Why Do Cajuns Identify as Cajuns (And Not as Creoles)?

This essay is one of five in which I address current issues in Cajun and Creole studies. The other essays can be found here.

I wrote these works not only as a historian, but as someone who identifies as both a Cajun and a Creole. As I note elsewhere, “[M]any of my ancestors were Creoles of French heritage. My own family tree abounds with tell-tale Creole surnames: de la Morandière, Soileau, de la Pointe, Fuselier de la Claire, Brignac, Bordelon, de Livaudais, and others. . . . As such, I could, if I chose to do so (and sometimes I do), identify as Creole — doubly so because Cajuns themselves are to begin with a kind of Creole.”

I trust those with whom I express disagreement will accept this critique in the collegial spirit it is intended.

I thank Dr. Barry Jean Ancelet, Dr. Marc David, independent researchers Don Arceneaux, Wade Falcon, and Ryan Bernard, and former CODOFIL president Warren A. Perrin for proofing the below essay.

❧

Recently, someone asked me, “Why do Cajuns identify as Cajuns?”

This implied other, related questions, namely “Why don’t Cajuns identify as Creoles? Aren’t they a type of Creole?” — as some, including myself, assert.

The short answer is: Like their Acadian ancestors, Cajuns have always viewed themselves as a distinct people. Even from other south Louisiana Creoles.

Not only culturally distinct, but, as importantly, historically distinct.

Poster in downtown Lafayette, La.
(photo by the author, 2024)

Let’s start with a few definitions:

In its broadest sense, the term “Creole” can mean a native-born Louisianian of French-speaking (less commonly Spanish-speaking) Roman-Catholic heritage — a definition without racial connotations. According to this definition, one can be Black, White, or multiracial and be Creole. “Cajun,” on the other hand, refers to descendants of Acadian exiles in south Louisiana and all the other ethnic groups with whom those exiles and their descendants intermarried.(1)

Some understandably ask “Wouldn’t Cajuns therefore qualify as Creoles?” Because what are Cajuns in their broadest sense but native-born Louisianians of French-speaking, Roman-Catholic heritage? 

A growing number of Cajuns, Creoles, scholars, and activists accept this notion of Cajun ethnicity. They agree that Cajuns are indeed a kind of Creole. 

A kind of Creole — and yet, most would assert, still Cajun.

This might prompt the further inquiry: “Yes, but why do Cajuns continue to see themselves as distinct from other Creoles?” Creoles who today seem eager to welcome Cajuns into their fellowship, but only if, as some Creoles insist, they jettison the “Cajun” label.

In short, the message is “Stop calling yourselves ‘Cajuns,’ start calling yourselves ‘Creoles.’”

The "Flag of the Louisiana Acadians,"
late 1960s.

Some who support this idea imply if not outright assert, without evidence, that Cajuns are not a real ethnic group. That Cajun identity came into being only in the late 1960s as a racist response to the Civil Rights Movement. That “Cajun” is therefore a made-up or fake ethnic label.(2)

Clearly, however, the word means a great deal to a great many people. According to recent census data, over 107,000 Americans (more than 74,000 of whom reside in Louisiana and, to a lesser extent, Texas) identify their primary ethnicity as “Cajun.” (The same census data shows about 14,000 persons in Louisiana and Texas choosing “Creole” as their primary ethnicity.)(3)

Despite the dubious claim that “Cajun” is “a new identity” dating back only 55 to 60 years, researchers (including me) have shown that the word originated as an ethnic label in English as early as 1862 — and in French as early as 1851.(4) Since then, the label’s use has not only persisted but grown enormously.

Google "Ngram" chart showing use of "Cajun" 
in books. Note the uptick spurred by the Cajun fad of the 1980s.
(Source: Google Books Ngram Viewer)

And these findings are based solely on printed references. Who knows when the word “Cajun” (whatever its spelling) first sprang into existence purely as a spoken word? 

Returning to the core issue “Why do Cajuns identify as Cajuns?”: 

Given the size of their population (again, over 107,000), there could be any number of reasons why individuals identify as Cajuns. A theoretical Cajun might have embraced the term because their parents and other relatives identified as Cajuns; because they inherited a surname commonly regarded as Cajun; because they identified closely with other self-identifying Cajuns; because they discovered their Cajun ancestry through family oral traditions, genealogical research, or state-of-the-art DNA testing, among other reasons.

In other words, Cajuns choose to identify as Cajuns for the same reasons other peoples around the globe embrace their identities — whether we speak of present-day Assyrians in the Middle East, the Tagalog people of the Philippines, the Mestizos of Spanish America, or any other group. Including, for that matter, the Creoles of south Louisiana.

Another factor may be the tendency of some racial and ethnic communities to identify by subgroup rather than under a broad umbrella label. This pattern, for example, appears among Native Americans. As the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian notes, “The consensus . . . is that whenever possible, Native people prefer to be called by their specific tribal name.” Similarly, one Native American philanthropy organization observes, “[M]ost Indigenous individuals prefer to be called by their specific tribal affiliation(s) and many may also prefer to use their tribe’s traditional name. . . .” Although the comparison is not exact, a parallel might be seen in the preference for “Cajun” over the broader, more encompassing “Creole”—that is, assuming many Cajuns even think of themselves as a type of Creole (a concept many Cajuns are simply unfamiliar with).(5)

Consider, however, one particularly powerful driving force of ethnic identification: history or, less formally, storytelling — both of which play a vital role in creating group identity and cohesiveness. For example, the story of the Acadian expulsion fits into a long tradition of exile narratives, such as the Romans claiming descent from defeated sea-wandering Trojans, the Israelites' forty-year exodus from Egypt leading to the Promised Land, or the Pilgrims departing England for religious freedom in the Netherlands before voyaging to America and founding Plymouth Colony.

Called Le Grand Dérangement (The Great Upheaval), the Acadians’ tragic exile experience occurred when British redcoats (often New England colonists in service to the Crown) sought to expel the region's 12,000 to 18,000 Acadians, including women and children. A third to a half of the exiles died from disease, starvation, exposure, and outright violence. As prisoners, they were shipped to inhospitable locales in England, the thirteen British colonies of North America, the French mainland, the Caribbean, and elsewhere. About a decade later, the first of roughly 3,000 Acadian exiles arrived in south Louisiana, a new homeland they tellingly called Nouvelle Acadie. In time, their descendants would come to be known as Cajuns.(6)

Carl Brasseaux's important study
The Founding of New Acadia.

This exile spread the distinct Acadian identity far beyond Nova Scotia and its environs. As noted by Carl A. Brasseaux, author of seminal works about Cajun and Creole history:

[M]ainstream historians of the past 150 years . . . have clearly established that the French colonists of the Bay of Fundy Basin [i.e., Acadia] had forged a new, collective ethnic identity as Acadians long before their expulsion from Canada in 1755. . . . During the ensuing years of exile and wandering, the Acadians were universally regarded by their reluctant hosts [in the places to which they were deported] as a distinct people with a common ethnic identity. That identity clearly remained intact after successive waves of surviving Acadians made their way to Louisiana between 1764 and 1788.(7)

 

The 1755 expulsion of the Acadians.

Cajuns aware of their history regard the expulsion and its aftermath as a painful but defining legacy, one that serves to further distinguish them from other ethnic groups. Even from those who endured their own diasporas, as in the case of Creoles of African heritage.(8)

Brasseaux moreover observes, “At the time of their arrival [in south Louisiana] and for decades afterward, the exiles’ ethnicity was clearly and unequivocally recognized by established Louisianians, including proto-Creoles, who clearly viewed the immigrants as the ‘other.’” 

Another book by Brasseaux (et al.).

Indeed, Creoles in the l9th and early 20th centuries — white Creoles, but Creoles nevertheless — worked to distance themselves from, and exclude, Cajuns. As an 1881 federal census study maintained, “The Creoles proper will not share their distinction with the native descendants of those worthy Acadian exiles who . . . found refuge in Louisiana. These remain ‘cadjiens’ or ‘cajuns’. . . .” And as one scholar observed in 1939, “[The Creoles] often had a word for the poorer Cajuns: ‘Canaille!’ — that was their way of saying poor-white trash.”(9)

Brasseaux adds, “This does not mean that, after centuries of evolutionary adaptation to the same physical and cultural landscapes, there were not similarities” between Cajuns and other Creoles.

So, yes, Brasseaux says, the Cajuns are similar to other Creoles. Similar, yet distinct.

UL Lafayette sociologist Jacques Henry concurs, asserting, “[B]y the turn of the [20th] century, Cajuns/cadiens are a group symbolically discrete. . . . [and] a breed apart.”(10)

Furthermore, modern evidence reveals legal and genetic proof of Cajun separateness. In 1980 a U.S. federal court, per the lawsuit Roach v. Dresser, established that Cajuns are a federally recognized ethnic group of “foreign descent” and therefore protected from discrimination by the Civil Rights Act of 1964. As the presiding judge stated, “By affording coverage under the ‘national origin’ clause of Title VII [of the Civil Rights Act] he [the Cajun] is afforded no special privilege. He is given only the same protection as those with English, Spanish, French, Iranian, Czechoslovakian, Portuguese, Polish, Mexican, Italian, Irish, et al., ancestors.”(11) 

My 2003 book The Cajuns:
Americanization of a People.

Meanwhile, scientists identified a distinctive “Cajun genotype” traced to the early Acadians’ common origins in southwest France. Acadians and Cajuns compounded this trait through intermarriage, a practice encouraged by generations of remote settlement patterns.(12)

So there you have it: Cajuns identify as Cajuns because they have always viewed themselves as a distinct people. And the reason they have viewed themselves as distinct is not merely cultural, but historical — a history in which observers not only categorized them as separate, but, as Brasseaux notes, in which Creoles abetted Cajun separateness by casting them as undesirable “others.” The Cajuns’ resulting sense of distinct identity has only been reinforced by modern legal and genetic evidence.

As I have written before, today’s moral consensus demands we respect others’ professed identities and reject erasure in all its execrable forms. Is it therefore fitting that some would tell Cajuns that their identity — one existing in the historical record for at least 175 years — is incorrect and should be changed? Or should we respect how others choose to identify, put aside past and present enmities, and work together for mutual benefit, as many scholars, activists, and others in Cajun and Creole south Louisiana have already done for decades?

Notes

(1) For more information, see my previous essay: Shane K. Bernard, “Of Cajuns and Creoles: A Brief Historical Analysis,” Bayou Teche Dispatches, 13 February 2022, http://bayoutechedispatches.blogspot.com/2019/06/of-cajuns-and-creoles-brief-historical.html, accessed 22 September 2025.

My definitions of “Cajun” and “Creole” are merely working definitions for my purposes and I would not presume to impose them on anyone. Ultimately, ethnicity resists definition. 

(2) Shane K. Bernard, “Born of ‘Elite’ White Reactionism?: Assessing Claims about the Rise of Cajun Ethnicity,” Bayou Teche Dispatches, 5 May 2022, https://bayoutechedispatches.blogspot.com/2022/05/born-of-elite-white-reactionism.html, accessed 22 September 2025.

(3) Shane K. Bernard, “Disappearing Cajuns and Creoles? Ethnic Identity and the Limits of Census Data,” Bayou Teche Dispatches, 20 June 2024, http://bayoutechedispatches.blogspot.com/2024/06/cajuns-creoles-and-limits-of-census-data.html, accessed 22 September 2025.

Self-identification is by far the most common method of declaring one’s ethnic affiliation. Indeed, short of genetic testing and meticulous genealogical research — which some people consider deeply personal and extremely private — what other method of ethnic identification is there? Reliance on self-identification — practiced routinely, for example, by the U.S. Census Bureau — admittedly carries the possibility of error, even deception. It assumes, however, that most claimants respond in good faith and with some degree of accuracy.

(4) Shane K. Bernard, “Notes on the Birth of Cajun Ethnic Identity,” Bayou Teche Dispatches, 12 February 2022, http://bayoutechedispatches.blogspot.com/2020/09/notes-on-birth-of-cajun-ethnic-identity.html, accessed 22 September 2025. 

Some counter that “Cajun” was used in south Louisiana solely as a negative term prior to the birth of the Cajun pride movement in the 1960s. They also claim “Cajun” was used solely as a catch-all term for any poor White French-speaker, no matter their culture or heritage. Yet analysis of 19th- and 20th-century primary-source evidence reveals a more complex, more nuanced use of “Cajun.” While negative occurrences of the word “Cajun” certainly exist — some of them scathing — so, too, do positive and neutral ones. Likewise, while “Cajun” was sometimes applied to all poor French-speaking Whites, it also commonly denoted those who descended from Acadian exiles. In short, the issue of how “Cajun” was used in the past is by no means monolithic.

Evangeline.

(5) “Excerpts from Do All Indians Live in Tipis?,” Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian, n.d.,  https://americanindian.si.edu/nk360/faq/did-you-know, , accessed 4 March 2026; “Indigenous Identity: More Than ‘Something Else,’” Native Americans in Philanthropy, 24 November 2020, https://nativephilanthropy.org/blog/2020/11/24/indigenous-identity-more-than-something-else, accessed 4 March 2026.

(6) John Mack Faragher, A Great and Noble Scheme: The Tragic Story of the Expulsion of the French Acadians from their American Homeland (New York: W. W. Norton, 2005), pp. 469-471. Faragher writes, “The Acadian entry in the book of the dead is staggering: in July 1755 they numbered eighteen thousand persons in the maritime region. Over the next eight years an estimated ten thousand exiles and refugees lost their lives as a direct result of the campaign of expulsion” (pp. 470-71).

Carl A. Brasseaux, “Scattered to the Wind”: Dispersal and Wanderings of the Acadians, 1755-1809 (Lafayette, La.: The Center for Louisiana Studies, University of Southwestern Louisiana [now University of Louisiana at Lafayette], 1991), pp. 4, 67, Table VI; ____________, The Founding of New Acadia: The Beginnings of Acadian Life in Louisiana, 1765-1803 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1987), p. 91. In the former source, Brasseaux places the pre-expulsion population of the Acadians at 12,000 to 18,000 and the number of Acadian exiles eventually arriving in colonial Louisiana at about 2,600. In the latter source, he places the number arriving in colonial Louisiana at “2,600 to 3,000.”

Faragher's Great and Noble Scheme.

(7) All Brasseaux quotes in this essay derive from Carl A. Brasseaux, Lafayette, La., to Shane K. Bernard, New Iberia, La., 9 May 2022, email correspondence in Bernard’s possession. 

(8) One might ask “What about persons of African heritage who, because of interracial relations, share the Cajuns’ genetic fingerprint and possibly also their language, music, foodways, and other cultural markers, right down to their Cajun surnames? Should they not be considered ‘Cajun’?” There is no denying a racial element to Cajun identity. As I have shown, despite claims to the contrary, Cajuns and their Acadian ancestors have historically been considered “White.” Regardless, I believe someone of both Acadian and African ancestry should be free to identify as Cajun. Indeed, there is no legitimate reason they should not identify as Cajun, if they so choose. I would, however, never tell someone how to identify: that is a choice they should decide for themselves, and their decision should be respected.

(9) George E. Waring Jr. and George W. Cable, History and Present Condition of New Orleans, Louisiana: Social Statistics of Cities, Tenth Census of the United States (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Interior/U.S. Government Printing Office, 1881), 10; Shields McIlwaine, The Southern Poor-White from Lubberland to Tobacco Road (Norman, Okla.: University of Oklahoma Press, 1939), p. 143.

(10) Jacques Henry, “From Acadien to Cajun to Cadien: Ethnic Labelization and Construction of Identity,” Journal of American Ethnic History 17 (Summer, 1998): 39.

(11) Shane K. Bernard, The Cajuns: Americanization of a People (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2003), pp. 136-37; ____________, “Calvin J. Roach v. Dresser Industrial Valve and Instrument Division,” 64 Parishes, 19 January 2023, https://64parishes.org/entry/calvin-j-roach-v-dresser-industrial-valve-and-instrument-division, accessed 22 September 2025; James Harvey Domengeaux, “Native-Born Acadians and the Equality Ideal,” Louisiana Law Review 46 (July 1986): 1152, 1158, 1159-60, 1194-95, passim.

(12) Bernard, The Cajuns, p. 147.

Notes on Emancipation in Louisiana, 1863-1865

I have been asked a number of times “When did slavery in Louisiana end?”*

The short answer is that slavery in Louisiana ended between the enactment of the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863, and the ratification of the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution on December 6, 1865.

Enslaved sugarcane field workers in south Louisiana.
Source: Harper's Monthly (1853)

Yet the question demands a more complicated response.

While the U.S. government dealt with the status of enslaved persons in the Confiscation Acts of 1861 and 1862 and the Captured and Abandoned Property Acts of 1863, those measures permitted Union troops to seize and free enslaved persons only under very specific conditions.(1) It was the Emancipation Proclamation, however, that aimed to free enslaved persons en masse. Yet a reading of the Proclamation reveals — much to the surprise of many who have never examined it, at least not in detail — that U.S. President Abraham Lincoln excluded from its effects by name the Louisiana parishes (counties) of, to quote the Proclamation itself, “St. Bernard, Plaquemines, Jefferson, St. John, St. Charles, St. James, Ascension, Assumption, Terrebonne, Lafourche, St. Mary, St. Martin, and Orleans, including the City of New Orleans. . . .”

Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation (1863)
with exempted parishes highlighted.
Source: Lincoln Presidential Library
(click to enlarge)

The question then arises, “Why did Lincoln exclude these parishes from the Proclamation?”

Many American historians declare that Lincoln excluded these parishes because they were “Union-held” and, as is commonly known, the Proclamation freed the enslaved only in areas held by Confederate forces. Thus, as one historian notes, “Lincoln’s critics were quick to . . . claim that the Proclamation had never freed anyone at all. ‘Where he has not power Mr. Lincoln will set the negroes free; where he retains power he will consider them as slaves,’. . .” Others, the same historian observes, strongly disagreed: “No one should ‘for a moment imagine that the Emancipation Proclamation had no force in law,’ warned one abolitionist. ‘By that instrument three millions of slaves were legally set free.’”(2)

It is telling that contemporary observers expressed such opposing views about the document’s impact. Today, historians continue to evaluate the Proclamation. Yet the reason for Lincoln’s exclusion of those thirteen Louisiana parishes has been overlooked or explained away rather dubiously.

Section of the Emancipation Proclamation
exempting certain south Louisiana parishes.
Source: National Archives & Records Administration

As noted, some sources claim Lincoln excluded those thirteen parishes because they were Union-held and thus beyond the Proclamation’s stated intent of freeing the enslaved only in “the States and parts of States wherein the people thereof respectively, are this day in rebellion.”

“This day” meaning January 1, 1863, the day the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect.

Here a problem arises: on that date those thirteen parishes were not entirely Union-held.

While Orleans Parish (including the city of New Orleans) and other parishes along the Mississippi River were wholly or largely Union-held, others of those thirteen parishes were not Union-held. Take, for example, St. Martin and St. Mary parishes.(3) At the time of the Proclamation’s enactment, neither St. Martin Parish nor the majority of St. Mary Parish were Union-held,(4) despite the ability of Union gunboats to ascend their meandering rivers and bayous.

Map of the exempted parishes,
by the author.

When in the middle of that very month, for instance, a Union flotilla dared to steam up Bayou Teche — a vital 125-mile waterway of both strategic and economic importance — it encountered a withering barrage of enemy fire hailing from sharpshooters on land and a Rebel gunboat on water. Both sides suffered losses (among them the flotilla’s commander), but it was the Union that withdrew, leaving Rebels in command of the entire Teche.(5)

Again, why did Lincoln exclude those thirteen parishes from the Emancipation Proclamation when some were demonstrably not Union-held?

Two present-day historians, Stephanie McCurry of Columbia University and Martin Ruef of Duke University independently put forth the idea that Lincoln excluded those parishes because he (correctly or not) believed them to be bastions of pro-Union sentiment.(6) In other words, Lincoln did not wish to spoil the goodwill he thought existed in that alleged pro-Union enclave.(7)

Granted, the two historians do not overtly state why Lincoln excluded those parishes. They do strongly imply he did so because he viewed them as pro-Union. McCurry, for example, observes, “Nor did the Emancipation Proclamation resolve the dilemma [of enslavement], because the southern Louisiana parishes, with their cohort of Unionist sugar planters, were officially exempt from its provisions” [my italics].

Regardless, McCurry and Ruef confirm my interpretation of their writings. To my query McCurry responded, “[Y]our reading accords with my own,” while Ruef likewise replied, “[M]y understanding certainly dovetails with yours. In the book [his Between Slavery and Capitalism], I suggest that the exclusion resulted from efforts by Union authorities to maintain the support of sugar plantation owners.”(8)

Another present-day historian, John C. Rodrigue, formerly of Louisiana State University, now of Stonehill College, offers a similar if slightly qualified view of Lincoln’s motivation. As Rodrigue states in his Reconstruction in the Cane Fields, “[T]he proclamation specifically exempted from its provisions the sugar parishes. . . . [I]n addition to Lincoln’s refusal, on grounds of constitutional scruples, to attack slavery in areas not in rebellion, he also hoped to win the support of loyal slaveholders for a Unionist government for Louisiana” [my italics].

Like McCurry and Ruef, Rodrigue further explained his outlook in correspondence with me. In that exchange, he noted

I’m not sure I would go so far as to say that Lincoln excluded those areas because they were “pro-Union,” or even because he thought they were pro-Union [my italics]. I think it would be more accurate to say that [there] were some slaveholders (and other whites) who were loyal [to the Union], or there were slaveholders in those parishes who had previously supported the Confederacy but who were now willing to resume their allegiance [to the North] if doing so would help them to keep their slaves. . . . But in terms of the political loyalties of the majority of the white populations, these were not pro-Union areas. . . . Again . . . I would not necessarily concur in the statement that the excluded areas were “pro-Union” in their sentiment. But they did have potential Unionist elements that Lincoln was hoping to build on.

In other words, Rodrigue avers that Lincoln excluded those thirteen south Louisiana parishes not because he viewed them as significantly “pro-Union,” but because they harbored a population of sugar-planter slaveowners whom the President viewed as “potential Unionist elements.”(9)

Notably, those thirteen excluded parishes made up the entirety of Louisiana’s first and second U.S. Congressional districts, which — despite the ongoing conflict — sent two congressmen to Washington in early December 1862. That Lincoln should one month later exclude those parishes, and only those parishes, from the Emancipation Proclamation hardly seems coincidental. As one of those congressmen shortly observed, “[I]n the first and second congressional districts . . . those people have always in every election, and under the most trying circumstances, shown their fidelity to this [U.S.] Government.” Lincoln, in short, had no wish to derail pro-Union sentiment in two south Louisiana congressional districts still active in the U.S. political system, even as the rest of the state deferred to the Confederacy.(10)

Whatever its impetus, the exclusion clause in the Emancipation Proclamation had real consequences. This is demonstrated by a circular printed by Union troops on capturing the town of New Iberia (located at the time, April 1863, in St. Martin Parish). Preserved in the Library of Congress, that circular declared, “The generally received impression, that the slaves of this Parish, are free, by force of the presence of the Union army is erroneous [original italics].” It continued, “This Parish . . . is excepted by name, in the Emancipation Proclamation, of President Lincoln, issued at Washington, D.C., January 1, 1863. . . . No farther [sic] interference, with the institution of slavery will be allowed by the Army Authorities, than may necessarily result from the police regulations.”(11)

Union circular stating that enslaved persons
in occupied St. Martin Parish were not free.
Source: Library of Congress

Putting aside the Proclamation, the question remains, “When did slavery in Louisiana end in actuality, including in those thirteen excluded parishes?”

A reasonable answer might be that it ended months after the Civil War’s conclusion, when on December 6, 1865, the various states ratified the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. That amendment stated, “Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.”

Yet the Union-held part of Louisiana had already abolished slavery as early as September 5, 1864.(12) On that date the state’s Union-controlled parishes ratified a new state constitution, the first article of which declared, “Slavery and involuntary servitude . . . are hereby forever abolished and prohibited throughout the state.”(13)

Detail of the 1864 Louisiana state constitution
abolishing slavery (ratified September 1864).

Like the Emancipation Proclamation, this article was unenforceable in most of Louisiana, where the Confederate government remained in control. But with the South’s defeat in April 1865, the entire state fell under the rule of this new constitution and its vital antislavery article.

One could argue, however, that the Union-backed state government ended slavery even earlier than September 1864. On May 11 that year, the same state government issued an ordinance outlawing slavery within its borders.(14) Like the state constitution ratified months later, this May ordinance was unenforceable throughout most of Louisiana.

Louisiana ordinance
abolishing slavery (May 1864)
Source: Library of Congress

A mere ordinance might be said to lack the gravitas of a law framed in a state constitution. Yet an ordinance offered a notable benefit over a constitution and its complicated ratification process. As an abolitionist wrote of Louisiana’s new antislavery ordinance, “This important act, passed almost unanimously by the only legislative power in the State, does not need the ratification of the people to make it law. . . . [I]t no more stands in need of popular ratification than any other ordinance. . . . [W]ithout waiting for that endorsement, it is the law.”(15) In other words, the ordinance served as a feasible stop-gap measure pending ratification of the new antislavery state constitution.

This attempt to answer the broad question “When did slavery end in Louisiana?” demonstrates how messy history can be — even when dealing with a major well-documented event that occurred only 160 years ago.

To summarize, we might consider several possible dates for the end of slavery in Louisiana:

• January 1, 1863: when the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect (covering only Rebel-held parts of Louisiana);

• May 11, 1864: when the Union-backed Louisiana state government issued an ordinance banning slavery statewide (including both Union-held and, if symbolically, Rebel-held territory);

• September 5, 1864: when voters in Union-controlled parts of Louisiana ratified a new antislavery state constitution (effective in Union-held and, if symbolically, Rebel-held territory);

• December 6, 1865: when the various states ratified the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, banning slavery nationally.

As to the question of when slavery ended in those thirteen parishes excluded by the Emancipation Proclamation: it could be asserted the ordinance of May 1864 ended slavery in those places, either in theory or practice, depending on whether Union or Confederate forces locally held sway. Some four months later the newly ratified state constitution affirmed that ordinance. Moreover, that constitution became statewide law when the war ended in spring 1865. Finally, ratification of the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution on December 6, 1865, declared on the federal level — and thus more commandingly — what Louisiana had already decided two summers earlier: that slavery was at long last a defunct institution.

NOTES

*I thank historian Daniel H. Usner of Vanderbilt University, independent geographer Lucy W. Osborn, and educator Tom Richey for critiquing my essay. I also express gratitude to Stephanie McCurry of Columbia University, Martin Ruef of Duke University, and John C. Rodrigue of Stonehill College for their substantive feedback on Lincoln’s reasons for excluding certain parishes from the Emancipation Proclamation.

(1) For example, enslaved persons could be seized if they had been used for “aiding, abetting, or promoting . . . insurrection or resistance to the laws” or when they had belonged to persons who “commit the crime of treason against the United States, and shall be adjudged guilty thereof. . . .”

(2) Allen C. Guelzo, Lincoln’s Emancipation: The End of Slavery in America (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2004), pp. 257, 258.

(3) I do not refer to Iberia Parish, which sits between St. Martin and St. Mary, because it did not exist in 1863.

(4) A Congressional document published in early February 1863 referred to the thirteen-parish region as “entirely within the federal lines [original italics], with the exception of the parish of St. Martin and a portion of St. Mary" [my italics]. Even then, the word “entirely” might have been an exaggeration. “Report No. 22,” House of Representatives, 37th Cong., 3rd Sess., 3 February 1863, in Reports of Committees of the House of Representatives and Court of Claims . . . 1862-’63 (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1863), p. 1.

(5) Shane K. Bernard, Teche: A History of Louisiana’s Most Famous Bayou (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2016), pp. 81-83.

(6) As for the issue of why those parishes would have been pro-Union: their loyalty might have stemmed from a reliance on protective federal tariffs as well as on northern industry for refining their sugar. South Louisiana sugar planters produced brown sugar (and molasses), but left the commodity to others, outside the South, to refine into granulated white sugar.

(7) General Banks’ northern troops did much to dispel this pro-Union goodwill during their three Teche Country invasions of 1863-1864, burning and looting extensively. This fact stems not only from Confederate propagandists, but more importantly from Union soldiers who witnessed such behavior and condemned it. See Bernard, Teche, pp. 93-94.

(8) Stephanie McCurry, Confederate Reckoning: Power and Politics in the Civil War South (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2012), p. 254; Martin Ruef, Between Slavery and Capitalism: The Legacy of Emancipation in the American South (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2014), p. 44.

    McCurry, to Shane K. Bernard, 25 and 26 June 2025, email correspondence; Ruef, to Shane K. Bernard, 25 June 2026, email correspondence.

    I thank Dr. Stephanie McCurry of Columbia University and Dr. Martin Ruef of Duke University for their feedback on this topic and for permitting me to quote their correspondence.

(9) John C. Rodrigue, Reconstruction in the Cane Fields: From Slavery to Free Labor in Louisiana’s Sugar Parishes, 1862-1880 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2001), p. 38; Rodrigue, to Shane K. Bernard, 15 July 2025, email correspondence. See also Rodrigue, Lincoln and Reconstruction (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 2013), pp. 37, 42, 51-52.

    I thank Dr. Rodrigue for his feedback and for permitting me to quote his correspondence.

(10) The First Congressional District of Louisiana consisted of Plaquemines and St. Bernard parishes, and part of Orleans Parish, including a section of the city of New Orleans.

    The Second Congressional District consisted of Jefferson, St. Charles, St. John, St. James, Ascension, Assumption, Lafourche, Terrebonne, St. Martin, and St. Mary parishes, as well as, again, part of Orleans Parish and a section of New Orleans. “Report No. 22,” p. 1.

    Congressman Michael Hahn, Second Congressional District, State of Louisiana, in “Louisiana Elections,” The Congressional Globe, 17 February 1863, p. 1030. See also “Report No. 22,” pp. 1-3.

    I am indebted to Dr. Rodrigue for suggesting a link between the parishes in the First and Second congressional districts and those excluded from the Emancipation Proclamation. Rodrigue, to Bernard, 15 July 2025. See also Rodrigue, Lincoln and Reconstruction, p. 47.

(11) This did not prevent enslaved persons from seizing de facto freedom for themselves. In south Louisiana many fled sugar plantations to seek protection with sometimes ambivalent Union troops.

    A. B. Long, Captain and Provost Marshall, Commanding Post, [Union Army], New Iberia, La., 24 April 1863, PD [digitized image], Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/2020770803/, accessed 27 June 2025.

(12) I originally viewed 23 July 1864, the date of the constitution’s passage by the Union-backed state legislature, as a vital emancipative date. Dr. Rodrigue reminded me, however, that the constitution would not have become law until voters ratified it on 5 September 1864. See “Cases of Contested Elections in Congress from 1834 to 1865, Inclusive,” comp. D. W. Bartlett, Misc. Doc. No. 57, 38th Cong., 2nd. Sess., in Miscellaneous Documents of the House of Representatives, 1864-’65, Vol. 1 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1865), p. 585.

(13) Title I. Emancipation, “Constitution of the State of Louisiana, Adopted in Convention, July 23, 1864,” in Louisiana Annual Reports (Reports of Cases Argued and Determined in the Supreme Court of Louisiana, for the Year 1865), Vol. XVII, (New Orleans: Bloomfield & Steel, 1866), Appendix, p. i.

(14) Ordinance Abolishing Slavery in Louisiana, 11 May 1864, ALS [digitized image], in Abraham Lincoln Papers: Series 1, General Correspondence, 1833-1916: Louisiana Constitutional Convention, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C., https://www.loc.gov/resource/mal.3298800/?r=-0.945,-0.038,2.889,1.725,0, accessed 17 July 1863.

(15)“Is the Black Code Still in Force?” New Orleans Tribune, 21 July 1864, p. 1.

Disappearing Cajuns and Creoles? Ethnic Identity and the Limits of Census Data

Historians and math do not always go well together. In fact, historians are notoriously bad when it comes to math. There are exceptions, as in the case of those odd creatures, quantitative historians, who use a mathematical approach to understanding History. (See, for example, Fogel and Engerman’s noted quantitative history Time on the Cross: The Economics of American Negro Slavery, originally published in 1974.)(1)

“Historians and math
do not always go well together”

While I never excelled at math (an understatement), I nonetheless use quantitative analysis, albeit sparingly, in my books. I did so perhaps most notably in The Cajuns: Americanization of a People, which I sprinkled lightly with numerical data gleaned from U.S. censuses, including, but not limited to, the most recent one, the 1990 Census. (I wrote in the late 1990s, before the 2000 U.S. Census had been compiled.)(2)

My 2003 book The Cajuns:
Americanization of a People

Although only about a quarter-century ago, I wrote The Cajuns at a time when census data was not, unlike today, readily available on the Internet — at least not in any detail. Researchers instead had to visit a brick-and-mortar library and consult multi-volume censuses printed on actual paper as well as in other forms of media. Moreover, finding sought-after data could be extremely difficult because, as one library notes, “the 1990 census filled hundreds of volumes, CDs and numerous tape files. . . .”(3) Even then, the required data might not actually exist in any of those published sources.

In that case, there was an alternate source of census data: the Public Use Microdata Sample (PUMS), a digital database of raw census data based on a 1-percent, 3-percent, or (as I myself used) 5-percent sample of respondents in specific geographic regions. This is important, because while the short-form 1990 U.S. Census — the version sent to most American households — asked recipients how they identified racially (Black, White, Hispanic, and so on), it did not ask how they identified ethnically (Italian, Jamaican, Filipino, Dutch, Norwegian, or any number of other ethnicities). However, the long-form 1990 U.S. Census — received by 5 percent of U.S. households and gathering the actual PUMS data — did ask respondents to identify their ethnic ancestries. Using complicated formulas, the U.S. Census Bureau could then extrapolate from that sample to provide ancestral data about all U.S. households.

Figure 1: 1990 PUMS data, for Cajuns,
by Louisiana parishes and select Texas counties,
Acadiana parishes in bold,
(click to enlarge).
Image source: author's defunct website.

PUMS data, however, was hardly perfect. Besides the fact it could never provide more than an estimate (one would hope an accurate estimate), the general public often could not access PUMS data, which required somewhat powerful computers (for the time) loaded with the proper, and rather complicated, software. As such, PUMS data generally had to be accessed through an institution, such as a university. Moreover, it was not enough to access the PUMS database: rather, you also had to know, or know someone who knew, how to program the database to obtain the sought-after data. And because that output appeared in a form hardly describable as “WYSIWYG” (“what you see is what you get” or, more plainly, a self-explanatory format), you also had to know, or know someone who knew, how to interpret that very user-unfriendly data printout.

User-unfriendly PUMS data printout,
1990 U.S. Census

Fortunately, I had access to PUMS data through the Sociology Department of Texas A&M University, where I pursued my doctoral degree in History with a minor in Rural Sociology of Minorities (very useful if, like me, you are studying the Cajuns and Creoles of rural and small-town south Louisiana). It was my Sociology professor, Dr. Rogelio Saenz, who taught me about PUMS data and helped me to obtain and interpret the PUMS data I sought.

For example, I might have asked the PUMS database to report how many Louisianians in 1990 identified their ancestry as primarily Cajun or Acadian (the latter of which I interpreted to mean “Cajun”)* and of those how many spoke French as their first language in the home; or of those how many identified as World War II veterans; or even of those how many both spoke French in the home and identified as World War II veterans. To continue with this example, I might (as I did) then extrapolate backward and estimate the total number of Louisianians of Cajun ancestry who fought in World War II and how many of those “Cajun GIs” spoke French in wartime.(4) (A note: I did not compile 1990 PUMS data about Creoles, though that raw data did exist in the PUMS database. I chose not to do so because, while my dissertation topic originally focused on Cajuns and Creoles, I found it necessary to winnow my focus solely to Cajuns — otherwise I believed the scope of my dissertation would have been too unwieldly. A fragment of my early research focusing on both Cajuns and Creoles can be found here.)

Intriguingly, the 1990 PUMS data revealed that there were 432,549 persons in Louisiana who self-identified as primarily Cajun compared to 668,271 such persons in the entire U.S. (see Figure 1). Many of those out-of-state Cajuns no doubt emigrated from Louisiana in the wake of the recent “oil glut” that shattered the state’s oil-dependent economy in the mid- to late 1980s.(5)

This PUMS data also identified a number of quirks among the assumed Cajun population. For example, it revealed that 10 percent of all Louisianians considered themselves as primarily Cajun. And while as mentioned 432,549 persons in Louisiana listed their primary ancestry as Cajun, another 25,000 listed their secondary ancestry as Cajun. Vermilion Parish, in south-central Louisiana, possessed the largest percentage of persons identifying primarily as Cajun, about 50 percent. Also, the census suggested that most Cajun respondents had not strayed far from their ancestral south Louisiana homeland: of the 668,271 persons throughout the U.S. identifying as primarily Cajun, 77 percent resided in Louisiana or neighboring Texas.(6)

Moreover, few persons in New Orleans considered themselves Cajun — despite the media and tourism industries painting New Orleans as a “Cajun” city, a claim that appeared ad nauseum during the Cajun fad of the 1980s. Yet in 1990 only one percent of respondents living in New Orleans proper (Orleans Parish) marked “Cajun” as their primary heritage. The percentage remained low (7 percent or less) in parishes surrounding New Orleans. Indeed, census data showed that New Orleans boasted about the same concentration of Cajuns as Houston. As I wrote in my book The Cajuns, “Houston, Texas, possessed nearly the same percentage of Cajuns as New Orleans — less than a quarter of a percent difference — and on a per capita basis Houston actually boasted 4.5 times as many Cajuns.” And yet, unlike New Orleans, the media and the tourism industries did not portray Houston as “the center of the Cajun universe.”(7)

❧

Over the past twenty-five years since I did my PUMS research, the Internet has grown exponentially, along with the amount of useful (and not so useful) data it offers to scholars and laypersons alike. In fact, the U.S. Census Bureau’s website now affords the general public access to extremely detailed census results in digital format — meaning there is arguably no longer a need to navigate countless hardcopy volumes to locate sought-after data. With a few clicks of a mouse, that information can now be accessed 24/7 using any computer (as well as digital tablets and cell phones) linked to the Internet.

The task, however, still requires a degree of skill and patience because the required data might not at once be discernable. As with the old PUMS database, researchers must sometimes configure the census.gov interface to reveal the desired information — and just how to do that is not necessarily self-evident. In addition, it’s easier than ever to become mired in the sheer volume of census data now available to everyone. (Fortunately, I have found that Census Bureau experts promptly answer requests for help submitted by email.)

This being said, it is interesting to compare current U.S. census stats for Cajuns with the 1990 census stats I consulted a quarter century ago. Moreover, it’s possible to conjure up similar stats for the other group of interest to me, Creoles — by which I mean, unless otherwise stated, Creoles by any definition, and regardless of color. (In this essay I won’t parse the word “Creole,” much less the assertion, which I embrace, that “Cajuns are a type of Creole”; but my essays on these topics can be found here.)

Besides conducting the usual decennial census, the U.S. Census Bureau now compiles something called the American Community Survey (ACS). The Bureau describes the ACS as “an ongoing survey that provides vital information on a yearly basis about our nation and its people.” (You can read about the differences between the decennial U.S. Census and the ACS here.)(8) And the ACS does count the number of respondents who identify as “Creole,” as well as those who identify as “Cajun.” Accessing this sought-after data, however, is somewhat complicated: while population stats for Cajuns are fairly easy to find, those for Creoles are, unfortunately, buried a little deeper in the raw data.

According to one specific ACS table available on the U.S. Census Bureau website, namely, Table B04006, titled “People Reporting Ancestry” — accessible here, or see Figure 2 — 107,553 persons throughout the U.S. identified their primary ethnicity in 2020 as “Cajun” (give or take about 4,222 persons according to the margin of error — but I won’t list margins of error from here on out; you can find them on the original charts). Of these, 55,022 lived in Louisiana, or 51.15 percent of all Cajuns; while 19,141 lived in neighboring Texas, or 17.79 percent of all Cajuns. (Note I am looking only at responses for primary ethnicity, not secondary, which I leave for others to explore.)(9)

Figure 2: Table B04006,
“People Reporting Ancestry,”
from the 2020 American Community Survey,
Cajun stats highlighted
(click to enlarge).

Already something odd is discernible: only 55,022 Cajuns exist in the entire state of Louisiana? And those Cajuns comprise only 51 percent of the total number of Cajun people in the entire U.S.? These stats seem far too low. But more on this shortly.

What we don’t find on Table B04006, however, is any reference to persons who identified as “Creole.” It seems the Census Bureau relegated those respondents to a catch-all “Other” category. As a result, Creoles went uncounted on this table as a standalone ethnic group.

This does not mean the U.S. Census Bureau overlooked Creoles in 2020. In fact, self-described Creoles were counted, albeit on a different ACS table for 2020: namely, a custom-generated table compiled using the Microdata Access Tool (MDAT), which drew its output from the ACS 5-Year Estimates PUMS dataset. The results can be accessed here, or see Figure 3.(10)

According to this MDAT table, 7,887 persons in Louisiana identified their primary ethnicity in 2020 as “Creole,” while, for comparison, 6,308 persons in Texas likewise identified their primary ethnicity as “Creole.” This reflects the emigration of south Louisiana Creoles to the Lone Star State, mainly its southeast region, over many generations going back well into the early to mid-20th century.

Again, however, these stats for Creoles, like those for Cajuns, seem incredibly low.

Figure 3: MDAT table for Creoles,
Louisiana and Texas, 2020,
Creole stats highlighted
(click to enlarge).

Other conundrums also present themselves. Why, for example, are there so many fewer Creoles than Cajuns? If anything, I would expect more Creoles than Cajuns, not the other way around.

In my opinion these issues reveal the limitations of self-reported ethnic and racial data. A major issue, for example, is that a person of Creole ancestry might correctly identify as “Creole,” but just as correctly identify as “African American” or “Afro American” or “Black” or “Afro” or “Negro” (all labels represented on the MDAT table). They might also identify as members of those annoyingly generic, ill-defined, and I would assert almost meaningless “ethnicities,” namely “American” and “North American.” They might also correctly identify as “Cajun” or “Acadian” or “French” or any number of other ethnicities they might embrace. And this is considering only Creoles of African descent, not Creoles who identify as White and might correctly claim a variety of ancestries in their own right — thus further complicating the task of ethnic self-identification.

The issue is the same for Cajuns. They might correctly identify as primarily “Cajun” or “Acadian” or “French” or “Canadian” or “French Canadian” or “Creole” (again, Cajuns can be viewed as a type of Creole) or “American” or “North American,” and so on.

This could explain why, whether we compare the 1990 census results to those on the 2020 ACS Table, or the 2020 ACS table to the MDAT table for that same year, we end up with notable data discrepancies. 

For example, the 2020 ACS table counted 55,022 self-described Cajuns in Louisiana — but what happened to the other 377,527 who identified as such in 1990? Similarly, according to the MDAT table there were 45,884 self-identified Cajuns in Louisiana in 2020 . . . about 9,000 less than the 55,022 tallied for the same year on the separate ACS table (see Figure 4).(11)

Why the difference between these two 2020 sources, both issued by the U.S. Census Bureau?

Figure 4: MDAT table for Cajuns,
Louisiana and Texas, 2020,
Cajun stats highlighted
(click to enlarge).

As a demographic statistician at the Bureau kindly explained to me, “For relatively small groups there are sometimes differences in results depending on the data set used. The microdata tool uses the American Community Survey (ACS) PUMS while Table B04006 uses the full ACS data set. This may be part of the reason why there would be a difference in a relatively small group such as Cajun. Another reason is that 2020 was a difficult year for data collection due to the [COVID] pandemic. The data from 2016-2020 for smaller groups may be less reliable than normal.”(12)

This is, however, not the first time incongruities have been noticed by those using censuses to study ethnicity in south Louisiana. As I wrote in my Americanization book:

[R]esearchers have discovered a major discrepancy between the 1990 census and preliminary results from the 2000 census. The 1990 census counted over 400,000 Cajuns in Louisiana, while the 2000 census counted only about 40,000 — a roughly 90 percent decline in only ten years! The U.S. Census Bureau clearly miscounted, either in 1990 or 2000 (or both), for the disappearance of almost the entire Cajun population in only a decade is highly improbable. . . . Louisiana historian Carl A. Brasseaux . . . discounted the 2000 statistics, noting wryly that there are probably 40,000 Cajuns on the north side of Lafayette Parish alone. Non-academics also have scoffed at the 2000 statistics. Lafayette’s Daily Advertiser [newspaper] ridiculed the figures as “cockeyed” and observed “Our government advises [us] that there aren’t as many Cajuns . . . as we saw dancing in the streets during festival time.” “If You’re One of 365,000 Missing Cajuns,” ran one of its headlines, “Please Send up a Flare.” Asked another newspaper, “Where Did All the Cajuns Go?”(13)

I in no way criticize the U.S. Census Bureau. In fact, I would now assert that such discrepancies in census data stem in part — perhaps in large part — from the fact that we are dealing (needless to say) with human beings; and human beings are innately subjective creatures. As such, they are not only difficult to pin down, but very much dislike being pinned down. As shown, the very multiplicity of correct answers a Cajun or Creole might give to an ancestry query is also problematic. Likewise, it is possible long-form census recipients chose, say, the first ethnic label that came to mind, rather than the ethnic label they themselves might have genuinely regarded as most suitable or accurate. Moreover, some, perhaps even many recipients simply might not have answered the ancestry question, for whatever reason (confusion, impatience, privacy concerns, etc.).

Census data can be useful for indicating general demographic trends, but it can prove misleading if always taken at face value. (Again, only 7,887 Creoles in all of Louisiana in 2020? And only 55,022 Cajuns?) This, however, is where narrative history can complement census data, as well as complement more quantitative approaches to history in general. By drawing on traditional and — as I like to do — not-so-traditional sources, history as good old-fashioned storytelling can present fuller, more accurate, and I would argue more engaging views of the past. Conversely, quantitative data, when used in just the right, sparing amount, can complement traditional narrative history. And that quantitative data — wary as I am of math and my own math skills — has helped me to better understand the people called Cajuns and Creoles, and to convey that understanding to others.

Figure 5: 
Recapitulation of statistics
used in this essay
(click to enlarge)

ADDENDUM

After writing the above blog article about the limits of census data pertaining to Cajuns and Creoles, a couple of readers asked me to examine what the census results say about present-day language use in Louisiana. That is, how many persons in the state today speak French as their primary language in the home? This is indeed possible to gauge. But, as with census data concerning how many people identify as Cajuns and Creoles, we should examine the language data with a degree of skepticism. My review of these numbers, by the way, is hardly exhaustive, and is meant to afford only a glimpse at recent language traits in Louisiana, and of only two or three languages at that.

Let’s first go back a few years: in 2015 the U.S Census Bureau’s American Community Survey (ACS) 5-year estimate, accessible here, found 107,616 Louisianians speaking French “at home,” as well as 7,209 who spoke French Creole (now widely regarded not as a dialect of French, but as a distinct, standalone language called Creole, Kreyòl or Kouri-Vini). Unfortunately, later census results do not mention French Creole by any name, though perhaps stats for that language exist much deeper in the raw data. As for “French” in Louisiana, the U.S. Census Bureau regards that language as including more than one strain, including what it calls “Cajun” — despite the fact that some linguists now assert Cajun French does not exist (a view I myself do not embrace, but then, I am not a linguist).(14)

Figure 6: Table B16001,
“Language Spoken at Home. . . ,”
from the 2015 American Community Survey,
French and French Creole stats highlighted
(click to enlarge).

Seven years later the 2022 ACS 1-year estimate (the most recent year for which data is presently available, accessible here) found the number of French speakers in Louisiana to be only 64,302 — a decline of 40.24 percent since 2015. This trend might be explained by the dying out of older, primarily French-speaking Louisianians (and too few French-speaking youths taking their places, despite the advent of French Immersion schools). Even so, other explanations might account in part for this precipitous decline.(15)

Figure 7: Table B16001,
“Language Spoken at Home. . . ,”
from the 2022 American Community Survey,
French and French Creole stats highlighted
(click to enlarge).

Out of curiosity, I went to the 2020 ACS 5-year estimate, accessible here, which recorded the number of French speakers in Louisiana that year as 76,909 — considerably less than the 2015 figure of 107,616, but notably more than the 2022 figures of 64,302.(16) This 2020 stat, however, is consistent with a downward trend.

Figure 8: Table B16001,
“Language Spoken at Home. . . ,”
from the 2020 American Community Survey,
French and French Creole stats highlighted
(click to enlarge).

It is interesting to compare the number of present-day French speakers in Louisiana homes to that of present-day Spanish speakers. As elsewhere in the U.S., Louisiana has in recent decades experienced a significant rise in the number of Latino residents. (Fittingly, Louisiana belonged to the Spanish Empire from 1762 to 1800. It was thus a Spanish colony, at least on paper, when the Cajuns’ exiled Acadian ancestors began to arrive in the colony in 1764. Moreover, in 1779 Spaniards founded the south Louisiana town where I live, New Iberia, as the village of Nueva Iberia.)

According to the same 2022 table mentioned above, the number of Spanish speakers in Louisiana homes that year reached 157,029, while as mentioned the number of French speakers tallied 64,302 — the latter group being only 40.94 percent the size of the former. The ample number of Spanish speakers clearly exerts a real-world influence. From my experience, for example, it is rare to see French-language advertising in the state’s Cajun and Creole parishes. Ironically, it is more common to see Spanish-language advertising in traditionally French-speaking south Louisiana, whether for promoting churches, wireless service, or, as I noticed a few days ago while driving through rural Iberia Parish, a “venta de garaje” (garage sale).(17)

As with census stats concerning the per capita size of Louisiana’s Cajun and Creole populations, those concerning language use should be considered estimates — because that’s precisely what they are. Regardless, these figures can give us a feel for linguistic trends among the population and, when combined with historical, folkloric, and sociological methods, provide a more complete, more nuanced idea of Cajun and Creole ethnicity in the early 21st century.

 

Special thanks to Angela (Angie) Buchanan, Demographic Statistician, Ethnicity and Ancestry Branch, Population Division, U.S. Census Bureau; Alli Coritz, Ph.D., Statistician Demographer, Population Division/Racial Statistics Branch, U.S. Census Bureau; and Erik Hernandez, Survey Statistician, Social, Economic, and Housing Statistics Division, U.S. Census Bureau, for explaining the workings of more recent census data available on https://data.census.gov/.

Notes

*In the 1990 PUMS data I counted as “Cajun” both those who identified as primarily “Cajun” as well as those who identified as primarily “Acadian.” It could be argued I made a leap of faith by assuming that those persons of Acadian descent might be considered “Cajun.” Certainly, there would be exceptions. For example, a notable Acadian-derived population resides in Maine, which borders the former French colony of Acadie, now the Canadian provinces of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island. Those Mainers of Acadian descent most likely do not consider themselves “Cajuns” because Cajuns are largely a Louisiana phenomenon — the Cajuns arising in the first place from persons of Acadian descent intermarrying with other ethnic groups (French, German, Spanish, etc.) on the south Louisiana frontier. In general, however, I believed it reasonable to assume that persons in Louisiana (and east Texas, for that matter) who identified as Acadian by heritage might also identify as “Cajun.” Indeed, I would be surprised if they did not. Moreover, I regarded the percentage of exceptions to this rule as likely so small as to be irrelevant, because every other source of data (historical, journalistic, impressionistic, etc.) indicated the obvious: that a large population of persons residing in Louisiana and east Texas identified as “Cajuns.”

(1) Robert William Fogel and Stanley L. Engerman, Time on the Cross: The Economics of American Negro Slavery, revised ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1995). For an example of how quantitative data can be used to study Cajuns and Creoles from a sociological perspective, see, for instance, Carl L. Bankston III and Jacques Henry, “The Socioeconomic Position of the Louisiana Creoles: An Examination of Racial and Ethnic Stratification,” Social Thought & Research, 21 (April 1998): 253-277.

(2) Shane K. Bernard, The Cajuns: Americanization of a People (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2003).

(3) “The U.S. Census Collection,” New York State Library, 8 February 2024, https://www.nysl.nysed.gov/uscensus.htm, accessed 22 May 2024.

(4) For more on Cajun GIs in World War II, see Bernard, “Cajuns during Wartime,” in The Cajuns, 3-22; and Jason P. Theriot, Frenchie: The Story of the French-Speaking Cajuns of World War II (Lafayette: UL Press, 2024 [forthcoming]).

(5) 1990 PUMS, for Persons. See Bernard, The Cajuns, xxiii-xxiv, 122-24, 152 (n. 9). See also Figure 1 in this blog article, from Shane K. Bernard, “Population Data, Cajuns,” Encyclopedia of Cajun Culture [author’s archived defunct website], 6 June 2002, https://web.archive.org/web/20020606133907/http://cajunculture.com/Other/populati.htm, accessed 16 May 2024.

For more on the interpretation of 1990 PUMs data in my book The Cajuns, see my blog article “Tracking the Decline of Cajun French,” 22 March 2011, http://bayoutechedispatches.blogspot.com/2011/03/tracking-decline-of-cajun-french.html#:~:text=For%20the%20first%20time%20%5B1946,of%20the%20century.%20.%20.%20, accessible here.

(6) Ibid.

(7) Bernard, The Cajuns, 120.

(8) “The Importance of the American Community Survey and the Decennial Census,” 13 March 2024, United State Census Bureau, https://www.census.gov/programs-surveys/acs/about/acs-and-census.html, accessed 16 May 2024.

(9) “People Reporting Ancestry,” United States Census Bureau, 2020, https://data.census.gov/table/ACSDT5Y2020.B04006?q=United%20States&t=Ancestry&g=040XX00US22,48, accessed 16 May 2024, or see Figure 2.

(10) Custom MDAT Table, for Creoles, based on ACS 5-Year Estimates Public Use Microdata Sample, 2020, https://data.census.gov/mdat/#/search?ds=ACSPUMS5Y2020&cv=ucgid&rv=ANC1P&nv=ANC2P&wt=PWGTP&g=0400000US22, accessed 16 May 2024, or see Figure 3.

(11) “People Reporting Ancestry”; Custom MDAT Table, for Cajuns, based on ACS 5-Year Estimates Public Use Microdata Sample, 2020, https://data.census.gov/mdat/#/search?ds=ACSPUMS5Y2020&cv=ucgid&rv=ANC1P&nv=ANC2P&wt=PWGTP&g=0400000US22, accessed 16 May 2024, or see Figure 4.

(12) Angela Buchanan, Demographic Statistician, Ethnicity and Ancestry Branch, Population Division, U.S. Census Bureau, [greater Washington, D.C., area], to Shane K. Bernard, New Iberia, La., 13 May 2024, email correspondence in author’s possession.

(13) Bernard, The Cajuns, xxiii-xxiv.

(14) Table B16001, “Language Spoken at Home by Ability to Speak English for the Population 5 Years and Over,” 2015: ACS 5-year Estimate Detailed Tables, https://data.census.gov/table/ACSDT5Y2015.B16001?t=Language%20Spoken%20at%20Home&g=010XX00US_040XX00US22_060XX00US2502706365&moe=true&tp=false, accessed 24 June 2024, or see Figure 6.

(15) Table B16001, “Language Spoken at Home by Ability to Speak English for the Population 5 Years and Over,” 2022: ACS 1-year Estimate Detailed Tables, https://data.census.gov/table/ACSDT1Y2022.B16001?q=B16001&g=040XX00US22_050XX00US36061$1400000, accessed 24 June 2024, or see Figure 7.

(16) Table B16001, “Language Spoken at Home by Ability to Speak English for the Population 5 Years and Over,” 2020: ACS 5-year Estimate Detailed Tables, https://data.census.gov/table/ACSDT5Y2020.B16001?q=B16001&g=040XX00US22_050XX00US36061$1400000, accessed 24 June 2024, or see Figure 8.

(17) Table B16001, “Language Spoken at Home by Ability to Speak English for the Population 5 Years and Over,” 2022.