In March, the Bangor Daily News published an opinion piece by Tommy Pinette, of the University of Maine, who establishes a parallel that should be uncontroversial. There is an inherent danger in making historical comparisons; events never repeat perfectly. But Pinette argues persuasively that the rhetoric and barriers experienced by Maine’s Somali population would have been familiar to prior generations of Franco-Americans. The connections we find in his letter serve as a plea for compassion.

Alas, in keeping with the politics of our day, these claims have in fact proven controversial. I shared the piece in a Facebook group and perhaps I should have expected the response. The post received many expressions of support—as well as less favorable comments. Allegations of fraud laid before the Somali population of Minnesota have reverberated in Maine. Ignorant and xenophobic statements are not new, here, however. The arrival of Somali immigrants in Lewiston drew vocal opposition and mobilized white supremacists more than twenty years ago.

Desperately clinging to the hope that verifiable facts can help sort out debates like this one, I offer here not so much a political argument as a plea for good (read: informed) history. Below are the xenophobic statements and several points of fact that should have entered the conversation.

I recognize that these statements are hurtful and I appreciate the argument that they should not be repeated. I am, however, also sensitive to the notion that these views should be confronted, named, and identified for what they are.

“To compare French Canadian negativity to how Somali are is a slap to Franco’s. We for generations have worked our asses off, built our own schools, churchs, community. No so from them.”

Marginalization typically becomes self-perpetuating: minority groups are less likely to engage with the dominant culture and institutions if the latter have set out to exclude them. As a result, minority populations become invisible. To be sure, we might see people of Somali heritage. Visibility is something entirely different: it calls forth a level of understanding that breaks through the surface. It involves the acknowledgment of a culture as something whole—with an integrity and a dignity that justifies public space.

Beneath the surface, for instance, we might find efforts to pool meager resources to establish a mosque, as French-Canadian immigrants gathered funds to buy former Protestant churches, convert them into consecrated Catholic spaces, and recruit French-speaking priests. We might find articles for the Somali population in Amjambo Africa, much as French Canadians sought to nourish a shared cultural experience through newspapers. We might find the Somali Bantu Community Association, which provides mutual support and addresses food insecurity, not unlike the countless mutual benefit associations established by French Canadians on U.S. soil. We might find that, like prior generations of immigrants, the Somali population have contributed positively to the local economy—to say nothing of a wider revival of activity in Lewiston. More than that, they are taking an active part in politics (see here and here).

“The Franco’s didn’t ask for hand outs unlike immigrates today. They earned their way in this country like many others.”

“Not the-same thing. They did not live off the welfare. Families helped each other.”

The second quotation came in response to a comment about poor houses, a mention that received infinite bonus points from this historian. Similarly, when a Facebook user stated, accurately, that “Francos often collected assistance,” someone responded, “Not in the way it’s done now. They worked hard and earned the help.”

In New England, local and state welfare programs directly replaced poor houses and poor farms.[1] These were charitable institutions (albeit with sometimes less than charitable living conditions) supported by local tax dollars. Some inmates, as they were called, worked so far as they were physically and mentally capable.

In Vermont, Sheldon was home to a poor farm that served the towns of Franklin County in the northwestern part of the state. In 1860, the poor farm was a shelter to 14 Canadian-born inmates. Rose “Chuffloor” was 34 and we may assume that the two children, aged 10 and 4, bearing the same surname were hers. It seems likely that her husband had either passed away or deserted the family. The same extends to Nancy Labounta (Labonté), the apparent mother of three children. We don’t know anything about Nancy’s family but, as she turned to public charity, she did not find financial support from kin, wherever they may have been.

A young man named Durham Sharkey (Chartier) was also living at the Sheldon Poor Farm in 1860. He was listed as “insane.” This was his final home. He died in his early thirties in 1872. Prior to the advent of modern mental health facilities, poor farms were dumping grounds for people with severe intellectual deficiencies and mental health conditions. Divorcée Rosa “Labidre” was considered “idiotic.” She was in Sheldon in 1880 and, still, twenty years later. These individuals were supported by public welfare.

Some elderly and infirm individuals were also taken in and supported by charitable institutions. Battise Carponchy (Carpentier) was 81 and married, but his wife was not with him at the poor farm. She may not have been in a position to care for him. We find yet more of these “deserving elderly” in 1900: Susan Marco (Marcoux), aged 76; Aurilla Bocash (Beaucage), 74; Calista Laplaunt (Laplante), 81. Fellow inmates included Emily Shover, 45, the daughter of two Canadian-born parents and unable to speak English, and John Bruso (Brousseau), 47, in the same circumstances. Many of these people, had they had other options, would gladly have avoided the stigma of turning to public welfare.

In other areas of New England, towns made direct provisions for their local poor. Such was the case with Newmarket, New Hampshire, which became home to a large population of mill-working French Canadians at the end of the nineteenth century. In the 1920s, Newmarket’s civic leaders allotted funds to Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes Hospital and to the Saint-Charles Orphanage to care for the Morin and Labelle children respectively. They paid undertakers $75 for the burial of Joseph Vanasse. The town helped cover the cost of wood and fuel for J. A. Filion and groceries for Willie Moreau’s family. Rockingham County also had a poor farm and Newmarket paid the institution for the care of Hubert Dubois and Elie Bellefleur. If French names appear so consistently in a small center like Newmarket, we must wonder how many Franco-Americans received taxpayer-funded assistance in Manchester or Nashua.

Undoubtedly, many Franco-Americans benefited from soup kitchens and work relief programs during the Great Depression. The G. I. Bill later helped young men purchase a home and access higher education. A great number of families received benefits from the Union Saint-Jean-Baptiste, the Association Canado-Américaine, and the Forestiers franco-américains. We might object that with these private organizations, members were entitled to assistance through the dues that they paid. This seems an academic distinction from taxation, the chief difference being that UJSB insurance helped us, whereas public welfare happened to also help them.

Many voters today reject anything that smacks of welfare. This is all entwined in the bootstraps ideology that retrospectively romanticizes poverty and struggle. As far as Franco-Americans are concerned, we have to wonder: would the St. John Valley families that lost their farms during the Great Depression not have benefited from a safety net? Would urban Franco-American families not have benefited from assistance when mills shut down and moved away? As far as the Somali population goes, we have to wonder: are there no French names among Mainers who collect assistance and, if there are, why are we selectively focusing on the Somali?

“We worked hard, love our country and didn’t engage in transnational organized crime!”

Except that French Canadians did engage in transnational organized crime. Joseph Roberge pled guilty to violating the Chinese Exclusion Act in 1922. He had sought to smuggle “aliens” into the country. His charges included “conspiracy against the United States.” Similarly, Arthur Boucher brought Chinese men into the U.S. in defiance of immigration laws, for which he was prosecuted in Vermont in 1924. A cursory search into newspapers from the 1920s yields many French names associated with the illegal importation of alcohol during Prohibition. The liquor trade in the St. John Valley, today one of the most francophone regions of the United States, is well documented and is even featured on historical plaques.

Have Franco-Americans loved their country? Mostly, probably, yes. We should however wonder how long it took most families to truly commit to the United States. Most French-Canadian families left Lower Canada and later Quebec with the intention of returning. On average, until the turn of the twentieth century, they had a lower rate of naturalization and voter registration than many other immigrant groups. They also maintained closer ties to their home country. They were accused of holding a dual allegiance—which sounds an awful lot like the claims made against Somali immigrants in our day.

“Each group has to prove itself. Most have but a few not so much.”

A majority of immigrant groups in the United States have endured ferociously hostile rhetoric and marginalization at one time or other. Among these groups we find the Irish, Germans, Jews, Chinese, Japanese, etc. The commenter might agree that over the course of generations, these groups have proven themselves, whatever that might mean—and I regret using the same language. The fact that these heritage groups are now considered fully American despite the criticism lobbed at them in earlier times hints at a similar trajectory for the Somali population. This presents us with two options. We can marginalize these newcomers and postpone their sense of attachment and commitment to their adoptive country. Alternatively, we can invite them in and acknowledge the many paths to, and cultural variations of, Americanness (including Franco-Americanness and Somali-Americanness).

*          *          *

Franco-American history has been and is being repurposed to xenophobic ends. Once we peel away the historical myopia, the people who remain entrenched in their original position are left with a paltry “they’re different” based on the ignorance or fear of the other.

Though we are all guilty, at one time or other, of selective outrage, surely it is strange to express outrage at alleged fraud undertaken elsewhere and to target one specific racial group while ignoring a fiscal system that disproportionately benefits the wealthy and wastes taxpayer money in departments with trillion-dollar budgets. But perhaps it is not really about responsible fiscal management.

There is a word for the outrage that stems exclusively from the actions of individuals of color. It is all the more apt when a Franco-American who abuses his place of power is seen as a bad seed, as we have seen in Maine in the last fifteen years, yet the perceived failings of a person of color are made to represent their entire racial or ethnic group.

When we prejudge an entire group through blanket statements, we are perpetuating prejudice. When that prejudice turns against people of color or a specific immigrant population, we call it racial prejudice or racism. As we are finding out, that is something that we have yet to relegate to the dustbin of history.

Sources

The roster of individuals housed at the Sheldon Poor Farm appears in the federal census returns for the town. Town reports digitized by the local historical society chronicle the aid provided to Newmarket residents. Information about Roberge and Boucher appears in the Burlington Daily News of June 15, 1922 and December 4, 1924.

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[1] The mythical era of generous welfare payments with no strings attached has long passed. Racially-coded stories like that of Chicago’s welfare queen were used to spark backlash and, in the 1990s, to roll back various types of federal assistance. At that time, Congress established Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF) with strict eligibility conditions. This is the program that most people refer to as welfare. It is supported by matching state funds. Direct assistance also comes in the form of Social Security (including Medicare and Medicaid) and veterans’ benefits.

As of 2024, according to the U.S. Government Accountability Office, the federal government was spending $16.5 billion—an amount roughly matched by states—for TANF annually. For context, the country spends about $900 billion on defense annually. The figure for TANF is equivalent to $48.50 per U.S. resident. In Maine, if you were employed full-time at minimum wage, approximately one-tenth of one percent of your annual income went to federal “welfare.” Of all of the time that you spent on the job during the year, three hours’ worth of work helped needy families with children.

The amount appropriated for defense and the 36 percent of the federal budget allotted for Social Security and Medicare remain relatively uncontroversial by comparison. Taxpayers seem to think that the latter programs are earned because the contributions are itemized on pay stubs and in tax documents.