As Ilisaqsivik goes, so goes Clyde River

Clyde River’s Ilisaqsivik Society, held up as a shining example of Nunavut’s “care closer to home” health care policy, is now begging the territorial department of health and social services for help.

But weeks after Ilisaqsivik’s under-funded community wellness centre sent a letter to health minister Levinia Brown asking once again for core funding, there’s been no answer.

And the board of directors of Ilisaqsivik is increasingly concerned about how the cash-strapped centre can survive.

“I do worry because it employs a lot of people from the community,” said board member Igah Sangoya. “I worry about the people that work there, the people that go there. It helps the children, it helps the elders, it helps the young people: almost the whole of Clyde River is somehow affected by the programs that are being offered.”

In February, Uqqummiut MLA James Arreak also stood up in the Nunavut legislature, calling on the GN to help the Ilisaqsivik Society.

Arreak told his fellow legislators how Ilisaqsivik provides health and wellness programs for mothers and children, literacy programs, access to computers and counseling, while supporting a men’s healing group, women’s sewing circle, an elders’ group, youth council and Sukkakut, a group for women.

In all, Ilisaqsivik provides employment and training for more than 60 full- and part-time workers in Clyde River. With the exception of one employee, all are Inuit.

“It is one of the largest employers in an non-decentralized community with 72 per cent unemployment,” Arreak said. “Sadly, after 10 years of operation, the lack of stable core funding means that Ilisaqsivik Society faces risk of closing down. I urge the government to give full consideration to providing core funding for the Clyde River Ilisaqsivik Society.”

But so far, there hasn’t been any response to Arreak’s request, either.

Meanwhile, the residents of Clyde River are rallying around Ilisaqsivik. Many don’t even have enough money to make ends meet, but they’re bringing carvings, amautiks, mitts and kamiks to contribute to the centre so these can eventually be auctioned off to help Ilisaqsivik survive.

For years, Ilisaqsivik has been trying to make do on a small percentage of funding that it can hold back from every project for administrative costs.

“But our operational expenses come out to more than what we’re able to eke out from each different project. Our operational costs are about $250,000, just with a skeleton crew, which includes a half-time maintenance person, myself as administrator and coordinator, an administrative assistant and a bookkeeper, and to pay heat, telephone and utilities,” said Jakob Gearheard, Ilisaqsivik’s coordinator and sole Qallunaaq employee.

With no core funding, Ilisaqsivik scrambles to offer a certain number of projects just to operate.

But at the same time, Gearheard said the lack of core funding means Ilisaqsivik can’t invest in improving the quality of programs, or training, because there’s no guarantee that the programs or workers will return the following year.

“More work goes into annual project funding to keep our doors open than there should be,” Gearheard said. “We could do so much better. We could do so much more if we had the security of core funding.”

Among the many programs run by Ilisaqsivik is an aboriginal diabetes initiative, which pays to keep the school gym open six nights a week in winter. There, a supervisor organizes different activities and also talks about basic nutrition and diabetes to a nightly crowd of between 25 to 50, including youth and adults. Only healthy snacks are allowed in the gym.

This program also includes on-the-land excursions from one to two days, which try to combine teaching healthy lifestyles and nutrition with traditional land skills and knowledge.

Ilisaqsivik recently sponsored, along with the hunters and trappers association and the hamlet office, a father-youth hunting trip to bring back country food for the community. This trip was also intended to promote relationships between men and youth and the transfer of traditional knowledge of the land.

For the trip, youth joined one of four groups to learn char fishing, caribou hunting, seal hunting or running a dog team.

“It was windy out there, and my kamotik blew over, but I survived,” one participant said afterwards.

A community feast topped off the successful hunt.

In March, the Aboriginal Healing Foundation helped fund an entire month of healing activities for survivors of residential schools and their families.

The month kicked off with a four-day healing workshop on grief and loss for 20 participants. Then, a practitioner of two New Age-style healing practices – called “the healing touch” and “radiance therapy” – offered workshops and personal consultations.

A parenting workshop with elders talking about traditional parenting knowledge capped off the month. These sessions were recorded and are now being played on Clyde River’s community radio.

The Canadian Prenatal Nutrition Program is another one of the more than 15 programs delivered by Ilisaqsivik.

Sangoya, who is also a community health representative, said it’s visibly improving the health of Clyde River’s mothers and children.

“They can get healthy food and snacks for the children, so I’m very happy about that. We have healthier babies and healthier mums when they are pregnant,” Sangoya said. “All the programs are important. A lot of people outside of Clyde River who have heard about this centre are very envious of what we have. If it goes, it would be devastating.”