My mother is eccentric—a free spirit who insists she’ll try psychedelic mushrooms before she leaves this earth. She turns 94 next August. She is many things: a passionate reader, a terrible cook, and a delightful troublemaker, often stirring up conversation in the most entertaining ways. Whenever she watches Congress in action, she exclaims, “Where are all the women?!” She is snarky, stubborn, and incredibly kind, always welcoming her grandchildren’s friends into her home if they have nowhere else to go. To our family, she is the heart and soul, the benchmark we all aspire to match.
Yet, she is also an anti-vaxxer.
This baffles me. While I consider myself quite liberal and progressive, I seem to lean closer to political figures like Jim Jordan when compared to her. She passionately advocates for universal healthcare and student loan forgiveness, insisting that the government should keep its “damn hands” off women’s reproductive rights. She actively supports social equality, backing movements like BLM and LGBTQIA+ rights, along with numerous causes I might not even be aware of. I remember her reaction when Kathy Griffin staged a mock execution of Trump: she quietly remarked, “Someone had to do it.” And let me remind you, she is 93.
However, she stands firmly against vaccinations—while I am fully vaccinated.
Before the vaccine rollout, she listened intently as I praised Dr. Fauci, even expressing her admiration for him despite his age. We laughed together watching him debate Rand Paul, and she even gifted me a Fauci tote bag. But once the vaccines were introduced, her attitude towards Fauci shifted drastically. I realized she had always been skeptical of vaccines, claiming she had never received one, similar to her views on microwaves and fluoridated water. Given her long-standing distrust of medical professionals, her opposition to government-led vaccination efforts shouldn’t come as a shock.
What perplexes me is how she can dismiss Clorox and hydroxychloroquine as absurd, yet embrace Ivermectin. I discovered her stance during a recent visit when I jokingly questioned the intelligence of using a horse dewormer. She fired back, “How stupid does someone have to be to get a Covid vaccine?” Then she inquired if I had received mine. When I admitted I had, she insisted I wear a mask to avoid getting her sick.
Soon after, I began receiving a barrage of emails filled with videos and articles. The titles alone claimed the vaccine could make people magnetic and that it contained microchips. A viral immunologist apparently uncovered that these vaccines produce “toxins” that can affect the brain. The notion that autism could be a side effect and that vaccinated individuals were altering their DNA was also circulating. I told her I would prefer to risk the “brain poison” and “magnetism” than face a grim Covid death. Her response was, “Well, I guess that’s your choice.”
When I presented her with the statistics, her reply was astonishing: “They’re just trying to divide us.” I refrained from asking who “they” were, recognizing her sentiment echoed the “fake news” narrative we had criticized since 2016.
These days, my mother resembles Marjorie Taylor Greene more than the unapologetic thinker she used to be. She seems on the verge of discussing conspiracy theories about lizard people and the Clintons, which presents a dilemma for me.
Anti-vaxxers often remind me of individuals who refuse to evacuate during a natural disaster. I’m not referring to those who can’t leave; rather, I mean those who stubbornly insist, “I’ve survived worse, and no one can force me out.” I don’t view them as brave; instead, I see them as selfish. While sometimes their obstinance may not matter, at other times, emergency responders must risk their lives to save such individuals—people who could have heeded evacuation orders but chose not to.
When I read about regretful anti-vaxxers, I do feel compassion, but my initial reaction is often harsh: “You’re taking someone else’s hospital bed. You’re taking someone’s ventilator. You’re endangering the lives of doctors and nurses, and you never considered their struggles, did you? And now you think you can just undo it all?”
Reconciling these feelings is challenging, especially since I have an unvaccinated mother—a respected matriarch who is now promoting anti-vaccine sentiments and influencing at least nine other family members. I fear for her well-being, especially since her home is, in her words, a “mask-free” zone. I struggle with applying my uncharitable thoughts to her, feeling guilty for including her in that category, yet she is undeniably complicit.
I want to echo her words: “Well, I guess that’s your choice.” However, during these times, with over 600,000 lives lost and children suffering, it’s not just about individual choices anymore. It’s about collective action to halt this pandemic and its devastating effects.
As it stands, I doubt she will change her views. I’ve never thought about my mother in this light before, but now I wish she would reconsider her stance.
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In summary, my mother’s anti-vaccine beliefs create a complicated dynamic in our relationship, as I grapple with fear for her health and frustration over her choices.
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