F e b r u a r y / M a r c h 2 0 1 8 6 5 L’Esprit de l’Escalier photo agent/adobe Sometimes we are compelled to examine–and reject–the many masks and monikers that are applied to us. The final discovery? Our diversity demands more than one simple epithet. By Rhea Côté Robbins W hat mask did you choose for Mardi Gras? The idea got me thinking about the masks–re- al and symbolic–that we wear. Mardi Gras has become one of those holidays that spills over cultural boundaries–like St. Patrick’s Day–an occasion that includes the world in its celebrations. Mardi Gras, for all Lenten penitents, is a day of excesses and carnivale. The mind sparks with creativity at the pos- sibility of a disguise for the day. Who are you beneath the mask on Mardi Gras? The wearing of a mask grants permission to en- vision or experience the other side of real- ity for a brief moment–to fleetingly become someone or something else. This is not un- like the masks many Franco-Americans wear on a daily basis to negotiate their way through an anglicized existence. Many of us are unaware of the masks we don on a daily basis. They are fixed to us by the sac- rifices and concessions made by our ances- tors in order to operate and survive as an immigrant in a hostile world. I read something recently that describes Franco-Americans and French-Canadi- ans in the U.S. as expats. This struck me as a creative way to describe the chain mi- gration of French-Canadians to the U.S in search of work and a better life. Expats do not wear masks. There’s an implied sta- tus in the title. The word conjures a picture of an individual who has chosen to emi- grate, and who will return to his or her na- tive country. Personally, to hear someone pronounce who or what Franco-Ameri- cans/French-Canadians are (or are not) is too simplistic. It sounds to me like the one making the pronouncement is on the de- fensive–or perhaps attempting to curry fa- vor. I would prefer an open dialogue, allow- ing for multiple interpretations that do not become lost in relativism but offer the op- portunity to self-define multi-dimension- ally through different places and cultures. I refuse to have my self-definition miniatur- ized by blanket pronouncements. I refuse to wear a mask. n RheaCôtéRobbinsistheauthorof ‘downthePlains,’and editorofHeliotrope–FrenchHeritageWomenCreate. Come closer: The word is masque, the root word for masquerade. A mask of detachment is “masque d’indifférence.” Alexander Dumas, born in Villers-Cotterêts, Aisne, France, wrote L’Homme au Masque de Fer in 1847. Tous La Même Nous Sommes Pas Nous Sommes Pas