Clinics brace for vaccine expansion
Those working to get shots to Black, Latino communities say they already struggle with supply
For the past three weeks, volunteers from True Vine Ministries have answered hundreds of phone calls each day from people hoping to secure appointments at the West Oakland church’s COVID-19 vaccination clinic. So far, 5,600 people have gotten the single-shot Johnson & Johnson dose there over 12 clinic days this month.
But with California set to open vaccine eligibility to 7.6 million residents 50 and older on Thursday — and everyone 16 and older on April 15 — the clinic just off West Grand Avenue is facing an uncertain future.
Set up to last four weeks, its final vaccination days are set to run Friday, Saturday and Monday, with a break for Easter Sunday.
Dr. Donna White Carey, a physician and True Vine’s executive pastor, said she isn’t sure what will happen after that.
While White Carey and others working to deliver lifesaving shots to Black and Latino communities hit hardest during the pandemic say they have been grateful for the help of county, state and federal officials in the vaccine rollout, many are now concerned that throwing open the eligibility doors could further crowd out the people they’re trying to reach.
“My fear is that it will lead to communities of color once again being marginalized and not having the opportunity to be vaccinated,” White Carey said. “My hope is that we will still have a vaccine site here at True Vine — but what that will look like, I don’t yet know.”
With vaccine supplies already stretched thin, True Vine’s workers typically turn away more than 100 people hoping for walk-up shots each clinic day, she said.
In East San Jose, health outreach workers known as promotoras who go doorto-door offering COVID-19 tests and information have only been able to schedule vaccinations for a few of the people they reach, because Santa Clara County officials say they don’t have enough open appointments.
Aaron Ortiz, CEO of the East Bay’s La Familia Counseling Service, said his organization is delivering 300 shots per week at its vaccination clinic in Hayward. But if he had enough doses, Ortiz said, “I could do that in a morning.”
Ortiz said he wants everyone to be protected as soon as possible, and has heard the promise that a glut of vaccine supply is just around the corner. But for now, Ortiz said, “I’m still getting the same amounts.”
“We have people right now that qualify that still can’t get the vaccine,” he
said. “We just keep waiting.”
Darrel Ng, a spokesman for California’s COVID-19 Vaccine Task Force, said the state expects to receive about 2.4 million doses next week, an increase of about 300,000. And while eligibility is expanding, Ng said, California isn’t changing the share of doses that go to areas disproportionately affected by the pandemic.
“These communities should continue to see vaccine allocations increase,” he said.
As of earlier this month, 12% of vaccination shots in the Bay Area had gone to Latinos -- who make up 23% of the region’s population and 50% of those who tested positive for coronavirus, according to data compiled by this news organization. Black Bay Area residents saw the highest death rate from COVID-19 of any racial group, but despite making up 6% of the population they have received just 4% of vaccination shots.
True Vine, La Familia, the promotoras and scores of organizations like them statewide represent the boots on the ground of California’s stated effort to make its vaccine rollout an equitable one. The most recent federal COVID-19 relief package included $6 billion
for community health centers nationwide for vaccination programs, of which nearly $1 billion will go to groups in California.
These groups play several critical roles, first as “trusted messengers” who can answer people’s questions about the vaccines and dispel misinformation.
While concerns about vaccine hesitancy in Black and Latino communities has attracted a lot of attention, those involved in the effort said they rarely come across people who are firmly against getting a shot. More common, they said, are questions from people who want to feel they’re making an informed decision: How were the vaccines developed so quickly? What is the vaccination clinic like? Will the shot hurt?
“If you answer people’s questions, if you listen to what their concerns are and then address their concerns, I don’t find that I have to ‘convince’ people,” White Carey said. “Most people who have been on the fence come (down) on the side of being vaccinated.”
That leads to the next role for community health groups: They must be logistical mavens who can make the vaccine accessible.
California’s My Turn appointment website and the mass-vaccination sites at places like the Oakland Coliseum can work for people who are digitally savvy, and have the time and means to travel for a shot. But White Carey said she knew that wouldn’t work for everyone her church wanted to reach, which was why True Vine set up its phone line and neighborhood clinic.
La Familia’s staff calls people they know who are eligible because of their age or medical conditions, and even sends iPad-wielding workers out in person to sign them up for appointments at home.
“We can cut out the whole digital divide issue,” Ortiz said.
And with millions of people desperate for shots, these groups have to play yet another role: Protectors of their scarce supply.
True Vine’s workers screen shot-seekers by ZIP code to make sure they’re coming from the neighborhoods in and around West Oakland that the church is meant to serve. Even still, White Carey said the walkup line tends to attract people from all over.
Ortiz said he has been wary about publicizing La Familia’s vaccination clinics, and tries to get information out by word of mouth rather than over social media, where it could spread too far.
That all adds up to more long hours for workers who spent the past year scrambling to help protect their communities from the pandemic.
“Our staff who has been working on the front lines with this, they’re exhausted,” Ortiz said.
But the community groups don’t lack for motivation.
“I’m from here — I want to help our people,” said Olivia Ortiz, one of the doorto-door promotoras in San Jose.
East San Jose, including the Mayfair neighborhood Olivia Ortiz calls home, is where you’ll find most of the hardest-hit ZIP codes in Santa Clara County. Ortiz said she has felt lucky because her immediate family has stayed healthy — but she knows plenty of others who have lost loved ones.
“That makes me feel like I have to be out there every day,” she said.