vaccination

Faux freedom fighters

Last week, a cluster of protesters, including at least two medical doctors, demonstrated on the lawn of the B.C. Legislature, reciting the now-boring litany of justifications for putting others at risk by refusing to be vaccinated against the coronavirus.

Griping from anti-vaxxers has become routine online and, for the most unfortunate among us, in family discussions and among friends. Invoking high ideals of freedom and dredging up quotes from great people in history to reinforce their narrative, many anti-vaxxers claim victimhood, driven either by ignorance of science or obstinacy.

What happened at the legislature last week was more galling than other such incidents, however. On a spectrum from the fairly innocuous act of an individual making ignorant remarks on social media to the atrocious behaviour of impeding emergency vehicles and making a ruckus outside hospitals, this one fell somewhere in the middle.

The demonstration was organized by Common Ground, a free distribution magazine originally focused on natural health and wellness but which has lately gone down conspiracy rabbit holes. The most recent issue warns: “Parents – Protect your children.” The sage advice on how to protect your kids includes rejecting the advice of every legitimate medical professional in North America.

There is also a rambling, full-page open letter to B.C. Attorney-General David Eby from anti-gay activist Kari Simpson, who runs a group called Culture Guard, which seems determined to guard a culture that most of us would prefer to see vanish. A centrefold of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, along with multiple calls for the preservation of free speech, position conspiracy theorists as downtrodden voices of reason and goodness pluckily standing up to tyranny.

And here is where the Common Ground crowd goes particularly off course. The demonstration was specifically linked to the 75th anniversary of the Nuremberg trials. The unsubtle messages at the protest were that modern medical experts and those who follow their advice are ideological descendants of the Nazis and those who refuse the vaccines are defenceless voices of righteousness and reason, equivalent to the victims of the Holocaust.

The demonstrators hanged in effigy Health Minister Adrian Dix, Solicitor General and Public Safety Minister Mike Farnworth and Premier John Horgan. The effigies were a nod to the fact that, as a result of the Nuremberg trials, nine Nazi doctors were hanged for their participation in medical experimentation and other atrocities. Common Ground is, and the protest was, rife with assertions that the vaccines are a form of human medical experimentation. As one doctor who addressed the crowd said, the anti-coronavirus vaccines are “the most dangerous injection in the history of vaccination.” Uh-huh.

The invocation of the Holocaust and Nazism has been a pandemic within a pandemic. People have donned yellow stars to portray their perceived victimization and have shamelessly exploited the language and imagery of that epoch.

In an era when cultural appropriation is a cancelable offence, it seems Jewish history remains the ethical equivalent of public domain. Note that the grievous historical experiences of other peoples with traumatic histories are rarely, if ever, trotted out in quite this way.

If privileged, sanctimonious North Americans wanted to find a reason for justifiable indignation, they wouldn’t have to pick at the scabs of Jewish trauma. They could look at the real tragedy and injustice in the world today: global inequality in vaccination status. While many Canadians now expect a third dose, there are 1.4 billion people in Africa and only 7.8% are double-vaxxed.

But why focus on genuine, contemporary atrocities when one can play a victim in the crudest historical reenactment of the Holocaust and, somehow, incredibly, face the mirror and see a freedom fighter?

Kalla’s latest great read

There’s something comforting about reading a thriller writer whose novels you’ve enjoyed in the past. You know exactly what to expect, and yet the pages almost turn themselves. Given, however, that we’ve been living through a real pandemic for almost two years now, it might feel “too close to home” to pick up a Daniel Kalla – who writes about mysterious diseases that run rampant, plagues that resurface, surging deaths from opioids and other such things – but, somehow, he makes it fun rather than depressing. His latest, Lost Immunity (Simon & Schuster), is a great read.

It helps that Kalla is a real medical doctor. An emergency room physician here in Vancouver, he knows that of which he speaks and can relate complicated information without sounding didactic. And there’s always what to explain in his books. In Lost Immunity, the lessons are particularly relevant, about how a bacteria spreads, the challenges of contact tracing and containment, the benefits and side effects of vaccines, the concept of herd immunity, etc., etc. But he does all this while being completely entertaining. Readers of Lost Immunity will have an idea of what Dr. Bonnie Henry and her team have been going through these last many months – minus (I hope) the human killer element.

Lost Immunity features a smart and likeable protagonist in Lisa Dyer, Seattle’s new chief public health officer. In a community health forum about a law mandating immunization for middle-school girls and boys with the latest HPV vaccine, Dyer takes on the doubters – members of “the ‘vaccine hesitancy’ community” – calmly and compassionately, with science always as her guide. Within this community are her own sister and father, so she’s had much practice.

As exhausting and frustrating as the forum is, Dyer’s job gets more challenging even before the Q&A is over – “her phone buzzes on the lectern. She can’t help but glance down at the health advisory from her office that pops up on the screen. ‘Four dead from meningitis. All attended the same local Bible camp.’”

The campers are children and teenagers, and the death rate rises quickly. (I admit to having skimmed the parts about dying kids, as they added a little too much realism for me.) Dyer and her colleagues must try to contain the outbreak – of the same strain of bacteria that caused 35 deaths in short order in Iceland six months earlier, and for which an American pharmaceutical firm is doing final-phase trials on a promising vaccine. Dyer pressures the company into releasing the vaccine early – as the mortality rate in Iceland was 46% – and goes ahead with a vaccination campaign. At first, it seems to be working, but then some severe and fatal apparent side effects bring everything to a halt. But is it really the vaccine that’s responsible? Even if you can probably guess the answer, Dyer’s journey to get there is full of twists, as well as fascinating exchanges on all aspects of the vaccination issue.

For a review of Daniel Kalla’s We All Fall Down, visit jewishindependent.ca/could-the-plague-come-back.

Holy jab a moving experience

We’re celebrating at our house. I’ve gotten my first AstraZeneca vaccination “jab.” I’ve got a sore arm and felt droopy afterwards, but I’m thrilled to have finally gotten access.

As a pragmatic, 40-something Gen X-er, I had to wait my turn. Then I rushed to get an appointment. In the Manitoba social media world, we heard others complain that the system was difficult to navigate. The deadpan reply from our cohort was something like, “Guess you’ve never had to get up early to try to register your kids for swim lessons.” In a place where resources like, say, vaccination or indoor pool swim lesson spots, are very limited, we’ve learned to negotiate systems that were not designed for our needs or to be welcoming.

This big event for 40-somethings in several Canadian provinces happened to coincide with the Torah portion of Acharei Mot-Kedoshim, Leviticus 16:1-20:27. This big double parashah (portion) covers a lot, including what it means to be holy. In some cases, it might mean “to be prepared.”

It’s also the portion that encourages us to “Love your neighbour as yourself” and Leviticus 19:34 reads, “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God.”

The Torah is, sort of, a holiness how-to guide of its time, and some of the issues may no longer be everyday things for many. However, the pandemic forces us to be prepared for simple things like wearing a mask during a shopping outing. Add in more complex things, like obtaining access to that coveted vaccination, too. It’s interesting that the weekly parashah topics like preparation, holiness, loving neighbours and caring for strangers all came up at once.

The nurse who gave me my jab had worked in the COVID wards. She exuded calm as she went through her vaccine script. She made the moment feel monumental and holy while preparing me. When I thanked her, she said how great it was to be part of this effort to keep so many others healthy and safe after experiencing the suffering in the hospitals.

As I sat in the doctor’s waiting room for my 15 minutes after the jab, I thought about this. Masking up, getting vaccinated and social distancing are all ways that we show love for one another right now. Those actions are so powerful that I’m affronted and sad whenever someone demonstrates as an anti-masker, doesn’t wear a mask or even spits in public. Indeed, that means he doesn’t love his neighbour enough.

While I waited, it was a quiet. Yo-Yo Ma wasn’t serenading others on his cello in the clinic or anything like that. Instead, I turned and congratulated a stranger, a man who had also just gotten his shot. It was an oddly affirming moment. He had a spouse with an immune condition. Like me, he had kids learning at home. At first glance, I might have felt apprehensive chatting – he was heavily inked with tattoos and intimidating. Still, the love we both felt towards the universe for this opportunity and to those who also cared so much that we’d rushed to get vaccinated, was tender and transformative.

While I’d been able to get my shot, alas, Manitoba, and other parts of Canada seem to be quickly losing their battle to outrun the third wave. Vaccines can’t get into arms fast enough. Yet, as I read the news, there are also multiple reports of moments where people are taking care of strangers. In North Dakota, there’s now a pop-up Moderna vaccination site at a rest stop. They managed to vaccinate 62 truck drivers from Manitoba the first day. This was such a gift to our province, which hasn’t chosen to prioritize these essential workers.

In Montana, the Blackfeet Nation has invited Albertans to cross the border (with permission) to get vaccinated on their reservation. They were able to use up expiring vaccines on both strangers and Indigenous relatives who lived across the international border.

Many Jewish people have reported on social media that they recited the Shehecheyanu or the slightly more complicated “bathroom prayer,” which thanks G-d for the miraculous workings of our bodies. I uttered a silent prayer of my own, too.

It was also a chance to appreciate the kindness of strangers who looked after me. The doctor stuck his head in to ask if I had any questions. The nurse and I had a deep conversation – about illness, death, birth and our struggles as parents – in our few minutes together before and after the vaccine. Like so many who’ve been mostly social distancing and staying at home, these nurturing interactions have been few and far between this year.

I must admit, when we stream services on Shabbat at home, I’m not standing up much. I’m not on my tiptoes as we would in synagogue when we sing the Kedusha – the part where we say, “Holy, Holy,” and try to ease ourselves up closer to heaven and to the angels. Preparing oneself and trying to be holy is, for all of us, a process, but I felt just a little more prepared after what I experienced this week.

If you’re anxious about needles, don’t worry. My kids looked at my arm and I don’t have a “hole” there!

I feel like my vaccination experience captured a snapshot of how we can all strive to be more prepared. It’s an opportunity to love our neighbours, care for the stranger and, maybe, in the process, become a bit closer to heaven and more holy.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.