My mom is a character—an independent spirit who insists she’ll try psychedelic mushrooms before she passes away. She’ll turn 94 next August. She’s a multifaceted individual: a passionate book lover, a terrible cook, a provocateur in the most entertaining way, and a woman who often exclaims, “Where are all the women?” while watching Congress. She’s snarky, stubborn, yet incredibly kind, the kind of person who welcomes her grandchildren’s friends into her home if they find themselves in need. She is our anchor, the standard we all aspire to emulate.
Yet, she is also an anti-vaxxer.
This paradox baffles me. While I pride myself on being liberal and progressive, I seem to lean more toward Jim Jordan than Bernie Sanders when compared to my mother. She passionately advocates for universal healthcare and student loan forgiveness, and she firmly believes the government should keep their “damn hands” off women’s reproductive rights. She is a staunch supporter of social justice, backing movements like BLM and LGBTQIA+ rights, and countless other causes I may not even know about. I remember her muttering in approval when Kathy Griffin made headlines for her controversial stunt targeting Trump. And let’s not forget, she’s 93.
But the moment vaccines were introduced, Dr. Fauci, who she once admired, became a pariah in her eyes. Before the rollout, she listened intently as I enthused about Fauci, even agreeing with me that he was quite the “biscuit”—though she joked he was too old for me. We shared laughs over his exchanges with Rand Paul and his facepalm moment during Trump’s erratic briefings. She even gifted me a Fauci tote bag.
However, as soon as vaccinations entered the conversation, her outlook shifted dramatically. She has always been skeptical of vaccines—claiming she’s never had one—just as she avoids microwaves, hydrogenated oils, and fluoridation. Her long-standing distrust of doctors and the government should have hinted at her stance on vaccinations.
It perplexes me how she can view Clorox and hydroxychloroquine as ludicrous but regards Ivermectin as a miracle drug. I didn’t fully grasp her beliefs until I made a snide remark about people using horse dewormers, to which she retorted, “How stupid does someone have to be to get a Covid vaccine?” When I admitted I was vaccinated, she insisted I wear a mask—“or you’ll get me sick.”
That’s when the flood of emailed videos and articles began. The titles were wild: claims that vaccines make people magnetic and contain microchips issued by the government. A Canadian immunologist allegedly revealed that vaccines produce “toxins” that can reach the brain. There were assertions that autism is a side effect and that anyone getting vaccinated is altering their DNA. I told her I’d take on all of that—brain toxins and magnetism—if it meant avoiding a tragic Covid death. She simply replied, “Well, I guess that’s your choice.”
When I presented her with statistics, her response was astonishing: “They’re just trying to divide us.” I didn’t even inquire who “they” were; her tone echoed the “fake news” rhetoric we had both criticized since 2016.
These days, my mother reminds me more of Marjorie Taylor Greene than the unapologetic radical thinker she once was. She seems on the verge of diving into conspiracy theories about lizard people and the Clintons.
This creates a dilemma for me. Anti-vaxxers remind me of those who refuse to evacuate during a natural disaster. I’m not speaking of those who can’t leave; I’m referring to the stubborn ones who declare, “I’ve survived worse, and I won’t be forced out.” I don’t see them as brave or stoic; I think they are selfish. Sometimes, their stubbornness doesn’t affect anyone else. But often, emergency responders risk their lives to save these non-compliant individuals—people who, after refusing help, find themselves in dire situations.
When I read stories about regretful anti-vaxxers, I do feel compassion, but my initial instinct is frustration: they’re taking resources away from others, from hospital beds to ventilators, putting immense strain on healthcare workers. And yet, here I am, grappling with my feelings about my unvaccinated mother—a respected family matriarch who’s influencing others in the family to adopt her views. I dread the thought of her contracting Covid, especially since she describes her home as a “mask-free” zone. I can’t completely condemn her, yet I know she is contributing to the problem.
I want to echo her sentiments: “Well, I guess that’s your choice.” But in a time when our nation has already lost over 600,000 lives and is now jeopardizing the health of our children, it’s about more than individual choices. It’s about coming together to combat this pandemic and its devastating effects.
Regrettably, I doubt her perspective will change. I’ve never viewed my mother through this lens before, but now I wish she would reconsider her stance.
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Summary
The author reflects on their relationship with their anti-vaxxer mother, who, despite being a progressive thinker in many areas, holds strong anti-vaccine beliefs. This creates tension as the author grapples with their feelings of frustration and fear regarding their mother’s choices, especially in the context of the ongoing pandemic. The piece highlights the conflict between individual rights and collective responsibility during a public health crisis.
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