Church’s vaccine clinic lags on equity
A West Oakland church hosted a clinic intended to vaccinate Black and Latino communities. But the majority of vaccines went to white people after hundreds of people waited, some overnight, for a chance to be vaccinated at the firstcome, firstserved clinic, its organizer said.
“I’ve had people camping out starting at 2:30 a.m. to be first in line,” said the clinic organizer, Pastor Michael Wallace of Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church. As he spoke Friday afternoon, the final vaccine recipients were being ushered through the gate of his church’s parking lot, where the fifth and final day of a swiftly organized vaccine clinic was wrapping up.
Of the 2,306 doses administered throughout the weeklong clinic, Wallace estimates that about 60% went to white people, with the remaining 40% going to the demographic the clinic was intended to serve: Black, Latino and Pacific Islander people. While the clinic was directed at the communities of color surrounding the West Oakland church, Wallace said it was “hard to say” how many of those vaccinated were local.
Wallace’s estimates compare to demographic data recently released from the Oakland Colise
um mass vaccination site, where about 41% of doses at the site have gone to white people and just 4% have gone to Black residents.
Participation among Black people has been much higher, however, at smaller mobile clinics that state and federal officials have been opening, of which Mount Zion was one. Black people received 25% of doses at those clinics in Oakland, according to the data from the California Office of Emergency Services and the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Latinos received 33%, Asians 18% and whites 17%.
The data comes months into a nationwide vaccine rollout marked by an inequitable distribution of services to lowincome residents and communities of color hit hardest by the pandemic.
Wallace offered the use of his church parking lot to FEMA a week ago. By Saturday, agency administrators had completed a site visit. By Sunday, the pastor was advertising the clinic at the church’s worship service, hanging flyers at local businesses and making calls to other local church groups. Last Monday, the clinic began giving its first doses of the Pfizer and Johnson & Johnson vaccine.
“It was warp speed,” he said.
The clinic was arranged as part of a state directive to increase vaccination rates in lowincome communities, announced to address inequities in the state’s vaccination push.
The mobile sites are meant to reach “areas that have been underrepresented among vaccine recipients,” said Derek Thomas, a communitybased organization liaison for the state Office of Emergency Services.
“A lot of mobile clinics are open for two to three days, but the Mount Zion clinic was open five days, enough time for buzz to be generated, which accounted for the long lines.”
“You hope that word doesn’t spread and you don’t get in
terlopers, but then you also risk not reaching maximum amount of people that you need to reach.”
Adding, “We had never seen a crowd like we did at the church.”
Two Mount Zion parishioners sat beneath a popup tent at the entrance to the clinic. From there, vaccine recipients visited stations staffed by FEMA, Cal Fire and Office of Emergency Services personnel and were required to provide photo identification, complete a MyTurn account and fill out
a medical questionnaire.
“It is incumbent on the communitybased organization to vet people to make sure they qualify,” said Capt. John Capen, a supervisor from Cal Fire’s ShastaTrinity unit who was overseeing vaccine distribution.
Capen said the ideal method of vaccine distribution is by appointment.
Wallace acknowledged that his church was “overwhelmed” by the response and said he would have liked to see a greater number of Black and Latino people vaccinated.
Lucia White, a real estate agent from Moraga, was among the 1,200 people who crowded the sidewalk outside the church Friday. White, who described herself as older than 40 and Latina, heard from a friend that the clinic was vaccinating people on a firstcome, firstserved basis. She arrived at 7:30 a.m. and was still waiting seven hours later.
“It feels like a necessity for my job,” White said.
At least one person in line had driven from Tracy, more than 50 miles away. Some heard about the clinic on Reddit or Facebook, while others heard about it through friends. That’s how Roz M., a 37yearold from Hayward with vivid purple hair, came to find herself on a folding chair along the church’s chainlink fence Friday after ditching work to hold a place in line.
As workers dismantled the tents, rolled up the electrical wires and packed away their equipment on the final day of the clinic, Roz was ushered through the chainlink fence. She got the final shot of the day.