Game Changer

I received an email from UCHealth last month telling me to schedule my COVID vaccine. I thought it was a mistake but went to the portal to investigate. To my surprise, I scheduled my shot. They have my complete medical history, so I would not argue with them if I was ahead of the line. 

As soon as my appointment was confirmed, and trust me, I checked it several times to make sure; I dreamed again. My immediate thought was that the Middle East was a possibility this year. I thought about all the things I could do again and all the people I could see and how my work would be much easier if I was on the ground. 

I felt hope for the first time in a long time. And relief. Not only would I not get COVID but I was mostly relieved that I wouldn’t give COVID to someone else. My mind raced as to what my “normal” would look like again. Straight away I started thinking about Arabic and how my poor little mind better start prepping for that onslaught. 

I received my first jab 48 hours later. I cried – tears of gratitude and tears of sorrow. It all felt surreal, like this nightmare was on its last leg. As I sat in the observation room, I was overwhelmed with what this means for me and for others. It felt very familiar, like when I get a clean cancer report. I get another fresh start, a new day to be alive! What would I do with it? How would I live life differently? How would I make sure my life made a positive impact on others? 

I noted my privilege of getting the vaccine earlier than most, particularly my friends in the Middle East. Again, the challenge is how do I use this to level the playing field? How do I create a more equitable world for all? And I mean all. 

Honestly, one of the major reasons I haven’t traveled back to the Middle East, besides my Board of advisors forbidding it, was I didn’t want to get COVID. Not because I didn’t want to get sick, but because I, as a foreigner, didn’t want to take up a potential hospital bed or medical resources from a national. Both Jordan and Lebanon have inadequate hospital capacity and medical resources. I also didn’t want to bring another variant or strain of this from the United States or picked up while I was traveling. 

Sometimes we as Americans don’t ask ourselves if our presence will harm others in another country. We never really think about it, particularly if you are traveling for humanitarian aid because obviously, we are there to help. But are we? Sometimes, if we are traveling for pleasure, we honestly don’t care and put our need for enjoyment before anything else. 

My motto is always, to the best of my ability, do no harm, Suzann. Do. No. Harm. 

Vaccines are going to be a game changer. Period. Rich countries will afford them, poorer will struggle. Refugees and displaced people, third world countries, I fear will be last in line. If you think the pandemic brought out economic and racial inequality, just watch how vaccines will light that injustice on fire.

The World Health Organization (WHO) started COVAX to create an equitable access to the vaccine. COVAX will distribute 2 billion doses worldwide. They will provide doses for 20% of a countries’ population, such as Syria. This will hopefully help end the acute phase of this pandemic and rebuild economies.[1]  

The pandemic taught us important lessons of how interconnected we are as a world. No country is safe from COVID as long as other countries are struggling with COVID. The more research I do on Palestinian refugees’ access to the vaccine, the more I realized this pandemic is going to drag on for years. Unless we ensure that all peoples, including those in third world countries, have fair access and quick distribution.

Nothing highlights this inequity more than Israel’s lack of distribution of the vaccine to Palestinians. Under international law, Israel, an occupying power, is responsible for providing vaccines to occupied peoples, the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza.[2] In March, Israel just started a program to vaccinate Palestinian laborers who work in Israel after many delays and much international criticism.[3] While I write this, Israel has only sent 5,000 doses of the Pfizer vaccine to the West Bank. The Palestinian Authority has purchased thousands of doses of the Russian vaccine, Sputnik, but is relying on COVAX to supply them with more.

UAE sent Gaza 20,000 doses of Sputnik and Hamas started a vaccination campaign. Gaza is woefully short of the 2.6 million doses they need to vaccinate everyone over the age of 16. 

Under international law, there is a basic human right for health care. For refugees and undocumented people, this responsibility falls on the host country. In Lebanon, right-wing politicians are calling for vaccinations for Lebanese citizens only, which excludes 300,000 Palestinian refugees living in Lebanon. So far, Lebanon has only secured funding for 35,000 doses for Palestinian refugees. 

The most vulnerable among us, refugees living in over-crowded conditions without access to clean water or adequate medical care, are at the back of the line. The ones without social nets that don’t eat if they don’t work. What is our moral obligation to them? I continue to ask myself, one who will be fully vaccinated by mid-April, how can I use my inoculation, my health, and my resources to ensure the same for marginalized communities? 

This is a significant change for all of us, not just the privileged. It begs us to continue to fight for the basic human rights for those around the world, for us all to live in health, safety, and security. And for this pandemic to end, for all of us. 

[1] https://www.who.int/initiatives/act-accelerator/covax

[2] https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2021/01/denying-covid19-vaccines-to-palestinians-exposes-israels-institutionalized-discrimination/

[3] https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/middle_east/vaccine-israel-palestinian-palestine/2021/03/08/c43b6390-7fef-11eb-be22-32d331d87530_story.html