Checks and Balance

Checks and Balance

The best of our coverage of American politics, delivered to your inbox every Friday

JULY 30TH 2021

Tamara Gilkes Borr

US policy correspondent

I realised in Little Rock, Arkansas, last week that if circumstances were different, I too might be an “anti-vaxxer.”

From my bubble of Washington, DC—where most people are vaccinated—I flew to Arkansas expecting the worst. Whereas DC has an inoculation rate of 55%, Arkansas is way behind, 36%. Early this month, the only health-sciences university in Arkansas, the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences, published a report describing the situation with covid-19 as “a raging forest fire.” Its hospital was near capacity with seriously ill covid-19 patients. So, despite being fully vaccinated, I double-masked on the plane though only one was required. In the hotel lobby, I was the only masked customer. I scurried off to my room. Restaurants overflowed with maskless patrons: I ate mostly alone in the sweltering heat and humidity on the outdoor patios. I shook my head condescendingly: how could people willingly put themselves in danger?

After a few days spent speaking to public-health officials, policymakers and everyday residents, I understood a little better. At a vaccination clinic, I met an African-American man, who worked for the police department, while he was waiting to get his last shot. He explained that his wife and child were vaccinated, but he was dragging his feet. His wife nagged him every day, so he finally decided to do it. He was visibly hesitant, but clearly complying for his family’s sake.

Later I met a married couple, both white, both self-proclaimed “hard-headed” conservatives, in the waiting area after they received their first shot. The husband wore an American flag on his baseball cap and on the bandana covering his face. His wife explained why they had not got vaccinated before: “I didn’t like the way it was being pushed,” she said. She explained that she was scared about “both options”: getting the jab and contracting covid-19. He laughed as he recounted why he was not vaccinated, but explained his overall concern: “They rushed it through so fast. I just wanted to see how it shook out.” His wife decided they should get the jab after two friends got seriously ill from covid-19.

Putting faces to the term “anti-vaxxers” made such people’s hesitancy a lot harder to dismiss. I could not ignore the fear in their voices. They were not irrationally yelling about conspiracy theories. Behind their eyes, I could sense concern and distrust. They felt “damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” They did not know which was worse: potentially getting ill from covid or potentially getting sick from the vaccine.

And if I am honest with myself, I was also nervous about the jab—and maybe that helped me to empathise with the people I met in the clinic that day. I had known I would get the vaccine once it was available, but I was grateful that I had a few months to grapple with the decision before I was eligible. When I finally got an appointment, I dutifully drove the 90 minutes to get there. Sitting in the waiting room, I was uneasy: I have always hated getting shots. When the nurse called my name, I turned to my sister, took a deep breath, and half-jokingly whispered: “Pray for me.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes as I walked into the room, but she was nervous too. I knew it was the “right” thing to do. But the truth is that peer pressure played an outsized role in my decision. Along with logic and reason, it got me to that clinic. Yet it was hard to ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach.

We all deserve access to the information and people that help us to make the right decisions for ourselves. Getting the vaccine is not exactly fun. Few of us enjoy spending time in a cold, antiseptic medical room. Few relish the feeling of metal piercing their skin. Following up for a second shot is annoying. And some have suffered side effects that have cost them time off work. But peer pressure and overall knowledge about what’s good for my health got me over the line.

Unfortunately many Americans lack both that pressure and that knowledge. Less than half are proficient in reading, and only one-eighth are considered “health literate”. Over one-third struggle to follow basic health tasks, like following directions for taking prescription drugs. And many do not have access to proper health care: one in eight skipped going to the doctor last year because of the cost. Add to this the mistrust sown about the vaccine by conservative politicians and media pundits, and America was bound to have a vaccination problem.

Would I be vaccinated without peer pressure and education? As an African-American woman who was the first person in her family to go to college, maybe not. After failing for generations to provide many of its citizens with good education and health care, America is facing the consequences. Little Rock taught me that any of us could be an anti-vaxxer.