As shoppers in Iqaluit’s Northmart pushed carts past $12 lettuce and $8 milk cartons last Tuesday, Alookie Itorcheak paused to snap a photo of a $32 pack of chicken thighs. “This is what we’re fighting against,” she told me, adding the image to a community Facebook group where Nunavummiut document food prices that would shock most southern Canadians.
With the 2024 federal election approaching, food security has emerged as perhaps the most pressing kitchen-table issue for Nunavut voters. The territory’s grocery prices run 2-3 times higher than southern Canada, with a nutritious food basket for a family of four costing upwards of $18,000 annually according to Food Banks Canada’s 2023 HungerCount report.
“Politicians fly in, express shock at our prices, promise solutions, then nothing changes,” says Itorcheak, who works as a community health representative. “We’re tired of being a photo opportunity.”
The federal Nutrition North Canada subsidy program, designed to reduce food costs in remote northern communities, receives consistent criticism for failing to adequately address the problem. The program’s $121 million annual budget hasn’t kept pace with inflation or population growth since major enhancements in 2018.
Leetia Eegeesiak, who directs Qajuqturvik Community Food Centre in Iqaluit, tells me their meal program has seen demand increase by nearly 40% since 2022. “Some families are spending 50 to 60 percent of their income on food alone,” she says. “The system is broken at a fundamental level.”
Nutrition North provides retailers with subsidies on eligible food items shipped to isolated northern communities without year-round road access. Critics argue the program lacks transparency in how savings get passed to consumers and fails to address underlying infrastructure challenges.
During a campaign stop in Yellowknife last week, Conservative Leader Pierre Poilievre called the current approach “a bureaucratic failure” and promised a complete overhaul focusing on northern infrastructure development. “Northerners don’t need more Ottawa-designed programs,” Poilievre said. “They need roads, ports, and the ability to build their own economy.”
Liberal cabinet minister Dan Vandal defended the government’s record, pointing to the Harvesters Support Grant introduced in 2019 and pandemic-era enhancements that added cleaning supplies to eligible items. “We’ve increased Nutrition North funding by 30% since taking office,” Vandal noted, while acknowledging “there’s clearly more work ahead.”
The NDP has proposed expanding the program’s scope to include household items and construction materials while implementing stronger retailer accountability measures. “We need price caps and profit margin limits,” NDP candidate Lori Idlout stated at a recent community meeting in Rankin Inlet.
For many Nunavummiut, these political promises ring hollow after decades of similar commitments. Statistics Canada data shows food insecurity affects approximately 57% of households in Nunavut – the highest rate in Canada by a considerable margin.
“The reality is that any solution needs to address multiple factors simultaneously,” explains Dr. Kelly Skinner, University of Waterloo researcher specializing in northern food systems. “Transportation infrastructure, climate change impacts, housing shortages, retail monopolies – they’re all interconnected.”
Traditional country food remains crucial for many families, but climate change and the high costs of hunting equipment create additional barriers. A single snowmobile can cost over $15,000, plus thousands more for fuel, maintenance and supplies.
The Qikiqtani Inuit Association recently launched a country food distribution program that purchases from local hunters and distributes meat to communities. “Supporting traditional harvesting practices isn’t just about food on the table,” says QIA president Olayuk Akesuk. “It’s about cultural continuity and community well-being.”
Back at Northmart, I meet Jenna Kilabuk, a mother of three who works two jobs to make ends meet. She shows me her shopping strategies – buying in bulk when possible, focusing on sales, supplementing with country food when available. “I spend about $400 weekly on groceries, and that’s being careful,” she says.
When asked about the upcoming election, Kilabuk expresses a sentiment I heard repeatedly across Nunavut: cautious hope mixed with deep skepticism. “We’ll vote, we’ll advocate, but we’re also taking matters into our own hands,” she explains, referring to community freezers and food sharing networks that have become essential survival mechanisms.
The territorial government has launched several initiatives, including community greenhouses and school breakfast programs, but officials emphasize that sustainable solutions require federal partnership and long-term investment.
As election platforms take shape, Nunavummiut like Eegeesiak want commitments beyond the usual promises. “We need comprehensive policy that addresses transportation infrastructure, supports local food production, and respects Inuit knowledge,” she argues. “Most importantly, we need accountability – specific targets, regular reporting, and consequences when progress stalls.”
For Canada’s northernmost voters, this election represents another opportunity to push food security onto the national agenda. Whether that translates into meaningful change remains the question on everyone’s mind as they continue to navigate the country’s most expensive grocery aisles.
