World awaits shots as Americans hesitate
Some countries are mixing and matching whatever they can find.
When my father told me in April that he had received his first coronavirus vaccine dose, I was happy for him. That also meant I was a bit closer to going to Buenos Aires to see him after almost two years. He was not as excited: “I got the Chinese one,” he texted me along with a picture of Mao, “it was the only one available.”
“At least you got a vaccine,” I texted back. In those days being vaccinated in Argentina, which ranks in the top three in the world for per capita COVID deaths — was a luxury and a relief. In times of scarcity, the best vaccine is the one you get.
A few months later, when summer was sweeter than ever here in Houston and I could imagine a full house for Thanksgiving, delta brought back fears I thought we’d buried deep. It canceled my plans to travel to Argentina, as it did for other expats, and put the virus back at the center of our attention. This time however, it shared the spotlight with its nemesis, vaccines.
In the U.S., there were so many vaccines to choose from, so available everywhere, so free. In fact, in some states you even get paid to get the jab. Splendid.
Then, why has the vaccination process that started in the U.S. with a steep curve flattened out for the most part? Why are so many
Americans hesitant to get the vaccine? The U.S. is cursed with abundance — vaccines are just the latest example — and it appears that in the land of milk and honey a large group of people decided to be self-proclaimed lactose intolerants.
Meanwhile, in Latin America, Africa and Asia, people are still scrambling to get vaccines, of any sort, and some countries are mixing and matching whatever they can find. I’ve heard of people bursting into tears when their turn in line comes at the vaccination centers in Buenos Aires, feeling that, after months of lockdown and being surrounded by death, a new door opens. I can see the same picture in many cities of the world where getting a vaccine is more an act of perseverance and luck than a mere errand. Mexico City came up with a nice solution to calm and relax those waiting for a shot: actors in funny costumes and “luchadores” entertaining the anxious crowd. If you’re lucky you can see “Pandemio,” the official vaccination mascot of the city. It’s a panda bear, of course.
I wish we could bring some of that energy here. Instead, our kids are going back to school in the midst of Gov. Greg Abbott’s ban on mask mandates and the healthy rebellion of Harris County Judge Lina Hidalgo, a battle that promises to have several chapters. Politicians are adding unwanted drama for children who are already facing the jitters of returning to school after so much isolation and a pandemic surge filling up pediatric ICUs.
Companies and state agencies are starting to either require proof of vaccination or promote it in appealing ways. Vaccinated employees at Amazon can win $500,000 in a lottery. Several grocery stores are paying their hourly staff for the hours it takes to get the jab (and some add a bonus). And my favorite: Washington state’s “Joints for Jabs” program.
We seem to be stuck between an Orwellian world of vax mandates and passports, and a Darwinian order of virus laissez fair. There are grays, though. People are entitled to have genuine doubts, as long as they rationally weigh the reasons and bear the cost of their decision.
Even with all these incentives and benefits the U.S. hit a wall on its way to what now looks like a utopian scenario, the famous herd immunity. As the country waits and sees, sitting on a mountain of unused vaccines, the rest of the world is helplessly desperate to get there with little resources in sight.
Bangladesh, with 166 million people and one of the highest population densities in the world, is only now starting a mass vaccination program. Only 3 percent of its population is fully vaccinated. In Africa, roughly 2 percent of the population has been vaccinated.
Argentina’s vaccination efforts started off rocky, but are now catching up quickly with local production and new purchases. The lack of vaccines forced the government to look for less conventional suppliers — producing vaccines not fully approved by the scientific community — such as Russia and China. You can see pictures of Argentineans getting the Sputnik V shot with a photograph of Putin in their hands, thanking him — half jokingly, half serious. However, even these countries weren’t able to fulfill their contracts, and the general public mood, already inflamed, exploded when a secret VIP vaccination center for politicians and friends was discovered. The latest problem Argentina is struggling with is the shortage of the Sputnik’s second dose (a different component from the first). As many half-vaccinated people are missing their deadlines for it, the government went from “one is more than enough” to perform the world’s first open public vaccine experiment, mixing the Russian vaccine with AstraZeneca or Moderna. Official results have not been published yet.
China and Russia were fast at implementing a vaccine diplomacy worldwide, a game the U.S. was late to get in (but more generous, since they’re donating the shots instead of selling them). The Russian chess grandmaster Garry Kasparov, always a fervent and outspoken opponent of Putin’s antidemocratic policies, suggested that his country’s vaccine diplomacy was being deployed at the cost of Russian lives. That might explain Russia’s low vaccination numbers, surprising for a country that developed its own.
Mexico also dealt with shortages of all kinds, to the point that Mexican authorities identified a counterfeit version of the Pfizer vaccine circulating in the country. About 80 people received this version, which appears to be harmless. These fake vaccines were offered online for up to $2,500. (And all this while Americans are getting paid to get the vaccine.) The fact that also happened in Poland raises the question of not if but when and where they’re going to find the next batch of fake vaccines.
Many countries depend on COVAX, the initiative backed by the World Health Organization aimed at securing an equitable global rollout. COVAX has pledged to send shots to some 92 countries, which have so far received only a fraction of the doses ordered from its top supplier, the Serum Institute of India, the world’s largest vaccine maker. One of the main reasons Serum wasn’t able to comply? A ban on exports by the Indian government amid the country’s devastating second wave of COVID. The virus seems to be outsmarting us.
Any arrival of new vaccines in these countries in need, no matter the quantity or the origin, is celebrated — and politically exploited as well. (Someone should open an Instagram account named “Presidents in airports welcoming vaccines.”) Argentina went as far as only using airplanes from the state-owned Aerolíneas Argentinas to bring vaccines home, making the deliveries perfect for newspaper covers, but not very efficient in terms of costs.
As it usually happens, the poor are the ones carrying the heavy weight in this crazy and unequal race, since upper classes, especially in Latin America, are able to fly to the U.S. and enjoy a three-week “vaccine vacation” (or one week if your budget is not great and you’re willing to get the J&J shot). I got several calls from people in Argentina and Mexico asking me about what vaccination was like in Houston. They all ended up in Miami, obviously, a city more prepared for COVID tourism. Affluent “regiomontanos” — our neighbors in Monterrey — were already accustomed to crossing the border regularly to shop, so I guess they just started adding a new stop in their trips. But what about the vast rest who can’t even dream of coming here to benefit from the leftovers of a party so many Americans are not willing to continue?
The abysmal disparity of vaccination rates in the world forced the WHO to oppose third doses until more people are vaccinated and to warn that low levels of vaccination in poor countries can fuel the emergence of new variants. Although indeed a worldscale tragedy, this problem is nothing but a classic case of demand-offer imbalance affecting every country in the planet, with the exception of a few. Among them, you guessed it, is the U.S.
I miss Buenos Aires, my family and my friends. I want them to be safe. I don’t like using a mask (but I do, nearly all the time). I want to send my kids to school without the fear of them getting infected. I just want all this to be over. For real. In my weakest moments I feel tempted to say that God gives bread to those who have no teeth, but I’ve already seen Americans take a huge bite of that loaf. Half of it — that’s how many of in the U.S. are fully vaccinated. Let’s finish what we started at home, spread the wealth abroad and move on to more important matters. Yes, that includes sharing a turkey in November with our folks.