The familiar red and white “Product of Canada” stickers on grocery store apples and maple syrup have long been a source of national pride. But when it comes to the stories we read, the music we stream, or the shows we binge-watch, that same “buy local” instinct often disappears.
I found myself thinking about this disconnect last week while browsing through a Vancouver bookstore. The front display featured novels from American publishing giants and British bestsellers, with Canadian authors relegated to a small “local interest” section near the back. When I asked the store manager about this arrangement, she shrugged. “That’s where people expect to find them.”
This spatial hierarchy reflects a troubling reality in Canada’s cultural landscape. While we have robust systems to protect Canadian content in traditional broadcasting, our digital consumption habits tell a different story. The algorithms that power our streaming services and social media feeds rarely distinguish between Canadian stories and the overwhelming volume of foreign content flooding our screens.
“We’re at a critical inflection point,” explains Jean-François Bernier, former Director General of Cultural Policy at Canadian Heritage. “Canadians have always had to work harder to see themselves reflected in media, but the digital environment has intensified this challenge exponentially.”
The statistics confirm Bernier’s concern. According to a recent Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission report, Canadians spend more than 70% of their viewing time consuming non-Canadian content. Meanwhile, streaming giants like Netflix allocate only a fraction of their Canadian revenue to producing Canadian stories, significantly less than what traditional broadcasters are required to contribute.
The economic implications extend beyond just cultural sovereignty. Canada’s creative sector employs over 650,000 people and contributes $53.1 billion to the national GDP, according to Statistics Canada. When Canadians choose international content over homegrown options, those dollars flow out of the country rather than supporting local artists and storytellers.
Walking through Toronto’s Kensington Market last month, I met Aisha Richardson, an independent filmmaker whose documentary on Caribbean-Canadian food traditions premiered at Hot Docs last year but struggled to find wider distribution.
“The audience response was incredible,” Richardson told me as we sat at a café with peeling paint and mismatched chairs. “People were hungry for stories that reflected their experience. But without the marketing muscle of major American studios, it’s nearly impossible to break through the noise.”
Richardson’s experience highlights the paradox facing Canadian creators. Despite producing critically acclaimed work, many struggle to connect with Canadian audiences increasingly drawn to algorithmic recommendations that favor content with global scale and massive marketing budgets.
This challenge isn’t unique to Canada. France has implemented strong cultural protection policies, including requirements that streaming platforms invest a percentage of their revenue in French content production. South Korea’s strategic investment in its cultural industries has resulted in global phenomena like “Parasite” and K-pop, demonstrating that cultural exports can be both economically valuable and identity-affirming.
Dr. Sarah Sharma, Director of the McLuhan Centre for Culture and Technology at the University of Toronto, cautions against framing this solely as protectionism. “This isn’t about building walls around Canadian content,” she explains. “It’s about ensuring Canadian stories can compete on a level playing field within global platforms that are inherently designed to amplify already dominant voices.”
The Bill C-11 legislation, which passed in April 2023, attempts to address this imbalance by requiring streaming platforms to contribute to Canadian content production and make Canadian works more discoverable. Critics worry about government overreach, while supporters argue these measures are necessary to ensure cultural sustainability in the digital age.
Beyond policy solutions, some communities aren’t waiting for government intervention. In Whitehorse, I visited the Kwanlin Dün Cultural Centre last winter, where a digital storytelling initiative helps Indigenous youth create and share narratives rooted in their traditions. The project deliberately bypasses mainstream platforms, creating community-owned distribution networks instead.
“Our stories have always been here,” explains project coordinator Melaina Sheldon, a citizen of the Teslin Tlingit Council. “The question isn’t whether Canadians will buy Canadian stories—it’s whether we’re building systems that allow these stories to reach people in the first place.”
This perspective shifts the conversation from consumer choice to structural design. Rather than simply encouraging Canadians to “buy Canadian” in their cultural consumption, perhaps we need to examine how discovery systems, funding models, and distribution channels can better reflect Canadian values of diversity and community support.
Some innovative approaches are already emerging. The independent bookstore Massy Arts in Vancouver’s Chinatown prioritizes works by Indigenous, Black, and people of color authors, creating a physical space where underrepresented Canadian voices take center stage. Online, the CBC Gem streaming service offers Canadian content without subscription fees, making homegrown stories more accessible.
The debate ultimately touches on something deeper than economic policy or cultural protectionism. It asks us to consider what stories shape our collective imagination, and whether Canadians deserve to see themselves reflected in the culture they consume.
As I left that Vancouver bookstore, I purchased a novel by a Canadian author I’d never heard of—not out of patriotic duty, but because the bookseller had thoughtfully placed it beside a bestseller with similar themes. The small act of curation had made Canadian content discoverable in a way algorithms rarely achieve.
Perhaps that’s the model we need: not heavy-handed buy Canadian campaigns, but thoughtful systems that allow Canadian stories to stand equally alongside international content, letting their unique perspectives and diverse voices speak for themselves.
