The U.S. isn’t alone in losing local history

In our May newsletter, we looked at what happens when local museums and libraries in the United States lose public funding—how collections disappear, and how community action can keep that history alive.

This month, we’re turning our focus to Canada, where current cases show what happens when cultural heritage is treated as a commodity, not a responsibility.

Across the country, collections are being sold or left without the support they need to survive. Some closures are presented as cost-saving measures or modernization plans, while others are tied to redevelopment projects. Regardless, the effect is the same: these decisions separate communities from their own history.

What started as a slow erosion is accelerating at a concerning rate—not just in the States, but around the world. And with it, the idea of heritage as something we all share feels less secure. When archives and museum collections are sold or displaced, our shared story risks becoming someone else’s private property.

WHAT’S HAPPENING 

Three recent developments in Canada point to a troubling pattern: decisions about collections in the public interest are being made without transparency. 

Halton Region: Local History Locked Behind Closed Doors 

In Ontario’s Halton Region, the Regional Council voted—during a closed session—to dissolve its Heritage Services department and rehome more than 30,000 artifacts, including photographs, tools, works of art, and archaeological finds. 

This decision resulted in the elimination of staff positions and a pullback from their Cultural Heritage Master Plan (2021). When residents and local historians learned what had happened, they launched petitions and called for transparency. Local officials have said the collection “will be preserved,” but the plan for long-term stewardship and public access remains unclear. 

Experts have warned that dispersing the collections this way almost guarantees loss: once public artifacts are separated and stored without oversight, many never resurface. As one heritage professional told Oakville News, “The idea that this will not lead to loss of artifacts is naïve.”

Ontario Science Centre: Destruction of a Public Institution 

Meanwhile in June, Ontario’s government abruptly closed the Ontario Science Centre—a beloved public institution that served millions of visitors for more than 50 years—citing structural concerns. 

However, newly released engineering reports obtained by Canadian Architect indicated the building was safe to occupy, and that the cited structural risks did not justify a full closure. 

Plans to demolish the site and redevelop the land for mixed-use construction are already in motion, with a smaller replacement Science Centre proposed years down the line. The Architect's Newspaper reported on the protests that followed, as architects, scientists, and residents condemned the move as a political maneuver that prioritizes real estate over public good.

Hudson’s Bay Company: Selling Shared History 

And Canada’s oldest corporation—the Hudson's Bay Company—entered bankruptcy proceedings this summer. While a private collection, the materials are of historical significance to many. The decision to sell was likely informed by Hudson's bankruptcy, but it diverts from the precedent the company set in 1994 when it established the Hudson Bay Company archival collection at the Archives of Manitoba. And it highlights just how easily collections can disappear when there are no guardrails to support a community's rights to a shared history.

The assets heading to auction contain centuries of art and artifacts, including pieces of Indigenous origin. One item in particular has drawn national attention: the company’s 1670 royal charter, the founding document that established trade rights across the country and shaped Canada’s early colonial expansion. As BNN Bloomberg reported, the sale of the the charter has been delayed following multiple bids from wealthy private parties and foundations—some pledging to buy and “donate” the document to the public. A court hearing on the charter’s sale was adjourned as competing bids emerged, including would-be donors. 

But for many historians and Indigenous leaders, the process itself is the issue. As noted by public-interest journal Ricochet, communities with rightful claims to these materials were not consulted, and the sale of any part of this collection risks putting centuries of shared history into private hands.

We see the same pattern across all three cases: 

1. Heritage objects are treated as expendable
2. Communities are cut out of the conversation 
3. Financial motivations are placed ahead of the public trust

What’s lost isn’t just access to objects or buildings. It’s the shared cultural heritage and deeply important local collections that faces irrevocable loss.

WHAT WE CAN DO ABOUT IT

While it can be difficult to regain what’s already lost, we can shape what comes next. That’s why everyone’s involvement matters. It can feel overwhelming, but taking even just one of these small steps can make a difference:

Connect with your local heritage centers

• Sign up for newsletters, follow their social pages, or attend events. These organizations are often the first to sound the alarm about funding changes or policy shifts that affect the organizations you care about.

Show up early (not just at election time)

• Start small: sit in on a council or community meeting. Skim the agenda packets or minutes from the last session. You’ll be surprised by what gets discussed before it ever makes the news.

Join a board

• Maybe it’s your local arts council or library advisory group. Most cities have open seats that go unfilled. Even one person who cares about history can make a room pause and rethink what “budget efficiency” really means.

Run for local office

• If you’re tired of watching decisions after the fact, take up a seat at the table. Persistence and interest in doing what’s right for your community can go far.

Speak up where you are

• Talk about what you see. Write a letter to the editor, join a peaceful protest, or share meeting notes on your neighborhood subreddit or other community forums. Spread truth, not noise.

Public outrage has its limits. Showing up in person still matters most. The more visible and consistent we are, the harder it becomes for leadership to treat public heritage as disposable.

Because history doesn’t just preserve itself. It depends on us.

What it all means

The erosion of public heritage isn’t new—but it is accelerating.

When a public institution disappears, we lose more than objects. We lose knowledge and memories that belong to everyone. The ability to visit, learn, question, and see yourself reflected in the stories that shape your nation—that’s what gives history its public power.

And yet, with every sale and shuttered building, that story narrows. The record of who we’ve been becomes harder to access, easier to distort, and less accountable to the people it was meant to serve.

When the record of who we’ve been slips into private hands, we risk losing the right to remember who we are.

This blog post content was originally included in our community newsletter: The Moment -- where we respond quickly and thoughtfully to impactful events and decisions that challenge or disrupt our profession.