Black Pro-Vaxxers May Help Increase African-American Vaccination Rates
Upon the release of the COVID-19 vaccine, I’ve been bombarded by narratives and supporting images curated by white men in dark suits. They convey one, unsubtle message: A potentially life-saving vaccine is here and the government wants Black Americans to be one of the first groups in line. Why? As a Black citizen of this country, my skepticism is innate. I have to ask myself when was the last time this government prioritized my best interest or well-being? When was the last time it actively worked to prevent the loss of Black lives?
It has been almost two centuries post-slavery and we had to create a movement called Black Lives Matter, politicizing our right to live and asking law enforcement to stop killing us. Request denied. Suddenly, the government is performing political gymnastics to convince us that they want to save our lives while they ignore our protests, petitions, and pleas. It’s almost laughable.
Though the irony counterparts as comic relief, there are too many aspects to this reality that are a long way from humorous. The damage that the presence of ill-intent and absence of care has done to the collective memory of Black Americans is daunting. What we are experiencing is greater than hesitation or distrust. We are traumatized. Not just from the historic tragedies like the Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment, but from current infuriating experiences.
Ayoola Ogunyimika, a 21-year-old college student and sickle cell patient, recalls being ignored in the hospital while ringing nurses. She was deprived of pain medication unless she agreed to urine tests, despite notifying nurses that her severe sickle cell pain restricted her movement. Doctors also changed her medication without permission. Maltreatment from non-empathetic healthcare workers is frequent for Ayoola. “My experiences have extremely impacted the way I deal with medical-related things,” Ogunyimika said. “I have learned self-advocacy, educating myself, and even fear.” Her preservative fear is the deciding factor in her opposition to the vaccine.
Structural inequalities have forced us into the unwelcoming arms of the American healthcare system. Now, medical racism is just one of the many systemic injustices that contribute to Black American’s anti-vaxx stance, and disproportionate COVID-19 death and hospitalization rates are not mind-changing factors for us. If the vaccine is as safe and effective as the government promises, we would benefit most from a trusting relationship — the type they historically worked to evade.
Nonetheless, politicians had enough self-awareness to know that they would be unsuccessful vaccine advocates. Yet, they magnified the disconnect and heightened suspicions when they recruited black celebrities like billionaire Tyler Perry, who they believed could bulldoze this seemingly impenetrable barrier. Unbeknownst to them, we will not place our delicate trust in wealthy, high-status Americans just because they’re black. Furthermore, people who won’t hesitate to let you know “all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk”, will not place their trust in a random black nurse being martyred on television in the name of leadership. These attempts lack authenticity.
When I asked Genesis Grosvernor, a black 21-year-old nursing student, what could persuade her to take the vaccine she assured me that a nudge on the shoulder from a black celebrity is not on her list. “ Even Barack Obama, I love him but, I’m not taking vaccine advice from someone who is up there like that, ” Grosvernor said. “ It would have to be from somebody close to me who’s taken it, and they were fine.”
Kristen, a 23-year-old black woman and pro-vaxxer, who got both doses of the Pfizer vaccine, used her personal Instagram and Twitter accounts to inform followers of her COVID-19 vaccination status. Her intention was not to change minds but, to give people a foundation for grounded conversation based on facts and reality. Initial reactions to her pro-vax stance garnered ostracizing responses in which her friends and peers called her “crazy” and affirmed their fears for her. After her second dose, she uploaded a follow-up post to her Instagram story describing her painless and side-effect-free experience, except for a sore arm. She received direct messages from inquisitive followers who she described as increasingly receptive. “Technically, getting this vaccine is really for my protection, but also, I wanted to do it so that people, specifically in the black community, that I know will be less afraid,” Kristen said. “ I know there’s people who now know that I had the vaccine, who aren’t as scared of it, which I feel like is really dope.”
Marty, a 32-year-old Georgia resident, shares Kristen’s sentiment. His visceral fear was swayed when he learned that the vaccine was not developed as quickly as he initially believed. Once he felt comfortable taking the vaccine, he shared the news via Twitter. His decision to post his vaccination status and welcome questions was influenced by his awareness of the black mortality rate and the fact that “black people are getting a lot of the breadth of the infection” Marty said. “I did it for myself but I also did it for my friends and family to kind of get them to be comfortable with getting the shot”. Now, a few people he knows are vaccinated. He doesn’t believe that he is the main reason for their decision but, he does believe that his transparency “calmed nerves.”
Although outliers like Kristen and Marty can’t discount general trauma-induced fear, they have the power to do what the government can’t. Black micro-leadership may save black communities and help the country achieve herd immunity.
