Thank you.

Blood Ties is a small non-profit on the territories of the Kwanlin Dün and Ta'an Kwäch'än Council in Whitehorse, Yukon.

Before our supervised consumption site opened, I was working when I heard a yell. I ran outside and saw the grey skin of the person my co-workers were helping. Their loved ones had brought them to our back alley instead of calling 911 because they were terrified that the RCMP would respond to the call. Our hands cramped from the cold as we filled naloxone vials, did chest compressions and provided rescue breaths in the snow at -20°C in our T-shirts. Thankfully they survived, but this was a regular occurrence. I've had nightmares about this experience and many similar since.

Now that we have a supervised consumption site, this is rare. Overdoses feel more manageable. They are gradual and we catch them early, yet people continue to die in our communities. There's more we need to do. We cannot go backwards.

I would like to share some context for our work as a frontline service organization in the north. The Yukon's land mass is roughly twice the size of the United Kingdom, but this vast territory is home to only 47,000 people, with 30,000 of those in Whitehorse. Eleven of the 14 first nations are self-governing, and four have declared states of emergency due to the toxic drug crisis. Most of our work is in Whitehorse. Since our short-term SUAP project funding ended, we have little funding for rural harm reduction, but we patch together resources to provide outreach and education across Yukon's rural communities.

Last year, we lost 23 people from our small population. This represents a rate of 50.4 per 100,000, which is even higher than B.C.'s already devastating 45.5 per 100,000. One-quarter of people in the Yukon are indigenous, yet they account for up to three-quarters of overdose deaths. In the Yukon's close-knit towns and villages, every loss impacts entire communities. In Yukon first nations, each life is precious not only individually but also for the cultures fighting to survive the ongoing impacts of colonization. Elders tell me of the pain they feel from losing their youth, who are their nations' future and survival. Community care is so strong here, and people look out for each other, but they need better support.

Blood Ties offers programs to meet a range of needs, including youth education, harm reduction, drug checking, supervised consumption, and housing and wellness supports across the spectrum of substance use. We operate one of the only inhalation rooms in the country, which has seen more than 25,000 visits this year alone.

As the Yukon's only harm reduction organization, we are constantly stretched thin. It's not sustainable. High living costs, housing shortages and an emotionally taxing workload make it difficult to recruit and retain staff. We are under-resourced with short-term funding that doesn't allow for long-term planning, but what really wears us down is the politicization and misinformation heaped on our efforts.

In this context, we know what won't work. We can't police our way out of this. Criminalization only drives more harm. Neither can we rely on a one-size-fits-all approach. Not everyone we lose has an opioid dependency, and each person's path to wellness looks different. I think of my friend Maya, who was proudly indigenous, proudly in recovery and a fierce advocate for harm reduction. Her healing journey included residential treatment, yet ultimately her life could only have been saved by a safer drug supply, decriminalization, peer-led supports and a compassionate approach that recognizes each person's inherent worth.

Communities and people with lived experience across the Yukon have told us what they need: a continuum of care that includes harm reduction, recovery, land-based healing, access to regulated non-profit treatment and dignity—policies that see all people as worth saving regardless of where they are on their journey. We need core long-term investments that build on our communities' inherent strengths.

In honour of Maya and all of the loved ones we've lost, I envision a Yukon where everyone, whether they use substances or not, can be well, where community-led, culturally rooted solutions thrive and where each person's dignity is honoured. We have the tools and knowledge to create this future; now we need the commitment and political courage to do so.

Thank you.