This commentary is by Patrick Lacroix, who is connected through family and research to central Vermont. He is the author of “John F. Kennedy and the Politics of Faith” and a scholar of Franco-American history. His work on the Barre granite strike of 1922 appeared in the Vermont History journal in 2020. He now lives in Fort Kent, Maine
One hundred years ago, following a nationwide recession, the owners of granite quarries and finishing shops in the Barre area gave workers an ultimatum. If the unions did not accept a drastic wage cut, the industry would implement an open-shop system and thus erode the unions’ bargaining power.
By April 1922, taking matters in their own hands, granite cutters and finishers were on strike. By May, they were resisting company efforts to bring outside labor.
More than a decade later, local families would recall that employers had “imported” French-Canadian strikebreakers and marched them through downtown Barre as a show of force. In truth, the scabs who disembarked in May came from neighboring states and by no means did they all have the same ethnic background.
Several high-profile incidents and the arrival of some Canadians contributed to local fears and tensions, however. French Canadians’ reputation as strikebreakers followed them into the community and grew over time, undermining the social position of those who had long lived in the region, including families that had, in fact, supported the strike.
This was one of many strikes that shook Barre in the early part of the 20th century. But the walkout of 1922 stood out in the minds of residents interviewed on the eve of World War II. This owed to the length of the strike — it stretched into 1923 — and to the tensions that were refracted ethnically. The course of events underscored the precarious cultural and economic position of French Vermonters through much of the 19th and 20th centuries.
Today, although people of French-Canadian descent are no longer considered a marginalized minority group, they remain on the periphery of our historical narratives. The pressures of mainstream U.S. culture have sapped our ability to remember and pass on the unique experiences of early immigrants to Vermont.
Joseph-André Sénécal, professor emeritus at UVM, made a similar case in the Vermont History journal in 2003. He argued that “Vermont’s definition of ethnicity, the source of much racial, gender and ethnic prejudice, inequality and intolerance, is closely associated with the narrative that we have built around the Yankee, the native Vermonter that Frank Bryan has tried to transform into a witty, taciturn, likeable ‘Real Vermonter’ who does not milk goats.”
Nearly two decades later, few writers and researchers have answered Sénécal’s call to study the French Canadians who bought marginal farms, the Irish who built the railroads, the Jews who brought an entrepreneurial spirit to Burlington and Bennington, and the Scottish and Italian skilled laborers who powered Barre’s granite industry and who sought to protect their own economic interests. We might add that the study of people of color is likewise still in its infancy.
In the case of French Canadians, we need to take an expansive view of their presence in the state, rather than narrowly identifying them with Winooski’s industrial history. Meaningfully, their story stretches back to the 1820s — and into every corner of the state. Beyond the families that claim and seek to preserve their French heritage, that story remains little-known.
In our effort to remember and honor this facet of Vermont history, we would do well to follow in Martha Pellerin’s footsteps. The daughter of a quarry worker, Pellerin sought to protect and amplify the state’s French ethnic heritage; she established the Franglais Cultural Center in Barre in the 1990s.
In an interview with Vermont Life in 1998, she spoke of her experience as an “in-between” — not being entirely at home with extended family in Quebec, nor meeting the typical image of a Vermonter. After seeing the Quebec folk band La Bottine Souriante in concert in her own state, it all suddenly came into focus.
“I became convinced that it was possible to bridge that gap, that I didn’t have to have two different lives, that somehow everything could come together,” Pellerin wrote. Her experience suggests that a more open and inclusive society is within reach, not least if we create spaces for distinct cultural experiences.
Similarly, the centennial of Barre’s granite strike serves as a reminder that it is within our power to foster dialogue and understanding across our differences. Helping other groups find representation in public monuments, sites of power, and cultural events can help us achieve that; so can better historical narratives.
