I walk into the basement of the Tsleil-Waututh Nation Cultural Centre just as Elder Ernest George begins speaking. His voice fills the small room with stories in hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓, the language his grandmother taught him as a child. Behind him, a digital recorder captures each word, preserving what was once forbidden.
“When I was young, speaking our language outside the home could get you in trouble,” Ernest tells me during a break in the recording session. “Now we’re racing against time to save what remains.”
The scene unfolds just 30 minutes from downtown Vancouver, where the Tsleil-Waututh Nation has partnered with the First Peoples’ Cultural Council to digitize and archive Indigenous languages across British Columbia—part of a growing movement that’s transforming language preservation across Canada.
For generations, Indigenous languages were systematically targeted for elimination through residential schools and government policies. Today, with most of Canada’s estimated 70 Indigenous languages considered endangered, digital technology is becoming a crucial lifeline in revitalization efforts.
Tracey Herbert, CEO of the First Peoples’ Cultural Council, explains the urgency: “Every few weeks, we lose another fluent speaker of a critically endangered language. When they pass, they take irreplaceable knowledge with them—not just words, but entire ways of understanding the world.”
The digitization process I’m witnessing today combines traditional cultural protocols with cutting-edge technology. Teams record fluent speakers in high-definition audio and video, capturing not just vocabulary and grammar but also songs, stories, and cultural contexts that give the language its depth.
In the corner, I notice 23-year-old Cheyenne Cunningham, Ernest’s great-niece, operating sophisticated recording equipment while taking notes. “Before colonization, our languages were our libraries,” she tells me. “They contained our science, our history, our relationship with the land. Digital archiving helps us protect what’s left while making it accessible to younger generations.”
The Canadian government has committed $89.9 million over three years to support Indigenous languages through the Indigenous Languages Act passed in 2019. This funding allows communities to determine their own preservation priorities—whether creating digital dictionaries, developing language-learning apps, or building sound archives like the one I’m visiting.
At the University of Alberta, the Canadian Indigenous Languages and Literacy Development Institute (CILLDI) has partnered with communities to create digital tools tailored to specific languages. Their approach combines linguistic expertise with community knowledge.
“The most successful digital archives aren’t just repositories—they’re living resources that communities can access and use,” explains CILLDI director Jordan Lachler. “The goal isn’t preservation for museums; it’s revitalization for daily use.”
The technology being deployed ranges from basic to sophisticated. Some communities start with simple recordings on smartphones, while others use specialized software like SayMore and FLEx, which help organize complex linguistic data. The University of British Columbia has developed custom keyboards for Indigenous writing systems not supported by standard technology.
What makes these digital archives distinctly Indigenous is how they’re structured. While Western archives typically organize information alphabetically or chronologically, Indigenous language archives often organize knowledge by relationship to land, seasons, or cultural practices.
“Our language doesn’t separate words into nouns and verbs the same way English does,” explains Marilyn Shirt, a Cree language keeper from Alberta. “Our digital dictionary organizes words by relationship and action, reflecting our worldview. The technology must adapt to our language, not force our language to adapt to technology.”
In Iqaluit, the Pirurvik Centre has created Tusaalanga, a comprehensive digital platform for learning Inuktitut that includes audio recordings, videos, and interactive lessons. What makes it exceptional is how it preserves regional dialects and integrates cultural knowledge specific to different Inuit communities.
“Language isn’t just communication—it’s identity,” says Leena Evic, the centre’s co-founder. “When we digitize our language, we’re preserving how we see ourselves and our place in the world.”
Privacy and ownership concerns remain central challenges. Many communities have implemented digital protocols to protect sacred knowledge while making everyday language widely available. Some archives use tiered access systems, allowing certain cultural knowledge to remain restricted according to traditional protocols.
The National Research Council of Canada has developed Indigenous language technologies, including speech recognition systems specifically trained on Indigenous languages. This allows for the creation of automated transcription tools that can process hundreds of hours of archival recordings that might otherwise take years to transcribe manually.
“Technology alone isn’t the answer,” cautions Onowa McIvor, an Indigenous language revitalization expert at the University of Victoria. “Digital archives must support—not replace—the primary goal of creating new speakers through immersion and intergenerational transmission.”
As my day at the Tsleil-Waututh Nation draws to a close, I watch Ernest review some of the digital recordings with his great-niece. They listen together on a tablet, occasionally pausing to discuss a particular word or phrase. The technology bridges their generations, creating a moment of connection that would have been impossible for Ernest’s grandmother to imagine.
“These recordings will outlive me,” Ernest says quietly. “But now, so will my language.”
As I leave the cultural centre, I’m struck by how digital archiving represents not just technological innovation but a profound act of resistance and healing. After generations of policies designed to erase Indigenous languages, these digital archives are creating permanent, accessible repositories of knowledge that can never again be taken away.
For communities across Canada, the future of their ancient languages now includes lines of code, server space, and digital interfaces—modern tools preserving the oldest voices on this land.
