August 14, 2025

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I am very happy to join you this morning, here on the unceded traditional territory of the Algonquin Anishinaabeg Nation.

Canada is advancing on a journey of reconciliation.

We are making space for those who still carry the pain of one of the darkest chapters of our history: the residential school system.

This system caused deep harm to Indigenous families.

Children were taken from their homes. They were placed in institutions, far from their communities. There, they were forbidden to speak their language or practice their culture.

Many suffered unspeakable abuse and neglect.

And their trauma was passed down, from one generation to the next.

Reconciliation is not easy.

It means having hard conversations—and listening to truths that should never have been.

It also demands action to dismantle the barriers that have historically divided us.

Supporting Indigenous languages through education is one such action. It is one essential way we build trust and move forward together.

We are now well into UNESCO’s International Decade of Indigenous Languages.

Although the international community acknowledges the vital role of Indigenous languages in building stronger societies—the fight is far from being over.

Here in Canada, more than 70 Indigenous languages are spoken.

Among them, Cree languages and Inuktitut are the most widely used.

Yet many others are at risk.

In 2006, 21 per cent of Indigenous people across Canada reported speaking their traditional language.

By 2021, that number had dropped to just 13 per cent.

The need to protect Indigenous languages is urgent.

As a child, I was fortunate to grow up in a home where two languages were spoken.

At home, our family conversations were always in Inuktitut. My father, fluent in both Inuktitut and English, introduced us to English as well.

Those two cultures, equally cherished, and the harmony between two worldviews, shaped so much of who I am.

Inuktitut, like other Indigenous languages, carries our memories, our family stories, our imagination—and our humor, too.

Even today, Inuktitut words bring back images, scents, and places that helped shape my identity.

However, at the Federal Day School, my siblings and our friends had to continue our education in English only.

Speaking our mother tongue was forbidden—both in the classroom and on school grounds, even though we were in our own community of Fort Chimo, now known as Kuujjuaq.

We lost the chance to build an academic foundation on the rich cultural knowledge we had received at home.

We lost the opportunity to keep developing our abstract thinking in our mother tongue.

Imagining a future where we could succeed professionally without giving up our Indigenous identity felt out of reach.

It warms my heart to see more and more initiatives across Canada making space for Indigenous children to learn and speak their ancestral language in school.

This is one of my dearest wishes.

Of course, like in many other countries, there are real challenges to transforming Indigenous language instruction here in Canada.

A little over a decade ago, I worked with people across the North on a National Strategy on Inuit Education.

We made ten recommendations.

One of the most fundamental was this: invest in teachers.

How do we draw more Inuktitut speakers into the teaching profession?

How can we harness the potential of fluent community members, including Elders who haven’t attended university?

These individuals are educators in their own right and should be recognized and supported as they too are our teachers.

What supports can we offer to help them thrive in the classroom and become even more effective in their teaching roles?

We must also acknowledge the historical inequities between Indigenous and non-Indigenous teachers—and commit to eliminating them.

We cannot afford to lose any more Indigenous educators because of such disparities.

Another recommendation for improving Inuktitut instruction was to expand and develop curriculum that is centred on Inuit priorities. This can also apply to other Indigenous languages.

The curriculum must be relevant. It must spark curiosity. And it must carry a sense of pride.

We also recommended stronger coordination among territories, provinces, and school boards. Complex decisions about Inuktitut instruction must be made collaboratively—to foster consistency and unity across regions.

For example: can we agree on a common Inuit language writing system?

And how do we ensure the language continues to grow—adopting new words for new technologies—while also preserving the old ones, like the words I used to hear from my grandmother?

But most importantly, we recommended reaching out to parents, Elders and other community members—to bring them into our education systems.

Language learning starts at home, in the community.

But how do we motivate a community to support that learning, when many feel disconnected from the language themselves?

When some associate it with the past—or with painful memories?

And when others still struggle to trust the very institutions that once broke their connection to the language?

And yet, this is key.

Parents, Elders, and the wider community can make a powerful difference by encouraging children to embrace their language through speaking it with family and friends and through education.

There are challenges—but we are also making progress.

Over the past four years, I’ve witnessed many grassroots Indigenous language education initiatives across Canada. I’ve seen a strong desire to teach our own languages.

But I’ve also come to recognize just how great the needs are—and how much more support is required to revitalize Indigenous languages in every part of this country.

Today, I want to shine a light on a few success stories where that kind of support has truly made a difference.

When I visited British Columbia, I spoke with students from the award-winning Indigenous Language Revitalization Program.

This program equips learners with practical strategies to help preserve endangered languages in their communities.

In Regina, Saskatchewan, I visited the First Nations University of Canada.

There, students can pursue programs in the arts, education, and language instruction—in several of their local languages.

And I am proud that work is underway to develop Inuit Nunangat University. I commend Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami for their commitment to this.

It will be Canada’s first university rooted in Inuit culture and language, and established in the North.

These are huge steps forward.

Today, I feel a strong sense of hope when I see young Indigenous peoples forging their future careers—while proudly embracing their identity.

Delegates, I want to thank all of you for being part of this conversation.

Thank you for working to make people around the globe aware that kids learning their own Indigenous languages in school and at home is one of the most powerful investments that our communities—and our governments—will ever make.

I’ll leave you with an Inuit word that my grandmother often used to say: Ajuinnata.

It means to persevere in the face of difficulty. It means to never give up—just as my people have done for generations, surviving for millenia.

So, let’s keep going—so that Indigenous languages continue to thrive, continue to heal, and continue to enrich all of humanity.

Nakurmik. Merci. Thank you.