Despite multiple colonial erasure efforts, there are over 4,000 different Indigenous languages spoken worldwide. Indigenous peoples have tirelessly fought to maintain their languages as a core part of their identity, preserving connections to histories and traditions that have been oppressed during centuries of colonization. Today, we are witnessing a global resurgence in language reclamation initiatives by Indigenous communities driven by community advocacy, digital tools, and policy efforts.
When discussing Indigenous languages, it is vital to understand the long history of linguistic suppression these communities have faced. Colonial powers have utilized similar erasure strategies worldwide, including a host of brutal tactics to fuel imperialist regimes and sustain control. In the United States and Canada, English-only Indian boarding schools backed by governments and religious institutions were created to forcibly assimilate Native American children. Starting in the late 19th century, thousands of Native children were involuntarily sent to these Indian boarding schools to be stripped of their cultural practices and knowledge. Schools in both the United States and Canada operated under a mission of linguicide. John Brown Jr., a Navajo Code Talker, recounts, “They tell us not to speak in the Navajo language because you’re going to school. You’re supposed to only speak English. And that was true. They did practice that and we got punished if you was caught speaking Navajo.” Similarly, Anita Yellowhair—a Navajo boarding school survivor—recalled being made to clean toilets whenever she or her peers were caught speaking languages other than English. The degradation of Indigenous languages led to a forced reformation of linguistic identity for Native children, depriving them of an aspect of their Indigeneity.
In 20th century-Mexico, similar sentiments spread in light of education reforms. Many politicians of the early Republic held deep prejudices against the use of Indigenous languages and pushed a wave of nationalism under the mestizaje (the process of racial mixing, particularly with the blending of Latin American Indigenous groups and European groups) project to create a unified Mexican identity without racial distinctions. Children in schools were predominantly taught in Spanish, and Indigenous languages were looked down upon. Anti-Indigenous projects like mestizaje are the reason why Mexico, a country with a relatively large percentage of Indigenous inhabitants, has also become a site of mass assimilation of Indigenous peoples.
Nepal’s Indigenous population has similarly endured prejudicial treatment and an accompanied lack of social linguistic respect. Political parties continue to adopt a policy of “one language, one culture, one religion” that first appeared in a unification campaign by its former king, Prithvi Narayan Shah. The law suppresses Indigenous languages, such as Newar or Magar, and instead standardizes Nepali as the sole official medium for government relations, documentation, media, and education.
If colonial powers have used language suppression as a tool of control, then to reclaim an Indigenous language is an act of defiance and resistance. The Māori in New Zealand have led successful initiatives for current generations to learn the native tongue—Te Reo Māori—including the Māori Language Petition in 1972. With government support, Te Reo Māori became an official language, classes were introduced in primary and secondary schools, and a teaching course for fluent speakers was launched. New Zealand has also had great success at integrating Te Reo Māori in programming and media.
In Ghana, monolingual English media poses many of the same challenges. Indigenous African languages like Twi and Hanis Coos are used in community settings for the purpose of storytelling and keeping culture alive. While some individuals who are fluent in these languages have sought out formal journalism and media training to promote these underrepresented tongues, many lack the training to effectively advocate for their language. Across Sub-Saharan Africa, a global linguistic dilemma persists as public affairs are primarily conducted in colonial languages like French, Portuguese, and English. In a setting dominated by colonial language norms, some who speak Indigenous languages in Africa fight for their languages to be preserved and represented in the digital space.
Similarly, in Hawai’i, a resurgence in Ōlelo Hawai’i language immersion schools has ensured native language retention. The University of Hawai’i now offers education in Ōlelo. For Indigenous youth, the ability to communicate in heritage languages has allowed for a deeper understanding of their lineage and connection to their culture. These efforts give hope to older generations that saw erasure and are now happily witnessing revival.
On Indigenous Peoples’ Day in 2018, Duolingo made headlines when it announced that the Navajo language (Diné bizaad) and Hawaiian (Ōlelo Hawai’i) would be available to learn on its app. Though some native speakers have critiqued the accuracy of such courses, Duolingo has still made efforts to collaborate with community members to create a product intended to aid in language preservation. The Diné bizaad course was developed by teachers and students alike in the San Juan School District in Utah, a predominantly Native district. Similarly, the Ōlelo Hawai’i course was created in collaboration with the Kanaeokana and the Kamehameha Schools. Digital tools in general have aided in the distribution and visibility of Indigenous linguistic opportunities. Among digital sustainability experts, it is widely believed that “Digital tools democratize [access to] language learning” and can be utilized as a form of empowerment. Thus, humanity has a responsibility to employ the technological tools at our disposal to aid language revitalization and intergenerational language transmission.
The intersection of technology and tradition is visible among Californian Zapotec youth. The Zapotec people consist of various Indigenous groups in Oaxaca, Mexico, and some neighboring states, each with unique cultures and distinct languages. My family has ties to the Yalálag, Villa Hidalgo region, where Yalálag Zapoteco is spoken. I have been learning Yalálag Zapoteco from an elder in the Los Angeles community, Don Nacho, who instructs me on WhatsApp a couple of times throughout each semester. I am also fortunate enough to have native speakers in my family—my tía Chepa, my cousin Mau, and my abu Federico—all of whom still live in Oaxaca. Through these lessons and talks with family, I have been able to teach my younger sister and practice whenever I am back in the fatherland. I am thankful to have the opportunity to develop conversational skills that allow me to connect further with my pueblo.
Accepting a place at Brown moved me across the country, even farther from most of my family, but virtual connections help me maintain ties to my Indigenous identity despite residing in Providence for the majority of the year. Online resources like WhatsApp, iPhone FaceTime calls, and audio recordings of conversations in Zapoteco connect me back to my community when I am physically distant.
Language reclamation is not only a fight for self-determination and linguistic autonomy—it is also a fundamental pillar of identity for our communities. From community-led immersion schools to digital tools and ancestral input, language revitalization efforts are blending tradition and human advancements to ensure these languages thrive for future generations. I hope society will continue to humanize and view Indigenous languages as living, evolving forces that are critical to our heritages.