Clallam County taxpayers are footing the bill for “compassionate outreach” programs run by nonprofits whose staff and leaders sometimes behave in ways that would never be tolerated in government service. When citizens question it, they’re told it’s none of their business. But it is their business—because it’s their money.
Who’s Really in Charge?
The controversy began when citizens discovered that Alexandria Fermanis, once associated with Peninsula Behavioral Health (PBH), had posted disturbing and violent political comments online—comments that raise serious questions about professionalism, compassion, and bias in her role as a public-facing “outreach” worker.
PBH’s 2022 Annual Report emphasized compassion and peer connection:
“The focus of Outreach Services at PBH is to move outside the walls of our agency and engage with our community… to come alongside individuals in a way that is compassionate and supportive.”
That ideal contrasts sharply with Fermanis’s online comments, including a graphic meme celebrating a political figure being shot.
Another post wished someone’s children would “turn out to be homeless junkies.”
When a concerned citizen contacted county commissioners, PBH CEO Wendy Sisk dismissed the inquiry:
“AND… why would [they] think the County Commissioners have anything to do with who PBH hires or fires?”
That flippant tone is revealing. PBH received over $4 million in county funding last year, yet its leadership seems to believe accountability to taxpayers is optional.
That’s because it is optional.
The Pattern: Public Money, Private Standards
After the backlash, PBH clarified that Fermanis no longer worked there. But she soon appeared in another taxpayer-funded role—this time connected to the Olympic Peninsula Community Clinic (OPCC), where she was considered for the county’s Behavioral Health Advisory Board.
When her violent online comment about Charlie Kirk went viral, attracting attention from Seattle media outlets, OPCC issued a brief statement distancing itself from her words:
“Those views and statements in no way represent our organization… We handle personnel matters internally.”
And that was that. No transparency, no accountability—just another closed-door response from a publicly funded nonprofit whose website claims to provide “compassionate, patient-centered care” and “meet people where they are.”
Connected Circles
OPCC’s leadership includes some of the county’s most powerful figures.
Commissioner Mike French recently served as OPCC Board President. Gerald Stephanz (who appears to be winning the election for OMC Commissioner Position 1) and Phyllis Bernard (PUD Commissioner)—sit on the board as well.
These are the same leaders who now remain silent about a conflict between their organization’s mission and an employee publicly wishing violence on political opponents.
This isn’t an isolated case—it’s a pattern. The same county commission that shrugged at PBH’s lack of transparency also funneled $125,000 to the Olympic Peninsula Humane Society, which later imploded financially after giving its director a 48% pay increase and then closing for months. When citizens asked for oversight, the commissioners said nothing.
When PBH’s luxury “North View” homeless housing project was caught lying about a state “dishwasher mandate,” Commissioner Mike French dismissed citizen requests for follow-up as “micromanaging.”
Perhaps if Commissioners French and Johnson had done a little more “micromanaging,” they might have caught the problems at the William Shore Memorial Pool before the State Auditor uncovered alleged fraud by its Executive Director. CC Watchdog asked both commissioners on Friday to comment on their apparent lack of oversight—but neither has responded.
The Harm Reduction Empire
Now, thousands more are being handed to OPCC for “harm reduction”—including nearly $10,000 a month for its ReDiscovery program.
In September, the commissioners approved a $1.6 million contract for OPCC to work with the Sheriff’s Office.
Yet even as OPCC hands out drug paraphernalia to “meet people where they are,” it reportedly calls police when the homeless actually try to sleep near its doors. Compassion, it seems, has boundaries.
Where Accountability Goes to Die
When the county gives your money to NGOs, transparency ends. Employees can say or do things that would get public servants fired, while agency leaders dismiss questions as “internal issues.”
But it is your concern—because these organizations operate with your tax dollars, under contracts approved by your elected officials. The county uses nonprofits to push controversial policies, avoid public oversight, and shield themselves from scrutiny when things go wrong.
When the County provides funding to nonprofits, the public deserves transparency in how that money is spent. We should demand clear financial reporting, measurable results, and accountability for every tax dollar. That’s how we ensure our compassion comes with responsibility.
This is how agendas are carried out in Clallam County—not through open debate, but through funding streams that disappear behind closed doors. And the public, cut out of the process entirely, is forced to keep paying for it.
“It is the first responsibility of every citizen to question authority.”— Benjamin Franklin
The Real Question
When someone who mocks the homeless is put in charge of “compassionate outreach,” when millions flow to nonprofits that answer to no one, and when county leaders call accountability “micromanaging”—it’s fair to ask:
Who is Clallam County really protecting?
