TIABC Voice of Tourism Newsletter – February 20, 2026

“No hablo Español.”

I must have said that phrase a hundred times when I first moved to Honduras in the early 2000s. And almost every time, the response was the same. The person I was speaking to would smile politely and then repeat whatever they had just said. Only this time slower. And louder.

I would nod, smile, and repeat, “No hablo Español.” They would try again. Slower. Louder.

And so, this timeless linguistic game would continue. Two well-meaning humans locked in a polite standoff of volume and syllable separation. Neither of us actually understanding the other, but both of us hoping that somehow repetition alone would solve the problem.

Eventually, one of us would laugh. Or grimace. Or resort to enthusiastic hand gestures that could have meant anything from “Where is the bus?” to “I may have accidentally adopted your dog.”

After a few months of living in a country where very few people spoke English, I learned to speak Spanish. Not perfectly. Not elegantly. But well enough to be understood.

Because at some point, I realized something important. It was not their job to learn my language. It was my responsibility to learn theirs.

Now, before you assume this is a lesson about bilingualism, let me pivot.

This story has been sitting with me since February 17th, when I, and many others, were invited to gather at the Victoria Conference Centre for the provincial budget lockup.

Phones sealed in bright pink plastic envelopes. Confidentiality agreements signed. Rows of tables lined with folders containing the yet-to-be-released 2026 provincial budget. We had been warned for weeks to brace ourselves. To prepare for a budget that would, in the Minister of Finance’s own words, make her the “least popular person in the province”. The room was quiet. Curious. Slightly tense. As pages turned and summaries were read, the atmosphere shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough to move from sharp anticipation to something heavier. Thoughtful. Maybe a touch jaded.

Although the budget indicated a commitment by government to strengthen permitting capacity for the natural resource sector (including tourism) over the next 3 years, which is a good start, I had hoped for stronger signals for tourism. Certainly, more than the few minor references it received. Note: The brief that follows provides a summary and analysis of Budget 2026.

So, was I disappointed that tourism did not receive more attention in the budget? It is a fair question. I would be less than honest if I said I did not feel concern. Tourism contributes more to British Columbia’s GDP than mining, forestry, oil and gas, agriculture, or fishing. It supports communities across every region of the province. It intersects with transportation, workforce development, housing, land stewardship, culture, and wellness. 

And yet, when budgets are tabled, including this most recent one, tourism can feel like it is spoken about in a different language.

Which brings me back to Honduras.

Perhaps we, in the tourism sector, have been speaking our own language and expecting others to understand it simply because we are speaking more slowly. Or more loudly. Maybe we have been repeating the same statistics. The same arguments. The same requests. Hoping that if we say them often enough, they will land differently.

But repetition is not translation.

If tourism is not fully reflected in budget priorities, perhaps the question is not just what was written in the document. Perhaps the question is how we are framing the sector in the first place.

Are we presenting tourism as discretionary spending, or as economic infrastructure? Are we positioning it as marketing and events, or as one of British Columbia’s most renewable and scalable economic drivers? Are we speaking about it as a sector seeking support, or as a strategic asset that strengthens communities, sustains small businesses, and anchors regional economies?

Budgets are written in the language of trade-offs, risk management, and long-term fiscal sustainability.

If we want tourism to be central in those conversations, we may need to ensure we are fluent in that language. This is not about frustration. It is about strategy.

Tourism is one of British Columbia’s most powerful economic forces. It generates billions in revenue. It creates jobs that cannot be outsourced. It supports rural, urban, coastal, and interior communities alike. It intersects with environmental stewardship and cultural preservation, including Indigenous tourism experiences that offer meaningful, place-based economic opportunity. It already accounts for 3.1% of BC’s total GDP, and it has the potential to contribute even more. In fact, tourism has the potential to be part of the pathway to return the provincial debt-to-GDP ratio to something manageable, maybe even beyond that, if given the attention it deserves. 

But scale alone does not guarantee priority. Clarity does.

As I left the lockup that morning and reclaimed my phone from its pink envelope, I was not carrying defeat. I was carrying a realization. Maybe it is time to stop repeating the same lines louder and slower. Maybe it is time to refine how we communicate tourism’s value. To connect it directly to the outcomes governments are trying to achieve. To present tourism not as a line item, but as a lever.

The lesson I learned years ago in Honduras still applies. If you want to be understood, learn the language of the room you are in.

Tourism’s story is strong. The numbers are strong. The impact is undeniable.

Now the work is ensuring that when we speak about this sector, it is heard clearly, understood fully, and reflected meaningfully in the decisions that shape British Columbia’s future.

Amber Papou

CEO, TIABC