Every few years, Alaska rediscovers Alaska Native languages. A grant opens. A program launches. A press release goes out. Elders show up. Curriculum gets built. Kids learn. Families learn.

Then the grant ends. And the program restarts from zero.

Unangam Tunuu — the language of the Unangax̂ people of the Aleutian Chain and Shumagins — has carried this burden for generations. So have the other Alaska Native languages across the state. They survive in spite of the funding model, not because of it.

That has to change. Language is not a special project. Language is infrastructure.

What stable language funding looks like

• Multi-year, predictable State support for Alaska Native language teaching positions in schools, tribes, and regional non-profits — not one-time grants that vanish after twelve months.
• A standing fund for elders and first-language speakers to be paid fairly for the time they spend teaching, recording, and mentoring younger speakers.
• Long-term support for curriculum development, classroom materials, family-learning resources, immersion camps, and digital recordings that outlive any single program.
• Career pathways and certification for Alaska Native language teachers, so a young person can choose this as a real profession.
• Coordinated support across the State, the University of Alaska, school districts, tribes, and regional non-profits — instead of every community fighting alone for the same shrinking grants.

Language carries place names, kinship, navigation, weather, food, ceremony, and the stories that explain why our people are still here. When a language weakens, none of that disappears overnight — but the path back gets longer every year.

Alaska Native language is also tied to educational success. Students who see their language and identity treated as serious knowledge — not extracurricular decoration — do better, stay engaged longer, and trust the schools that respect them.

Treating language as part of community survival means funding it that way. That means line items, not leftovers. It means programs that can plan five and ten years ahead, not month to month.

Unangam Tunuu has survived everything Alaska history has thrown at it.

The State should finally fund it like it belongs to all of us — because it does.