Is It Time to Retire the Term Franco-American?

After years of promoting my heritage, I'm beginning to question the name we've been using.

I've spent a good portion of my adult life celebrating and promoting my French-Canadian heritage. But over the last few years, I've found myself questioning something I never expected to.

I think I'm ready to retire the term Franco-American. At least when it comes to describing myself.

I've used the term for years. I've served on boards of Franco-American organizations, written about our history, and worked alongside people who have dedicated their lives to preserving our heritage. I have tremendous respect for that work.

But I've come to believe the name itself has a problem. And expanding PoutineFest events across New England really brought that into focus for me.

When I started PoutineFest in New Hampshire in 2015, I wanted to celebrate something that had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. Over the years, the event grew, and eventually I began bringing it into other New England states.

That expansion taught me quite a bit about how people connect with their heritage.

I was trying to introduce French-Canadian culture to new audiences, many of whom had little familiarity with our history. Some had French-Canadian ancestors and didn't know much about them. Others simply loved poutine and were curious about the culture behind it.

The more communities I visited, the more I found myself explaining what Franco-American meant before I could talk about the culture itself.

Tell someone you're Franco-American and there's a decent chance they'll think you're talking about canned spaghetti. Others assume you're referring to the relationship between France and the United States.

And then you have to explain that you're actually talking about people whose ancestors came from Québec and other French-speaking parts of Canada.

That's a lot of explaining for a name that's supposed to tell people who we are. A very clear branding issue. A good brand is easy to explain and identify.

When I talk about French-Canadian culture, people seem to understand what I'm talking about much more quickly. There's a connection to Canada, to Québec, and often to their own family history.

After enough of those conversations, I started asking myself whether a term that requires a lengthy explanation is still doing its job. So I started looking more closely at where it came from.

Historian David Vermette, author of A Distinct Alien Race: The Untold Story of Franco-Americans, has written extensively about the terminology used to describe our community.

In a 2021 article, he opened with a statement that really hits with me:

"We have a nomenclature problem. There is no unambiguous way to refer to ourselves."

He's right.

Vermette explains that the term Franco-American came into popularity shortly before 1900. Community leaders promoted it as a way to unite French-Canadians and Acadians who had settled in New England.

It was a period when our ancestors were trying to establish themselves in American society while maintaining their language and culture. Having a name that acknowledged their place in America made sense.

But Vermette also points out something I find fascinating. The term was more commonly used by community leaders and institutions than by working-class immigrants. Many of those immigrants continued identifying as French-Canadian.

In other words, the name wasn't necessarily something everyone embraced from the beginning.

And here we are, more than a century later, still using a name many of our families never knew existed.

I understand why the term mattered at the time. Our ancestors faced discrimination and enormous pressure to assimilate. They were trying to establish their place in a country that didn't always welcome them.

But we're living in a different world today. Most of us are generations removed from that immigration. In my own family, French disappeared long before my generation. Like many New England families, we've become a blend of different backgrounds.

Even so, the connection to Québec never completely disappeared. It's what led me into genealogy, cultural organizations, and eventually PoutineFest in the first place.

Over the years, I've noticed that I encounter the term Franco-American most often through institutions. It's in the names of organizations that have done important work preserving our history. I respect those institutions and everything they've contributed.

At the same time, when I meet younger people with Québec roots, I rarely hear them describe themselves as Franco-American. More often, they say they're French-Canadian or that they have French-Canadian ancestry. And I don't see anything wrong with that.

I've also thought about the Acadians, who have long maintained their own distinct identity. Their history is different from that of the French-Canadians who came primarily from Québec, and they've generally been comfortable identifying as Acadian. I respect that connection to their history.

For me, French-Canadian feels like the most natural way to describe my own family. My ancestors were French-Canadians. They brought their culture with them when they crossed the border, and pieces of it survived through the generations.

I'm an American, and I'm proud to be one. But I'm also proud of my French-Canadian roots. I don't feel that I need a special term to bring those two identities together.

This isn't a call for anyone else to abandon the term. For many people, Franco-American remains an important part of their identity. It simply no longer feels like the best description for mine.

After a decade of working to promote our culture, especially through expanding PoutineFest into new communities, I've come to realize how important it is to communicate who we are in a way people can immediately understand.

I want people to be curious about their heritage. I want them to ask questions about their ancestors and discover the history that connects New England to Québec. And I want that conversation to be as easy to start as possible.

For me, saying I'm of French-Canadian descent accomplishes that. Franco-American played an important role during a particular chapter of our history, and for many people it still carries real meaning.

For me, though, I've found myself returning to a simpler description. My ancestors were French-Canadian, I'm American and I'm proud of both.

And when someone asks about my heritage, French-Canadian tells them exactly what they need to know.

And besides, I'd much rather spend my time explaining our history than explaining why I'm not talking about spaghetti.