Forget Starlink. Indigenous Innovation Is Canada’s Best Bet for Rural Internet.
In the summer of 2023, during the wildfires near Yellowknife, I got a text from my colleague Lyle Fabian, the founder of KatloTech, a Northern Indigenous-owned IT company. He sent me a photo of his campsite, set up like a mobile office, his laptop perched on a folding table. He had created his own Wi-Fi network that allowed campers to stream content from his servers and stay connected with friends and family at the site. In the period between evacuation orders and returning home, Lyle had bridged the digital divide for wildfire evacuees.
Lyle’s work represents the kind of hybrid solution that northern, Indigenous, rural and remote communities often devise to access high-speed connectivity in Canada. But while some households and organizations connect to homegrown solutions like Lyle’s, many others have adopted Starlink, the satellite internet system operated by Elon Musk’s SpaceX. Starlink is now Canada’s sixth-largest internet provider, with around 400,000 subscribers and about $420 million in yearly Canadian revenue. It’s primarily used in the north, as well as rural and remote areas—places that don’t yet offer fast, reliable and reasonably priced non-satellite services.
Last winter, when I visited a fly-in community in the N.W.T. with my research team, we asked around and found that most customers of Northwestel, Bell Canada’s Northern subsidiary, had migrated to Starlink. After all, it just requires a satellite antenna and unobstructed sky view. But Starlink is a private company controlled entirely from the U.S. It funnels all its profits there. The more we buy into it, the more we lock ourselves into a highly centralized system we can’t control.
It wasn’t always like this. Historically, Canada was a world leader in telecommunications. Canadians pioneered telephones and radio broadcasting. Folks in rural Canada built networks of high-frequency “bush radios” and community radio stations, many of which were set up and operated by Indigenous peoples. We also created the world’s first domestic communications satellite system, via Telesat. Later developments led to Indigenous-owned and operated satellite, wireless and fibre optic internet systems.
However, decades of policy decisions and corporate consolidation have produced a patchwork of connectivity in rural and remote regions. In 2023, just over half of rural communities in the N.W.T. and First Nations reserves had access to fast, unlimited internet coverage. The dominant telecommunications business models, using fibre optics, microwave towers or buried cables, were designed for densely populated areas, not for small, scattered communities. When on-reserve companies and non-profits try to fill the gap, building and maintaining internet infrastructure themselves, it’s difficult for them to access public funding. The administrative burden often causes them to give up. And with limited assets to use as collateral, they struggle to access traditional financing too. Construction costs are extremely high, as every loop of cable must be flown in or hauled over seasonal ice roads. Even when under-resourced Indigenous and non-profit organizations do secure funding, many experience operational shortfalls, waiting weeks or months for reimbursements.
This is where Starlink steps in. It provides a direct-to-home service through an antenna installed on roofs. Early reports suggest speed and reliability are sound, and rural customers used to expensive data caps now gain access to unlimited data. But its arrival has rattled fragile rural markets. During the COVID-19 pandemic, many First Nations in Northern Ontario received Starlinks, subsidized through federal and provincial infrastructure programs. An Indigenous organization servicing these communities once held 95 per cent of the market for internet. The subsidized Starlink services split the consumer market and weakened the business case for local ISPs. In essence, it cut out the Lyles and K-Nets, trading convenience and speed for local jobs and innovation.
That’s to say nothing of the geopolitical risk that comes with depending on Starlink. This U.S. company is a major player in Canada’s communications system. In rural and remote communities, where many brick-and-mortar services are unavailable, people rely on these connections for their children’s schooling, remote work and to access essential services like banking and health care, as well as social interaction and entertainment. Should we really tether our access to a system that may become a bargaining chip in trade negotiations? Our privacy is also at stake: every piece of data that travels through Starlink flows into a private network controlled by Elon Musk, until recently a top Trump adviser.
We should invest in digital innovations at home instead, many of which are Indigenous-led. Lyle’s work is one example. In addition, the non-profit Western James Bay Telecom Network provides home-fibre services to the fly-in First Nations of Kashechewan, Attawapiskat and Fort Albany in Ontario and interconnects to the south via fibre networks. K-Net, set up in 1994 by the Keewaytinook Okimakanak Tribal Council, connects 2,500 subscribers and more than 100 Ontario First Nations communities and organizations through a hybrid satellite and terrestrial network. In Quebec, the Eeyou Communications Network operates a regional fibre-optic network linking 14 First Nations and municipalities and serving more than half the households in the region. To the north, it links with Tamaani, established by the Kativik Regional Government, to connect 14 Inuit communities. To the south, it interconnects with a terrestrial network of 23 First Nation community systems deployed by the First Nations Education Council.
In many instances, First Nations own, control and operate their networks. They hire local technicians, set their pricing—typically at prices lower than Starlink—and keep the operational revenues in the community. Crucially, they are not accountable to foreign shareholders, but to community members. As non-profits and local businesses, they sidestep the pressure to generate immense profits in unprofitable regions and operate in underserved areas. Once infrastructure is in place, they offer speeds and quality of service comparable to—and in some cases, better than—Starlink. Their guiding principles are not growth in customers, but rather improved services and access to health care, education, clean-water monitoring and economic services.
Governments and regulators are increasingly recognizing the benefits of these smaller providers. Last year, the CRTC adopted a renewed policy directive aimed at improving competition and affordability. It is now revising its $750-million Broadband Fund to create an Indigenous-specific funding stream that will provide capital support for infrastructure development. The Commission may also consider support for operational expenses as well, especially in high-cost, hard-to-serve regions.
The CRTC is also strengthening protections for Indigenous organizations, making it harder for large telecom companies to undermine local markets. New policies support Indigenous ownership and control of telecommunications infrastructure, allowing communities to decide who can access their networks and on what terms. Funding terms for Indigenous applicants are also improving: the CRTC now offers up to 15 per cent of project funding upfront and up to two years of support for training local technicians.
Ideally, these reforms would lead to a future where Canadian telecoms balance local and regional innovation with shared common standards. A nationwide network could interconnect local and regional networks built and operated by organizations like K-Net and Tamaani, allowing entrepreneurs like Lyle and non-profits like Western James Bay Telecom Network to sustain their networks in ways that align with Indigenous data sovereignty and economic development while contributing to more resilient, reliable internet services in remote areas across the country.
Today, limited-term government subsidies for Starlink services in Canada are coming to an end. Some contracts were even cancelled before they started, as was the case in Ontario. In searching for alternatives, our country’s history of communications development proves that a different approach is possible. The blueprint for a made-in-Canada solution is already here, led by the Indigenous peoples who lived in these territories long before the country was founded.
Rob McMahon is an associate professor in the Media & Technology Studies Unit and the Department of Political Science at the University of Alberta. He thanks Peter Garland, a Ph.D. candidate, and Dwayne Winseck, a professor, in the School of Journalism and Communication at Carleton University for their contributions to the research supporting this article.
