Sometimes, a cliché is right. West Baltimore’s Sandtown neighborhood, for example, looks like a war zone.
Most residents are African American, and what that means, not just here, but nationally, is that they are being hospitalized and dying from COVID-19 at a rate two to three times that of white Americans. Prison is a perfect breeding ground for the disease, but when ex-convicts return to Sandtown, they are given a more gentle euphemism: “Returning citizens”.
“We still have massive unemployment in the community. We have citizens who return,” said Reverend Derrick DeWitt.
DeWitt is a field marshal in the local war against poverty, disease and hunger.
“My church is located in a food desert. Seventy-four square blocks from Sandtown,” DeWitt told “CBS Sunday Morning’s” Ted Koppel. “We have about 109 establishments that sell alcohol. But we don’t have a single supermarket.”
Five thousand families a month are receiving food at the First Mount Calvary Baptist Church. Convincing these same people to get vaccinated against COVID is more complicated. Blame some of that on the trash that circulates on the internet.
“There is a conspiracy that Bill Gates helped them to design a microchip that will be implanted in you as a result of the vaccination,” said DeWitt.
Even more dangerous are the distortions of genuine medical outrage. A headline claims to show government health workers, clearly from many years ago, injecting syphilis into rural blacks in the south. So, at the bottom of the page, the question: “Do you still want a corona vaccine?”
The government did not inject anyone with syphilis, but what happened was, in some ways, even worse.
Dr. Reed Tuckson is a co-founder of the Black Coalition Against COVID-19, providing facts about the vaccine.
“The Tuskegee study of untreated syphilis in African Americans started in the 1930s,” Tuckson told Koppel. “It was a study that was done without the informed consent of the men and was done in a way that they observed to see what would happen to those who already had syphilis and were not treated … to see what the effects would be.”
Almost 50 years after its completion, Tuskegee’s study remains a problem.
“Unfortunately, in the 1940s we had a drug called penicillin, which we knew was effective in treating this disease,” said Tuckson. “And these men did not have access to it. The study continued for 40 years without anyone raising any alarms or concerns.”
What happened to those men?
“Unfortunately, two things: those men died of the disease and were extremely sick for long, long periods of their lives.” Tuckson said. “And number two, because they were not informed about the disease they had, they spread the disease to the women in their lives, to their wives and lovers, who also contracted syphilis.”
“No one has ever been punished or blamed … for this outrage,” said Tuckson. “And that is a stain on America’s conscience.”
It also had a prolonged impact on the black community’s confidence in the medical establishment.
“And what is so outrageous today is that 40 years later, the experience of studying syphilis in Tuskegee remains the limiting step in the fight against this pandemic,” said Tuckson.
“And then you put it all together with the conspiracy theories out there,” said DeWitt. “When I talk to our … employees, that’s all. ‘I don’t know what’s in the vaccine. I don’t trust her. They developed it too quickly. You know, they’re trying to make us sterile. ‘”
In addition to his ministry, the Reverend runs a nursing home.
“That retirement home was started by a group of pastors in the city as the Maryland Home for People of Color in 1920,” said DeWitt.
Across the country, more than 160,000 COVID deaths occurred in nursing homes. All of this makes the health history of this nursing home much more remarkable.
“We had no COVID infections among our staff or residents, thank God,” said DeWitt. “Therefore, we consider this a miracle and a blessing.”
It is also the mark of a rigid and disciplined manager.
“We were radical in our measures because we didn’t let anyone in,” said DeWitt. “Our residents would not leave, unless it was an extreme emergency.”
But when it came time to vaccinate the team: “I was surprised even in my nursing home, which has 42 employees. Our first vaccination clinic, we had only 11 employees taking the vaccine,” said DeWitt.
The reverend set an example. He was the first to be vaccinated. He talked to his team one by one. He prayed with them.
“So it kind of helped,” said DeWitt. “And then we had to get to the point where, for the sake of our residents and the type of facility we have, I’m not sure I can guarantee your job if you don’t get the vaccine.”
All but two of his employees understood the message – and the vaccine.
“We didn’t have to fire anyone,” said DeWitt to Koppel. “There are some discrepancies about whether or not we can impose the vaccine.”
“But what you are telling me is that we have had COVID in this country for over a year,” said Koppel. “And in that time you haven’t had a single case.”
“We haven’t had a single case,” said DeWitt.
AG Rhodes operates three non-profit nursing homes in the greater Atlanta area. Last year, 26 of its residents and 1 team member died of COVID. Jovonne Harvey is director of marketing at the main facility.
“About 90% of the facilities are probably African American,” Harvey told Koppel.
“And when the patients heard about the vaccine, what was the reaction?” Koppel asked.
“They received it well because they wanted to return to their normal daily functions,” said Harvey.
“What about the staff, the same thing?” Koppel asked.
Harvey said they “were not as excited to receive the vaccine as residents”.
“You are being very, very diplomatic,” said Koppel. “Not only were they not excited. They were tough, weren’t they?”
“Yes, they were. They were very resilient,” said Harvey. “I would say that maybe 30% of the staff were prepared to get the vaccine.”
The company held a municipal meeting to address the concerns of its employees. Harvey, who was initially hesitant, got the vaccine and was one of the first to help spread the message:
“So you were kind of a role model in some ways,” said Koppel.
“I think it helped a lot,” said Harvey.
Well, not so much. The company even offered incentives: paid time off, bonuses of up to $ 500. So far, only 48% of the workforce has been vaccinated.
“It’s not great. But it’s definitely a start,” said Harvey.
“Jovonne, we have been in the grip of this pandemic for over a year,” said Koppel. “How long do people need? We have about 450,000 dead.”
“I know,” said Harvey.
“What is holding them up now?” Koppel asked.
“I think it’s just general fear,” said Harvey. “They are not sure which way to go.”
“I heard that young people are talking to older people in their families and saying, ‘You really need to get the vaccine,'” Koppel told Dr. Reed Tuckson. “And on the other hand, I am hearing that among the people in the black community most suspicious of the vaccine are members of the young community. What is it?”
“The most resistant population segment will be our young people. They are young people who grew up with the greatest degree of distrust, for all the problems they faced in life, especially around criminal justice and policing, “said Tuckson.” So, they are the most difficult to reach at the moment. “
Jim Mangia is president and CEO of St John’s Well Child and Family Center. Its community clinics in South LA and Compton serve 100,000 patients a year, including 35,000 undocumented immigrants.
“LA is really a story of two cities. You have the extremely rich West Side, and then you have the extremely poor South Side and East Side,” said Mangia to Koppel.
St. John’s has been at the forefront of the battle against COVID. Now they are trying to combat misinformation about the vaccine.
Sending Spanish-speaking educators to Latin neighborhoods. They need to reassure the undocumented: that they will not be handed over to immigration and, even more importantly, that getting the vaccine will not kill them.
St. John’s is vaccinating 1,500 to 2,000 people a day; but Jim Mangia insists that it doesn’t even come close.
“What would you say are the biggest obstacles on the way to vaccinating California’s poorest communities?” Koppel asked.
“The lack of a vaccine is a big problem,” said Mangia. “The arduous website and appointment scheduling system that the state has created is extremely difficult to navigate. And many of our patients who work all day when they get home, all of these appointments were made by West Side – White, young people hipsters who can spend all day looking for vaccines. “
Preliminary government data show a stark disparity between the breeds receiving the vaccines: more than 60% of vaccines went to whites, less than 9% to Hispanics and less than 6% to blacks.
“I don’t think we’ll be successful unless we find a way to get the vaccine to people,” said DeWitt. “We are seeing 5,000 people a month coming to our church to get food … If we can vaccinate during a feeding campaign, if we enlist the religious community as a partner in the vaccination process, I think it would go a long way in ensuring that people take the vaccine. “
“You have to vaccinate the most vulnerable first and that is how you are really going to get collective immunity,” said Mangia. “You have to vaccinate the most hesitant, the most vulnerable, and then you can really start mass vaccinating and take us to a place where we can get back to normal life.”