had not intended or expected. The Rassemblement was especially helpful in this regard. Although I have been engaging with Franco-Americans for years, the event enabled me to better understand how history, memory, and identity can dialogue with one another. As I have previously argued,

conceiving of rather different destinations, academics and members of the Franco-American community should continue to nudge one another, urging one another on—here, in the direction of justice in our day, in the direction of an honest portrayal of our past. This means withdrawing from the debate as to who has the whole truth, or useful truths, and approaching one another with charity and humility.

Thus, having shared my findings, I was happy to simply listen. In this regard, in my next post, I will move beyond big historical—often unanswerable—questions to discuss what I heard Friday evening and Saturday and what we might make of Franco-American life in 2019. As always, stay tuned for more.

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[1] Although slightly beside the focus of my talk, this article provides a little more substance on the subject.

[2] I am reminded of an incident that took place along Lake Champlain in upstate New York, in the early 1790s, after French-Canadian soldiers had settled the area. Amidst an escalation of conflict among the settlers, Jacques Rouse visited a neighbor, sword in hand, and asserted that he was “full of grief that, so few Frenchmen as we are here, we cannot live in concord together.” See The Moorsfield Antiquarian, vol. 1, no. 2 (1937).

[3] A person of Franco-American descent recently told me, in almost as many words, “Don’t tell me who I am.” I make no such claim, of course, but the exchange goes to show how difficult it is to disentangle historical research from identity.