From the left: Dr. Fern Desjardins, Cathie Pelletier, Richard L’Heureux, Cecile Thornton, Denis Ledoux, and Doris Bonneau attend a Francophonie Day event at the Maine State House in Augusta, Maine on March 12.Juliana L’Heureux/The Canadian Press
For decades, Cecile Thornton had little motivation to speak French. Born into the minority francophone community in Lewiston, Maine, she says she and her family were often the target of ridicule.
“I was ashamed of my francophone roots,” she recalled in a recent phone interview in French. “There were a lot of people who laughed at and mocked us.” Thornton, whose maiden name is Desjardins, married an anglophone and didn’t teach her children French. It eventually disappeared from her daily life, and she says she lost her ability to converse in the language as a result.
That changed in 2016, when she began attending French-language meet-ups led by local immigrants from West Africa. Thornton says those conversations inspired her to reconnect with her mother tongue. “The African community helped me feel proud to be Franco,” she said.
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Now 68 years old, Thornton has become an advocate for French speakers in Maine, one of several members of the state’s francophone community striving to preserve their language and heritage. They hope a wave of recent African immigration and a growing recognition of the state’s Franco-American population will spark renewed interest in their cause. But the number of French speakers in Maine is dwindling, leading some to fear for their future.
Like Thornton, many francophone Mainers decided not to pass down their language in the 20th century. Children who did speak French faced further repression. A 1919 state law that banned education in French “had a long-term impact on how people perceived the value of their language,” said Patrick Lacroix, director of the Acadian Archives, housed in the University of Maine at Fort Kent. Maine only repealed the rule in 1969.
U.S. Census Bureau data underline the francophone community’s growing vulnerability. The agency estimated that about 30,000 of the more than 1.3 million people in the state spoke French at home in 2022, down from 33,000 in 2018 and from more than 40,000 four years before that.
Don Lévesque, a 76-year-old member of the centuries-old Acadian population in northern Maine, says his outlook on local efforts to promote French changes daily. “Sometimes I’m optimistic, sometimes I’m not,” he confessed in an interview.
Lévesque is the president of Le Club Français in the town of Madawaska on the border with New Brunswick, where he now lives. Founded in the 1990s by a group of residents concerned about the survival of their language, Le Club Français now offers French pre-kindergarten and elementary after-school programs, as well as conversational French courses for adults, he said.
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Next, the organization wants to create more opportunity for Maine Acadians to develop social lives in French, through such things as community suppers or movie nights. Le Club Français is also planning cultural excursions into New Brunswick, Lévesque said.
But engaging younger residents is a challenge, he admitted. “Sometimes I feel like a dinosaur,” he said. “The French speaking dinosaur in an English world.”
A second French-speaking population, in Southern Maine, descends from Canadian immigrants who worked in the area’s many mills in the 19th and 20th centuries. Jan Sullivan, a native francophone who leads a French conversation group at the Franco Center of performing arts in Lewiston, says African newcomers have “reawakened” the language in the community.
Though immigration has fuelled a welcome boost to French, it might not be enough to save the language, Sullivan warned. “I think it’ll survive for a few more years, several more years,” she lamented. “But eventually, I’m afraid it’s dying.”
Others are resisting the narrative of a culture in inevitable decline. Among them is Susan Pinette, a University of Maine professor and director of its Franco-American Center in the town of Orono, one of several institutions in the state working to publicize the community’s history. In an interview, she said the centre aims to counter portrayals of language and cultural loss by highlighting ongoing Franco-American activism.
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“The community is changing and that’s a good thing,” she said. “We don’t want (to be) a museum piece of something that’s stuck in the past.”
Lacroix agreed that what he called the “doom and gloom” narrative often ignores the grassroots efforts that have helped enhance the visibility of Maine’s Acadian community and organizations like his that foreground Franco-American heritage. “I think increasingly we are getting the attention of people in the state, which is really the first step even before we can start asking for greater support,” he said.
On Tuesday, the Maine legislature hosted a small ceremony to celebrate the state’s Francophonie Day. In its resolution proclaiming the holiday, the body cited a “resurgence in the use of the French language and a heightened appreciation of Franco-American heritage throughout the state.”
Despite the challenges facing French in Maine, Thornton said she remains hopeful for its future. She also encouraged Quebecers to cherish their connection to the language.
“If people in Quebec, they hold on to their French, they teach their children French, it’s going to be a very good thing for the language,” she said.
Evan Ipsaro scored 24 points to lift Miami of Ohio to a 93-61 win over the University of Maine in a non-conference men’s basketball game on Saturday in Oxford, Ohio.
Keelan Steel scored 14 points for Maine, which has lost 11 straight games to start the season. The Black Bears trailed 28-6 just over 10 minutes into the first half.
Eian Elmer added 16 points and six rebounds for the RedHawks (8-0).
Sara Broninis the founder of the National Zoning Atlas, a George Washington University law professor and author of “Key to the City: How Zoning Shapes Our World.”
Over the last few years, the nonprofit National Zoning Atlas team has set out to map every zoning code in America to do one simple thing: let the public see how their communities regulate land. We developed this goal because zoning rules can have big impacts: they dictate to property owners what they can do with their properties.
Before we started work in Maine last spring, we would have never guessed that Maine’s codes would be the most bureaucratic and convoluted of the 30-plus states we’ve worked. We thought that Maine’s relatively small population and few urban centers — not to mention its proud commitment to property rights and personal freedom — would mean the codes would be short and straightforward.
We couldn’t have been more wrong.
We can say authoritatively that Maine’s zoning is far out of the norm because we’ve analyzed zoning conditions in nearly 9,000 cities, towns and counties across America, and we’ve read over a million pages of zoning codes. We’ve become experts in analyzing the arcana of minimum lot sizes, setbacks, height caps and parking mandates.
In Maine, we started first in Washington County. More recently, through a partnership with GrowSmart Maine, we’ve completed analysis of zoning in and around Portland.
Well, mostly completed. Of the 123 jurisdictions we have reviewed so far (of Maine’s 496 total with zoning authority), 17 never provided a full copy of their zoning text, map or both.
The texts we could find — totaling 17,500 pages — revealed that Maine appears to have some of the longest zoning codes in the country. New Hampshire, with roughly the same population, has half the number of jurisdictions exercising zoning, and zoning codes half as long as Maine’s.
And when we located maps, some existed only as grainy, pixelated PDFs with faded lines and unclear boundaries. Others existed only in paper copy, not online.
What’s worse, Maine piles “shoreland zoning” on top of zoning. Shoreland zoning was created to protect water quality, but it’s hard to see how it achieves this goal. Zoning maps and shoreland zoning maps often conflict or don’t match up, and too often codes refer to outdated or inconsistent data about wetlands and watercourses. Even analysts who had handled notoriously complicated coastal zoning in California struggled to make sense of Maine’s regime.
When we had questions about interpreting texts and maps, we often had nowhere to turn. That’s because many of the 123 jurisdictions were very small towns, with part-time staff, or no staff at all. If our trained analysts cannot make sense of the rules, and no one’s on the other end of the line, it’s unrealistic to expect homeowners, builders or neighbors to do so. We imagine that many well-intentioned local officials feel caught administering systems that no one fully understands.
State legislators have taken action on zoning — primarily to promote more housing. They recently expanded opportunities for multifamily housing and made it easier to build accessory dwelling units. These are laudable and necessary reforms. Our analysis so far shows that only 15% of residential land allows multi-family housing by right, and more than half of single-family land bans accessory dwellings.
But legislators have not tackled a more fundamental need exposed by our Maine Zoning Atlas: to simplify and clarify the state’s land use regulatory framework. Property owners and policymakers alike experience zoning as a maze, where they must navigate missing information, conflicting requirements and procedural runaround.
To provide a way out, next legislative session, state lawmakers should consider requiring zoning codes to be available to the public online. Or requiring maps to be legible, with shoreland zoning clearly mapped. How can people be bound by rules they cannot find, or understand?
Legislators should also consider legalizing — and providing incentives for — local governments to share resources in land use administration. Small towns might be more empowered to achieve their land use goals if they have the tools and manpower they need to interpret and enforce their own zoning codes. Legislators might also rethink shoreland zoning altogether.
I’d like to say our nonprofit is eager to find funding to finish our analysis in Maine. But honestly, it’s been a bit of a nightmare.
For the sake of our team — and anyone else trying to make sense of zoning in Maine — I urge people in power to take action to streamline the state’s regulatory framework. There’s just no reason Maine’s land use rules should be the most complicated in the country.
ORONO — Alfond Arena has long been among the toughest rinks in college hockey for opponents to come in and win. Barely two months into the season, though, the refurbished building hasn’t been its typical cozy home for the Black Bears.
Maine lost to New Hampshire 1-0 at Alfond Arena on Friday night. The Wildcats improved to 8-7 overall, 4-4 in Hockey East. Maine is now 8-6-1 overall, 5-4 in conference play. The teams will meet again Saturday night at Alfond.
It was Maine’s third loss in nine games at Alfond Arena this season, giving the Black Bears more home losses than in each of the last two full seasons. It was the first time Maine was shutout at home since Feb. 24, 2024, a 4-0 loss to Northeastern.
“We don’t have that next level of push in our team right now. It’s not that we don’t have good players and can’t do some things. We can,” Maine coach Ben Barr said. “Right now, the honest truth is, we don’t have a very good culture in our room, and that starts with me.”
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The Wildcats scored the lone goal at 4:14 of the third period when Cam MacDonald recovered a Maine turnover at the New Hampshire blue line, skated untouched down the ice and slipped a shot over the glove of Black Bear goalie Mathis Rousseau.
Maine outshot UNH 21-14, and 9-1 in a dominant first period in which the Black Bears controlled play and did everything but put the puck in the net.
“I think sometimes it’s almost a scary feeling when you come out in that first period playing as well as we did and not coming away with anything. You feel like it’s a missed opportunity,” said Thomas Freel, a Maine captain.
Rousseau made 14 saves. Kyle Chauvette stopped 21 shots to earn the shutout.