Why I won't be posting a vaccine selfie
I know, I know – pics or it didn’t happen.
Over a year into the pandemic we are seeing the first glimmers of a return to normalcy. In Israel, fully vaccinated people are going to concerts and it is no longer necessary to wear masks in public spaces. The promise of this future in our own respective countries is tantalizing, and this makes the thought or reality of getting vaccinated against COVID-19 very exciting. And like all exciting, good things, it’s only natural to want to make as many people as possible aware of it. Hence, we have the rise of the ‘vaccine selfie’.
I’m sure many of us have seen at least one (or one hundred) at this point—a photo of someone with a needle in their arm, or proudly brandishing their proof of vaccination card. And it’s great. Every vaccine given is one step closer to all of this finally being over. But as a 20-something in Canada, I am still an indeterminately long time away from getting my first vaccine, and because of the government’s decision to separate doses by much longer than the recommended three weeks, an even longer time away from being fully vaccinated. Because exams are over, I now have a lot of time to think about what I will do when I get vaccinated, an increasingly long list that includes everything from going to the ballet, to travelling to Australia. One of the other things that I have had ample time to think about is what I will not be doing when I get vaccinated. Namely, I will not be posting a vaccine selfie.
When the first vaccines were being given, and skepticism around their safety was still widely held, I did see the value in prominent figures such as politicians and doctors sharing images of themselves getting the jab to show they were completely confident in the science. But now that millions of people have been vaccinated and millions more are in the queue, the utility of these images as promoting the safety of the vaccines—particularly when they are not being shared by people who carry a lots of cache in the public domain—has diminished to almost nothing. And so the vaccine selfie has become – from my vantage point—more about bragging rights than promoting getting your shot. There is nothing wrong with being excited that you are one step closer to life getting back to normal.
For as much of a millennial as I am, and as much as I complain about the effects of the lockdown, and having gone from going to school in person and living my “adult” life to going to school in my bedroom, COVID-19 has been incredibly real in my life. My family has had at least seven cases of COVID-19, that I’m aware of. This includes the passing of both of my maternal grandparents nine days apart. Vaccinations, for my family, literally did not come soon enough. Specifically, Canadian vaccine distribution came two weeks too late to save my grandparents.
Experiencing the realities of COVID-19 so intimately and devastatingly affects the way I perceive vaccine selfies. To someone else, in a country such as the United States, where vaccine appoints are more widely available, vaccine selfies may seem like the equivalent of the “I voted” selfie everyone feels obligated to post on election day. For me, and I believe the millions of people like me who have lost loved ones to COVID-19, it is very different. Of course, I am happy for my fellow 20-something friends, who live primarily in the United States and Israel, and have received one or both doses of their vaccination, but what I mostly think is: Why is a 20-something getting vaccinated when my grandparents in their late 70s and early 80s couldn’t? Why is someone who is unlikely to become critically ill being vaccinated, when my grandparents, who became fatally ill, weren’t?
The timeline for when you receive your vaccine, and which vaccine you receive, is currently incredibly reflective of whether you live in an advantaged, wealthy nation. While the United States has opened up vaccinations to everyone 16 and up, in Canada, we have only just started offering them to people in their 50s who live in “hot spot” areas, and even then, we have only administered one dose, with the second dose not scheduled until four months after. Even in Canada, I know that I’m incredibly lucky to live in a country where we are seeing vaccinations happen at all. According to the WHO, over 87% of COVID-19 vaccines—including 96% of the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines—have been purchased by and distributed in high income countries, while 90% of the 67 lowest income countries will not see vaccinations starting until late 2021 or, more realistically, early 2022. That means that even though I may be months away from receiving my first dose of a vaccine, I am potentially a year ahead of someone my age in a lower-income country. I don’t take lightly the good fortune that will be associated with receiving my COVID-19 vaccination, and I don’t believe that posting a vaccine selfie will do anything positive for the millions of people still waiting, and scared of getting sick.
If you live in a country where vaccines are available to everyone, or you have qualified to be vaccinated that’s fantastic, and you should absolutely be happy, and relieved. But you should keep in mind that while you may be vaccinated, many are still waiting, and for some the wait will be too long to survive. Receiving a vaccination is not an accomplishment, it’s a result of circumstance and privilege. And it’s worth thinking about how sharing your vaccine selfie may impact those who have lost loved ones, or are living in countries where vaccine distribution is not even on the horizon.
What we post on social media is a personal choice. This is mine. When I get vaccinated, whenever that will be, the only photo I will be taking will be a mental image. If ‘we’re all in this together’, then let’s wait to celebrate publicly until we’re all out of this together.