>> Suzanne Schadl: Welcome
to the Hispanic Reading Room
at the Library of Congress.
My name is Suzanne Schadl.
It is a privilege for
me to be the chief
in the Hispanic division.
I'm going to tell you
real quickly what we do
in the Hispanic division.
we edit the Handbook of
Latin American Studies.
We curate the archive of
Hispanic literature on tape
and we're looking for a
new name and I'm willing
to take recommendations.
We help researchers find
materials on and from all
of the Caribbean, doesn't
have to be Spanish speaking.
All of Latin America,
also doesn't have
to be Spanish speaking,
Spain, Portugal,
the indigenous cultures of all
of those regions and communities
with Spanish and Portuguese
heritage in other parts
of the world and that
includes the United States.
I want to thank all of you
for attending this reading.
Special heartfelt thanks to
our author, Francie Latour,
for her beautiful book, for
sharing it with us here today.
And I also think, importantly,
for sharing the reflection
in that book on the bonds
between families living
across borders and cultures.
We're here today because
of the Americas Award,
and the Consortium of Latin
American Studies Programs.
I'd like to say just a couple
of words about CLASP, if I may.
CLASP promotes Latin American
Studies throughout the --
Latin American and Caribbean
studies throughout the United
States, fostering
global competency,
language proficiency,
and cultural awareness
of Latin America
and the Caribbean.
As we do with the Handbook
of Latin American Studies,
CLASP depends on the
expertise and volunteerism
of instructors all
across the country
to help expand those efforts,
to teach Latin America
and the Caribbean,
from universities,
through high schools, to
elementary schools, to families,
sharing works with one another.
The Americas award is
part of that effort,
and Auntie Luce's Paintings
is an important reference
within that project.
I invite everyone in this
room to look for connections
between Francie Latour's,
beautiful book and
other subjects.
I would just send out a
reference, you could look
up Haitian painters, for
instance, and find connections
between this book and
other books in our library
and in your libraries elsewhere.
I want to tell everybody
here you, are welcome to read
in our reading room, and
I hope you will do that.
This is part of today's
event, and events,
is part of a series honoring
Hispanic Heritage Month.
We hope you'll join
us this evening.
And we have a number
of events next week.
There's a flyer up near our
desk that will highlight some
of the other events
that are happening here
in the Hispanic Reading Room.
And there are others on the
Library of Congress webpage.
So I invite you all
to look at those.
So here now I've
made it formal again.
And without going any
further, I want to --
I want to say that it is a
pleasure for me to recognize --
to turn the mic over,
but most importantly,
to thank Dani Thurber, who
is one of our librarians
who you met earlier here, but
you're going to meet her again,
here in the Hispanic division.
She organized this reading, in
collaboration with colleagues,
and the Hispanic
Cultural Society,
and the Young Readers Center
in the Learning Innovation
Office here at the Library
of Congress and also together
with our colleagues at CLASP.
So Dani Thurber gets
to do the honors.
[ Applause ]
>> Maria Thurber:
Thank you, Suzanne.
Hello, everyone,
again and welcome
to the Hispanic Reading Room.
I'm Dani Thurber, a reference
librarian here in the division.
And thank you for
joining us today
in this author reading
with Francie Latour.
Just another plug,
if you have time
and can also join us
later this evening
for the Americas Awards
ceremony taking place
in the Hispanic Reading
Room as well.
Just a few things
to let you know.
We have some time at
the end for questions.
So just keep that in mind.
And if you do ask a question,
it will be on the webcast.
We also have surveys in the room
for you to share your experience
about your time in the
division and this event.
And we also have a book sale
at the end, if you would
like to get Francie's
wonderful book.
And now to introduce our
wonderful author this morning.
Francie Latour is a writer
and editor whose
work explores issues
of race, culture and identity.
She was a staff reporter for
The Boston Globe for 10 years
and her essays have
been featured
on National Public
Radio, The Today Show ,
[inaudible], and Essence .
Her writing has also
been anthologized,
including in The
Butterfly's Way ,
edited by Edwidge Danticat,
who was here just a
couple of days ago.
Since 2012.
Francie has worked in the field
of diversity, inclusion
and equity.
She coordinates a
diversity initiative
at the Broad Institute
of MIT and Harvard.
She's also a cofounder and
codirector of We the People,
a social justice project
for kids based in Boston.
Auntie Luce's Talking
Paintings is Francie's first
picture book.
And now to Francie.
[ Applause ]
>> Francie Latour: [Inaudible].
Thank you, Dani.
I appreciate that.
So I'm pretty sure this
is my first adult audience
for this book.
So I'm going to bypass the
slide presentation with Haiti
as a cloth shape and the
colorful tap-tap buses,
which we'll see.
But I thought maybe I
would share a little bit
about how the book came
about, and then read,
and then take some questions.
How does that sound?
>> Great. Yeah.
>> Francie Latour: Awesome.
So this is a pretty improbable
book to have come about in 2010
after the earthquake in
Haiti in January 2010.
I wrote an essay for
The Boston Globe ,
where I was no longer a staffer.
I was freelancing at the time.
And that essay almost
didn't come about either,
because there was a lot
of turmoil in my family,
and with family in Haiti trying
to communicate and just find
out where people were,
and if people were safe.
And so I had committed
to writing this essay,
reflecting on what had happened.
And then I missed
my first deadline,
and then I missed
my second deadline.
And my editor encouraged me
to just write it as a diary,
as it had happened, and
so that's what I did.
And after it was published, I
got a very strange phone call
from a great guy
named Rubin Pfeffer.
Rubin is a children's
book agent in Boston.
And he represents
authors and illustrators.
And he asked me if
I'd ever thought
of writing a children's book,
which I hadn't [laughter].
I had always been really,
really intentional as a mother.
My kids were five and
two and one at that time,
about the books that I
put in front of them,
and how our bookshelves were
populated, and reading books
with them as sort of critical
texts, as well as just stories.
Yeah. So I met Rubin for lunch,
because he recommended a really
great restaurant [laughter],
and he had this idea that I
should write a children's book
and I honestly didn't
think I could.
And it was really challenging.
And so I thought back about
memories of going to Haiti
with my family, since
I was young.
My parents are both Haitian.
They moved to Canada
before my brother was born,
they left I think like 101
degree weather and landed
in Quebec in snowstorm.
And then after a few years,
they came to the states,
they came to Philadelphia.
So we always went back to Haiti,
we made many trips back there.
And so I kind of started there,
just with very sensory sort
of like what it feels
like, what it sounds like.
And then I kind of started
working in this experience
that I had also really
improbable.
There are a lot of improbable
experiences around this book.
So when I was in college,
and I was studying in Paris,
I connected with a woman
named Luce Turnier.
If you don't know Luce
Turnier, you definitely should.
She's probably the most
well-known Haitian painter
that Haiti has had.
She was living outside
Paris at the time.
And I met her at her studio.
And she just told
me to sit down,
and she painted my portrait.
This was just like, I think, two
years before she passed away.
And it was very strange
and amazing.
And so that is how -- kind
of how this book
came about, I guess.
As with my sort of intentional
story, or book collecting
with my kids, I was trying
to be very intentional
about telling a story for black
children, for Haitian children,
for lots of kids who are
sort of living on the hyphen
of hyphenated identity, and
then also for all children
who may have heard stories
about Haiti that are not true.
And so yeah, those
were my main goals.
And to figure out how
to do that and get kids
to turn the page [laughter].
So there was a lot of
testing with my kids as well.
The book sat around for quite
a while, the manuscript.
And I took it as confirmation
that I really wasn't
meant to do this.
And then like five years later,
Rubin called me and said,
there are two publishers
who want to buy your book.
So it sat there for five years,
and then two publishers
wanted it at the same time.
It was very strange.
And then it -- and then I ended
up working with Groundwood Books
in Canada, in Toronto, and they
found this amazing illustrator,
Ken Daley, whose family's
from the Island of Dominica.
And yeah, so when I go
to schools the first
thing people ask me,
the first thing kids ask me
is, did you make the paintings?
I'm like, no.
They're so disappointed.
I'm like, no, I just wrote
the words [laughter].
So yeah, I'm really sad
that Ken couldn't be here.
He's great.
He's just a tremendous artists
with a tremendous heart.
So let's read.
Okay.
Auntie Luce's Talking
Paintings .
Do you all want to see?
You want to see right?
I'm used to a big
projector behind me.
So it's a little strange.
Can everyone see?
Maybe I should move back?
Yeah? Okay.
In my mother's bedroom,
behind the family pictures,
and the jar that holds
her wedding day flowers,
a painting sits on a shelf.
It's a painting of me,
my eyes almost closed,
like I'm dreaming.
My braids hang like
cold colored ropes.
My face fills the frame
so big and so close
that if you look long enough,
it starts to look
like a whole land.
Brown hills melting
into yellow valleys,
melting into red riverbed
and even the rivers silver light
running smooth over the rocks.
When I think back to the first
time my Auntie Luce painted me,
I lose myself in the memory of
people and places she brings
to life with her brushes.
Fortresses and high cliffs and
crayon colored boats by the sea,
gingerbread houses
and coconuts poked
with straws for coconut water.
When I want to hear
the stories of Haiti,
the place where my
mother was born,
I talk to Auntie
Luce's paintings.
The paintings always talk back.
My mother says I was too young
to remember Auntie
Luce painting me.
You were only seven.
[Foreign word], do you
really think you remember?
But I do remember.
It is December.
The time of year
when I leave the snow
and snowman making behind.
I step onto an airplane and
when I step off again a wall
of heat wraps my body and
instantly warms my heart.
Inside the airport Auntie
Luce waves me to her
and the metal bracelets
along her arms start to sing.
My first question
is always the same,
can I sit for you, Auntie Luce?
Will you paint me
this time, please?
[Foreign Words], you
make me happy, she says,
cupping my cheeks, but
not answering my question.
She opens the trunk and
makes room for my suitcase,
pushing the pallets and
clinking jars to one side.
Then we drive through
city streets
and familiar scenes
fly by my open window.
There go the boys selling ice
water by the pink cathedral.
There go the market women
balancing fruit basket
on their heads.
There go the top-top buses
painted with soccer stars
and signs that say
[foreign word],
we we are the children
of West Africa.
Soon the city falls
under our feet
and fog carpets the
mountain road to the house.
As we climb the hills,
a question comes to me.
When mom left for the
states, why didn't you come?
Your mother are different,
[foreign word], she says.
When I close my eyes
for good I want Haiti
to be the last thing that I see.
I help bring in the
easels and sacks filled
with paint tubes and rags.
Auntie Luce doesn't waste
any time quizzing me
on last year's lessons.
[Foreign Words], the
land of mountains.
That was the name of this place
before the Europeans came.
She snaps vanilla beans
into a pot of oatmeal.
Before the Spanish and the
French, before, before,
your mother, she doesn't
tell you these stories?
At home, my parents play
old [inaudible] records
with friends late
into the night.
They argue over how Haiti got
broken and how it can be fixed.
My brother and I listen
from the top of the stairs.
They tell stories about
crooked presidents
and bad armies, I say.
Is that true?
Aunty Luce slides a
placemat onto the table
and sets down the bowl.
The truth is a hard thing
to untangle, she says,
like a big knot of yarn.
To tell the truth about this
place, this tiny, tiny place.
You have to look at it's
strong, powerful neighbor.
You have to look at America.
We put black mushrooms in
a pot to soak for dinner.
Then we tie on our smocks
and take a familiar walk
down the stone path, past
the chickens and the garden
of shoe black flowers
into onto Luce's studio.
Inside, Haiti's heroes
greet me, [foreign word],
her head wrapped in white.
Her needle stitching a new
flag for a free nation.
I see [foreign word] and
[foreign word] the general
who found a way to win
and forced Napoleon
back across the ocean.
You remember what [foreign
word] means, she asks?
I could never forget.
The opening, I say.
The man who opened the way.
My own heroes are here too.
My grandfather, the
tailor who made suits
for the businessmen in town.
My great grandmother, who wore
her hair parted in two buns
and went blind from old age.
If these paintings could talk, I
wonder, what would they tell me?
With my slow broken
[foreign word],
would they know I
am their daughter?
[Foreign word], she says,
pulling a metal stool
to the middle of the floor.
And when the moment
comes, when I finally sit
for my first portrait,
I realize something.
Sitting still to be painted
is one thing -- oh, sorry.
Wanting to be painted is
one thing, sitting still
to be painted is another thing.
I can feel my legs
twitching and then my arms.
To keep my neck from tilting I
stop talking and my jaw locks.
For a while the painting knife
and my auntie's singing
bracelets are the only sounds
in the room.
Do you know why I
paint [foreign word],
she asks, after a long silence?
I've never thought about that.
Because you're good at it?
She laughs deep in her throat
then mixes more reds and browns.
Because Haiti is so
beautiful, I ask?
Not always, she says.
Sometimes it's almost
too hard to look at.
I paint to remember
what I've seen
and heard and smelled and felt.
The balconies wrapped
around houses
which seemed to go on forever.
The fists pounding
on neighborhood doors
and sending people into hiding.
To paint Haiti takes the darkest
colors, and the lightest colors
and all the colors in between.
In two days of sitting
Auntie Luce paints me
from many different angles.
On one easel I can see myself
turned completely to the side.
In my face, I see colors
I've never seen in a mirror,
the caramel in my great
grandmother's skin
and the deep berry
in my grandfather's.
I see the colors of
metal roofs over houses
with no upstairs or downstairs.
I see the ash of earthquake
dust from that time,
the ground shook and opened up.
Auntie Luce says our
faces are like maps.
I can trace yours halfway around
the world, from the kingdoms
of [foreign word] to the
sugarcane fields that turned
into battlefields where
we fought to the death
for our freedom, all the way
to this room in this light.
I gather the brushes in a rag
and follow my aunt
to the washroom.
Over the sink I let the colors
bleed together in the water.
Ash to cocoa, to
rust, butterscotch
to nut, and nut to clay.
You paint to remember
Haiti, I say,
but I don't feel Haitian enough.
Sometimes I don't even
feel American enough.
Auntie Luce holds out her hands.
Try not to think of it
as one or the other,
but both together, she says.
You were born outside, that's
true, but you hold this place
in your skin, deep
in your bones.
Colors do not lie.
Her hands remind me of my
mother's, lean but also strong,
brown on brown, she
folds mine into hers.
And I wonder what my hands
will do when I'm older.
I wonder what stories
they will tell.
Can I take it home, Auntie Luce?
Can I keep the portrait?
[Foreign word], she
says, it's yours.
These colors, this people,
this place belong to you
and you belong to them, always.
That's it.
[ Applause ]
Wow. Thank you.
Are there any questions?
>> You mentioned that you were a
little challenged by [inaudible]
and weren't sure how
it was going to go.
What was the biggest challenge
in starting this [inaudible]?
>> Francie Latour: So I was
trained as a journalist.
I went to journalism school and
I worked at a few newspapers,
including The Boston Globe ,
which is why I moved to Boston.
I worked there for
about 12 years.
And so, as a journalist
you're trained
to chronicle like what happened.
And so my training, I
think, made it hard to think
about inventing something
out of the blue
that didn't exist before.
And so that was a
huge challenge.
Just switching gears in my
writing, and making stuff
up basically [laughter].
My kids helped a lot though.
Yeah. Thank you.
Yeah?
>> What do you tell kids
that don't feel American
[inaudible] sometimes
and don't feel [inaudible]?
>> Francie Latour: Wow,
that's such a good question.
So I guess -- so I
remember that experience.
When I go do these talks,
I often call myself
a daughter of Haiti.
But I was a very distant
daughter for a long time.
So, you know, I went to
a private girls school
and my friends would come
over and there would be like,
goat and rice and beans,
and I was embarrassed.
And so I realize now that
that embarrassment is part
of the experience
of assimilation.
And also, yeah, part
assimilation,
part like just being a kid
and feeling that peer pressure
and then also internalized
values from the dominant society
that alienate lots of black and
brown people from themselves.
So I guess what I
would say to kids is
that it's okay what
they're feeling.
And also that it's really
important to tell our stories.
When we don't tell our
stories they get told by others
without our permission,
and without our experience.
And that's a very
dangerous thing.
And so, yeah, the next
generation sort of,
they hold our stories, right.
So my kids are educated at
home in a way that they aren't
in school, whether they
like it or not [laughter].
Yeah?
>> [Inaudible] the work
of journalism and the work
of educating [inaudible], right?
So I wonder what skills did
you use from your experience
as a journalist in writing this
book and what might you take
from this book as a children's
writer back to journalism?
>> Francie Latour: Yeah,
that's a great question.
Thank you.
So I think one of the things
that I worked really hard to do
as a journalist -- that I work
really hard to do occasionally
when I still do journalism is
to be faithful to complexity.
People are complex, our
stories are complex,
and our world is
extremely complex.
So for example, one of the
stories that really affected me
for a long time that I
wrote at The Globe was
about a boy named Jason Meeks.
When I first heard
about Jason Meeks,
he was in prison
awaiting trial --
he was in jail awaiting
trial on attempted murder.
And I wish I could remember how
I uncovered this, but it turned
out that Jason Meeks,
when he was a child,
had written to the governor
of Massachusetts at that time,
Governor Bill Weld,
and asked the governor
to please make the bad men with
guns stop coming to his street.
And so a lot of people were
writing about Jason Meeks
but hadn't made that connection.
And so I spent some time
understanding how this boy
turned into man.
And there were a
lot of reasons why.
And so I think with the book
-- and, yeah, in my own life,
I want to make sure
that people understand
that there are reasons
that Haiti has the problems
and the challenges that it has.
And that those things are very
much connected to legacies
of slavery, of colonization,
of occupation.
And that you can't
really understand one
without the other.
And so, yeah, I think that's
probably the thing that I was --
that was very much on my mind.
And that I definitely had
sort of hardwired in me
from being a reporter.
Yeah. Yeah?
>> I have two questions related
to [inaudible] reading aloud.
S one is that we don't
really know the name
of the word [inaudible].
So I'm wondering if when
the person is reading aloud,
should refer to her as
[foreign word] or [inaudible]?
And the second question is,
you've included some [foreign
word] and many [inaudible]
in the United States don't
know how to read that aloud,
so would you suggest
that the reader skip
over that or try to read it?
>> Francie Latour: So
yes, the girl is --
yes, it's not really answered.
Because there were a
couple questions in there.
The girl's name is [foreign
word], yeah, which I explain
when I read to kids is
like a nickname, right?
So one thing we often do is we
go around the room and we talk
about -- the kids talk
about their nicknames
and what they mean.
The [foreign word] is one
thing that went back and forth
between my editor and I.
And I remember something that
my friend [inaudible] the writer
said one time and a talk, which
is that it really bothered her
when she saw other languages
in an English text italicized.
Because it's just a very strange
and othering act in the text.
And so I felt really
strongly that I wanted
to have [foreign
word] in the book.
And it's not just like any
Haitian [foreign word],
it's actually -- like when
my mother in the book says,
[foreign word], like
literally my mother says
that to me once a
week [laughter].
She doesn't think I
remember anything.
I don't know why.
And so yeah, so we came
to an understanding
that one way we could
navigate that was
by having translations
in the back.
And so I think it's
probably best for readers
to do what's comfortable
for them.
I really wasn't that
concerned, though, about that,
because I was thinking
about people who --
for whom like the
Haitian experience is part
of who they are.
I wasn't thinking about anyone
else in the -- in the actual --
in those kinds of decisions.
It was very important for
me to center [inaudible]
and not center the larger
predominantly white book
consuming world.
Do I know you?
I feel like I do.
[ Inaudible Speaker ]
I don't know, but I'm
so glad you're here.
Yeah?
>> What was your
favorite [inaudible]?
>> Francie Latour: So I
never know what to say
when people ask me this because
my long term memory is very
poor [laughter].
I mean, I remember like The
Giving Tree and I remember --
for some reason I
remember Aesop's Fables .
And I remember like
Haitian folktales.
But the main thing that
I remember about reading
or being read to, I
guess I should say,
is that there weren't any
characters who look like me.
So that's what I remember.
Yeah.
>> So that question must
be common [inaudible] is
through mission work.
I talk about the complexity
of writing a story [inaudible]
communication of culture,
family, and environment
and [inaudible]
of its people in
this [inaudible].
And I can only imagine how
rich this book would be
for Haitian children.
>> Francie Latour: Thank you.
So, yeah, there are some
plans afoot at the moment
to have it translated
into Haitian Creole
which would make me
just so, so, so happy.
And so fingers crossed.
Yeah.
>> [Inaudible] do you have
[inaudible] children in the room
who might act be able to tell
the reader [inaudible] how
to say those things?
It's such a powerful
thing to be able
to demonstrate your
own knowledge --
>> Francie Latour: Yeah.
>> -- to a teacher
sometimes [laughter].
>> Francie Latour: Yeah.
So I'm smiling right
now because I 0--
so when the book came out -- the
book came out about a year ago
at this time, and I went
to Miami and New York
to Brooklyn to do some readings.
And that was so amazing because
the kid's faces would just light
up at the recognition of
hearing the [foreign word].
And sometimes the
teachers would.
So occasionally there
was a teacher
who was Haitian, or
Haitian American.
At this one school in Miami,
the principal was Haitian,
and I felt like -- it was
a little uncomfortable.
Like, I felt like royalty.
I didn't know exactly
what was going on.
Like he greeted me at the
door and like the seas parted
and like everybody was lined
up to say hello [laughter].
And then there was
this introduction.
It was crazy.
And so, yeah, like that
just to see like their pride
and celebrating our
culture with them.
And kind of -- so like
affirming our culture
and celebrating it
is also like healing
in a way because of history.
And so that really tells me that
I've -- I did something good.
Yeah.
[ Inaudible Speaker ]
Oh, you had to ask
that [laughter].
So I didn't tell anyone about
this book until it was done.
And when I say done, I mean
like bought by a publisher.
And so people were like,
wait, what you did?
You did what?
When did you do that?
So yeah, I always
worry about kind
of like psyching myself out.
So I am trying to gracefully
avoid answering your
question [laughter].
But I guess kind of related
to the last question.
Yeah, so I've been like welcomed
into this amazing community
of like people who
make children's books.
And I really love it.
They're just amazing
-- doing amazing work.
I mean, Duncan, just
mind blowing, amazing.
And so I guess to stay part
of that community I have
to write a book [laughter].
We'll see.
>> [Inaudible] something
about your relationship
with the artist [inaudible]
or whatever?
>> Francie Latour: Oh, yeah.
So I think I mentioned that
there were two publishers
that were interested
in the book.
And so it was very important
for me and I communicated this
to Rubin, my agent,
that I didn't really care
like what I got paid.
But it was really important
for me for the illustrator
to be black and hopefully to
have a Caribbean experience
or some familiarity
with that experience.
And my agent was a little
nervous and was like,
you realize you've never
published anything,
so you shouldn't really be
making demands [laughter].
But, yeah, I mean, I was
-- I had low expectations.
So like, if it didn't work
out, it didn't work out,
but it worked out so
Groundwood Books agreed.
And then -- yeah, and
then I got matched
with Ken Daley, who
I did not know.
It turned out he was living
in Providence, Rhode Island,
like an hour away from me, but
I didn't know that at the time.
And so I sent him
the manuscript.
And I think he thought I was
so weird at the beginning
because I sent him
some very specific --
like small but specific things
that I wanted in the book.
So for example, you
see these fans?
So there are these brown
fans when you come in --
when you come into the
airport in [inaudible],
and they're pointless
[laughter].
It's like 100 degrees,
regardless,
they're doing nothing and
they're just slowly kind
of like pushing the
heat [laughter].
And so I would send him
these random emails like,
I need these brown fans
at the airport [laughter].
Oh dear. And then I also --
so some of the first sketches,
just drawing sketches, had this
girl who was like very smiley.
You know how in children's books
like kids are smiling
all the time?
And I was like, yeah,
no [laughter],
she needs to be a little like, I
don't know, contemplating things
and kind of maybe a little
bit melancholy at times,
just kind of like wondering but
not sort of like sugary happy.
But anyway, when they -- when
the first sketches started
to come, and then the
painting, so he actually --
a lot of illustrators work
for children's books can
work digitally and so forth.
But he actually has
these huge paintings.
Every one of these spreads is a
huge painting like in his house.
And I was just blown away.
I can't say enough
about him and his work.
I don't think he really
knows how talented he is.
But yeah. And then at
a certain point we met
and then started
doing some book events
when the book first came out.
He's just an amazing talent.
Super great guy.
I'm really lucky.
>> [Inaudible] color
[inaudible].
>> Maria Thurber:
Anymore questions?
>> [Inaudible] beautifully.
And I'm just wondering --
curious, do Haitians identify
themselves as [inaudible]
or because of the
language barrier
that they don't consider
themselves Latin Americans?
>> Francie Latour: Yeah.
>> Because the [inaudible]
languages.
So I'm just curious how
they identify themselves
in the United States.
>> Francie Latour: Yeah.
>> [Inaudible] also.
>> Francie Latour: Yeah,
I know what you mean.
Yeah, so I -- my understanding
of like the shared history,
the history that Haitians and
people throughout the Caribbean
and Latin America share
wasn't really something
that I had a sense of
when I was growing up.
It wasn't until I got to college
and I started reading more
and studying more about that
shared history and the things
that -- and the reasons why
that shared history
can get so sublimated.
It is interesting to me now
that you're saying it that a lot
of Haitians I know the most
common language they speak other
than English is Spanish.
Yeah. And at the same
time I feel like Haitians,
we really think of
ourselves as Haitians.
And I say that because
the legacy
of the Haitian Revolution
was so unique to our history,
and had just worldwide impact.
And it's such a source of pride
for black people globally.
It's a special thing.
It's like its own thing.
And so I think I grew up with
a very strong sense of that.
Not only [inaudible] the
rest of Latin America
but also other parts of the
African diaspora, right?
So a lot of times --
it's hard to explain.
So, for example, when someone
would underestimate me,
like a teacher, or [inaudible]
girl, or somebody would say, oh,
you know, where's your
scholarship from, but I wasn't
on scholarship, I really
had this internal thing
that was like, you
have a problem.
That's not my problem.
Because I know like
what my people did.
And I think that's not
necessarily the same experience
as black Americans at times.
But it's definitely something
that's like a huge source
of strength among Haitians,
among Haitian people.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah?
>> [Inaudible] first.
And so like you're
talking about [inaudible]
so we don't really
have a connection
to you [inaudible]
a particular country
and still going back [inaudible]
this is your problem,
but [inaudible] you may not have
that same source [inaudible].
So what kind of [inaudible]
because it's really hard
to go back [inaudible].
>> Francie Latour: Yeah.
Man, you've got me like
speechless at the moment.
It's a hard thing -- like
it's a beautiful thing.
And then it's also
such a hard thing.
I often feel -- so that
line about, you know,
I don't feel American enough,
I don't feel Haitian enough,
that's very true
to my experience.
So, for example, like when I got
to college, and I'm like, oh,
like, you know, black people
like hang out and then --
but then I didn't know how
to do the Electric Slide.
And let's -- it was
so sad [laughter].
So sad. But like, yeah,
like I knew [inaudible]
but like I didn't know
the Electric Slide.
So like yeah.
And then when I would go to
Haiti, it was very apparent
that I wasn't from Haiti.
So when Auntie Luce says, you
know, you were made outside,
it's like, [foreign word],
like you're [foreign
word], you're not from here.
You left. So it's kind of like
this collective, you left.
Whoever -- your mother,
your father, you know,
somebody in your family
decided to leave us,
and that's also really hard.
And so it's hard
-- you kind of feel
like an outsider on both ends.
Yeah. But -- so I
think just like --
I mean for me just personally,
the more I've learned
about our stories that have
been buried for so long,
distorted for so long,
erased for so long,
it could be from Jamaica, it
could be from the Bahamas,
that just really fuels
me and grounds me as well
as the history of
blacks in America.
Like incredibly powerful
and not just surviving.
But brilliant, just like
brilliant and thriving.
Sorry, I'm looking at the time,
but there's just one more story.
So yeah, so I do some racial
justice work with kids and one
of the workshops that I do
is called, We Got the Jazz,
and it's about a
celebration of jazz.
And so I -- we come out with
this box, and we say like,
everything that's in this
box is what black people had
to make jazz.
And they're all wondering
what's in the box
because it's like it's small.
And then we have a kid open it
and there's nothing in the box.
And so we can use that to
explain that, you know,
despite all the things
that were taken from us,
and all the things that
that we were denied,
we didn't just survive.
Like to survive,
it's like, yeah,
but that's not even the miracle.
The miracle is jazz,
blues like all of that.
And so, yeah, I think tapping
into that, staying close
to that is really
important for all of us.
>> Maria Thurber: Thank you.
So if you can give [inaudible]
applause for Francie Latour.
[ Applause ]
-- I hope to see you there.