Young people should get the jab out of altruism, not self-interest

Inevitably, this week, people of my age are wondering why they should get the vaccine. The young are at very low risk of falling seriously ill from Covid. In extremely rare cases, some people have had bad side effects from the Astrazeneca jab. And surely the job is already done – the vulnerable have been protected, and we can now anti-bac-wipe our hands of this sorry saga.

Turning 26 at the start of Covid means I have flitted through every emotion it is possible to feel about lockdown. My generation has had its education stymied, while facing fragile employment prospects in the toughest of job markets. In protecting the lives of our elders, we have sacrificed many of the things that make life worth living when you’re young and childless – going out, meeting people.

Nevertheless, one thing I have remained constant on is my determination to get vaccinated.

There are selfish reasons, of course. Vaccination is the surest way of ending lockdown, and making certain that it is never repeated. You might consider it to be a disproportionate response to the coronavirus but, rightly or wrongly, public opinion has found security in the idea of a countrywide shutdown – and that’s hardly going to shift in the event of future waves of the virus. The likely choice given by many airlines and festivals, meanwhile, will be between proof of a vaccine or regular lateral flow tests; I’d far prefer a couple of pinpricks to sticking swabs up my nose every time I want to go out.

But the real reason I want to get vaccinated is nothing to do with me.

However much we might chest-beat at the impressiveness of British vaccine procurement, the jabs will never be 100 per cent effective. Some people are also unable to have an inoculation because of underlying health conditions, so it makes sense for as large a number of people as possible to be protected to limit the transmission of the virus.

I’m also far from reassured that one of those ominous new variants won’t mushroom out of contact among the non-vaccinated, immune to the charms of even fair Moderna – and steadily unravel all the hard work of this past year. Detractors will say that I’m panic-mongering – but one needle to help allay that worry seems hardly worse than the hundreds acupuncturists use to quell everyday anxieties.

True, the risk of Covid hospitalising the under-30s is vanishingly small. But the risk of vaccination is also extremely limited. I’m apparently several times more likely to win an Academy Award than experience serious side effects from the Astrazeneca jab – and beyond practising the occasional acceptance speech into my hairbrush, I haven’t given the former possibility much thought.

So I’m happy to spare 15 minutes at my local GP to be able to visit my parents more confidently, hug them that little bit tighter. Even if it gives me no personal benefit, neither does giving up my seat on the train, letting a car go in front of me, making a cup of tea for a colleague. But don’t those small gestures define what it is to be human? If we ask ourselves that question about everything we do – does it cause me a hundred thousandth more inconvenience, or put me at a tiny amount of extra risk? – at what point is life still worth living?

I’ll be getting my jab as soon as I get the call. I hope other young people will do the same.