Vaccine Hope Quotes

Van Houten, I’m a good person but a shitty writer. You’re a shitty person but a good writer. We’d make a good team. I don’t want to ask you any favors, but if you have time – and from what I saw, you have plenty – I was wondering if you could write a eulogy for Hazel. I’ve got notes and everything, but if you could just make it into a coherent whole or whatever? Or even just tell me what I should say differently. Here’s the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That’s what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and inglorious war against disease. I want to leave a mark. But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think, “They’ll remember me now,” but (a) they don’t remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion. (Okay, maybe I’m not such a shitty writer. But I can’t pull my ideas together, Van Houten. My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.) We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can’t stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it’s silly and useless – epically useless in my current state – but I am an animal like any other. Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either. People will say it’s sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it’s not sad, Van Houten. It’s triumphant. It’s heroic. Isn’t that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm. The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn’t actually invented anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn’t get smallpox. After my PET scan lit up, I snuck into the ICU and saw her while she was unconscious. I just walked in behind a nurse with a badge and I got to sit next to her for like ten minutes before I got caught. I really thought she was going to die, too. It was brutal: the incessant mechanized haranguing of intensive care. She had this dark cancer water dripping out of her chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black dark blue and I just held her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar. A nurse guy came in and told me I had to leave, that visitors weren’t allowed, and I asked if she was doing okay, and the guy said, “She’s still taking on water.” A desert blessing, an ocean curse. What else? She is so beautiful. You don’t get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.

Here's the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That's what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and inglorious war against disease. I want to leave a mark. But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think, "They'll remember me now," but (a) they don't remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion. ... We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can't stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it's silly and useless--epically useless in my current state--but I am an animal like any other. Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We're as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we're not likely to do either. People will say it's sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it's not sad, Van Houten. It's triumphant. It's heroic. Isn't that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm. The real heroes anyway aren't the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn't actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn't get smallpox. ... But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar. ... What else? She is so beautiful. You don't get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.

A sad fact, of course, about adult life is that you see the very things you'll never adapt to coming toward you on the horizon. You see them as the problems they are, you worry like hell about them, you make provisions, take precautions, fashion adjustments; you tell yourself you'll have to change your way of doing things. Only you don't. You can't. Somehow it's already too late. And maybe it's even worse than that: maybe the thing you see coming from far away is not the real thing, the thing that scares you, but its aftermath. And what you've feared will happen has already taken place. This is similar in spirit to the realization that all the great new advances of medical science will have no benefit for us at all, thought we cheer them on, hope a vaccine might be ready in time, think things could still get better. Only it's too late there too. And in that very way our life gets over before we know it. We miss it. And like the poet said: The ways we miss our lives are life.

With savages, the weak in body or mind are soon eliminated; and those that survive commonly exhibit a vigorous state of health. We civilised men, on the other hand, do our utmost to check the process of elimination; we build asylums for the imbecile, the maimed, and the sick; we institute poor-laws; and our medical men exert their utmost skill to save the life of every one to the last moment. There is reason to believe that vaccination has preserved thousands, who from a weak constitution would formerly have succumbed to small-pox. Thus the weak members of civilised societies propagate their kind. No one who has attended to the breeding of domestic animals will doubt that this must be highly injurious to the race of man. It is surprising how soon a want of care, or care wrongly directed, leads to the degeneration of a domestic race; but excepting in the case of man himself, hardly any one is so ignorant as to allow his worst animals to breed. The aid which we feel impelled to give to the helpless is mainly an incidental result of the instinct of sympathy, which was originally acquired as part of the social instincts, but subsequently rendered, in the manner previously indicated, more tender and more widely diffused. Nor could we check our sympathy, if so urged by hard reason, without deterioration in the noblest part of our nature. The surgeon may harden himself whilst performing an operation, for he knows that he is acting for the good of his patient; but if we were intentionally to neglect the weak and helpless, it could only be for a contingent benefit, with a certain and great present evil. Hence we must bear without complaining the undoubtedly bad effects of the weak surviving and propagating their kind; but there appears to be at least one check in steady action, namely the weaker and inferior members of society not marrying so freely as the sound; and this check might be indefinitely increased, though this is more to be hoped for than expected, by the weak in body or mind refraining from marriage.

Vaccines now save more lives each year than would have been spared if we’d had world peace for the entire twentieth century.

You go through life hoping to have a chance to make a difference,” says Smith. “I’m just grateful to have the strength left to have an impact.

My biggest argument to the "we don't know what's in the vaccine" folks (who have hopefully decided to go along with science by the time this book comes out) is "remember what you were okay with drinking at twenty-three?" Yeah, roll up that sleeve.

The Coronavirus quarantine may make many want to scream. Let's hope soon they'll develop a milestone vaccine. Sure, the unknown can be daunting and scary. So, for now, just continue to say those Hail Marys. Take it day by day, and it shall all be okay!...

Science appears calm and triumphant when it is completed; but science in the process of being done is only contradiction and torment, hope and disappointment." － Pierre Paul Émile Roux, French bacteriologist and developer of the first effective treatment for diphtheria

The manager thunks down a couple of steps, glares at her, glares at her for rather a long time. The manager, clearly, is tempted. That momentary glimpse of flesh has been ricocheting around in his brain for half an hour. He is wracking his mind with vast cosmological dilemmas. Y.T., hopes that he does not try anything, because the dentata's effects can be unpredictable. "Make up your fucking mind," she says. It works. This fresh burst of culture shock rattles the jeek out of his ethical conundrum. He gives Y.T. a disapproving glower -- she, after all, forced him to be attracted to her, forced him to get horny, made his head swim -- she didn't have to get arrested, did she? -- and so on top of everything else he's angry with her. As if he has a right to be. This is the gender that invented the polio vaccine?

squeeze into the bridal jumpsuit that the stylist begged me not to refer to as a onesie, and then my twin brother comes to retrieve me. “You look stunning,” Owen says flatly, distrustfully, squinting at me like I’m a fake ten-dollar bill. “It was a team effort.” He gestures for me to follow him. “I hope they vaccinated you for rabies while they were at it.

First, there are the live vaccines which contain an attenuated strain of a microorganism. The hope with these vaccines is that they will produce a subclinical infection. Viral vaccines may contain attenuated strains of a virus or an inactivated virus. They are prepared in tissue culture, which may contain antibiotics, or in chick embryos. These vaccines are, therefore, unsuitable for patients who are allergic to the antibiotics concerned or to egg protein. (Sadly, many doctors do not bother to ask their patients if they have any allergies which might make vaccination especially hazardous. And so

All week, we’ve heard pep talks like this one from Scott at last night’s post-Razzle’s debrief: “To me, here’s the motivation to evangelize: If I’m a doctor, and I find the cure for a terminal illness, and if I care about people, I’m going to spread that cure as widely as possible. If I don’t, people are going to die.” Leave the comparison in place for a second. If Scott had indeed found the cure to a terminal illness and if this Daytona mission were a vaccination campaign instead of an evangelism crusade, my group members would be acting with an unusually large portion of mercy—much more, certainly, than their friends who spent the break playing Xbox in their sweatpants. And if you had gone on this immunization trip, giving up your spring break for the greater good, and had found the sick spring breakers unwilling to be vaccinated, what would you do? If a terminally ill man said he was “late for a meeting,” you might let him walk away. But—and I’m really stretching here—if you really believed your syringe held his only hope of survival, and you really cared about him, would you ignore the rules of social propriety and try every convincement method you knew?

SWEETEST IN THE GALE by Michelle Valois After Emily Dickinson You won’t lose your hair, I heard at the start of treatment, and though I didn’t, I lost a litany of other lesser and greater luxuries—saliva, stamina, taste buds, my voice—but my hair, during that chilly sojourn in the land of extremity to which I had sailed on a strange and stormy sea, my hair was not taken from me. Had it been, I would have perched one of those 18th century wigs on my head, such as those worn by the French aristocracy, measuring three, four, even five feet high and stuffed, as they were known to be, with all sorts of things: ribbons, pearls, jewels, flowers, tunes without words, reproductions of great sailing vessels, my soul inside a little bird cage—ornaments selected to satisfy a theme: the signs of the Zodiac (à la Zodiaque) or the discovery of a new vaccine (à l’inoculation) or, as was the case in June of 1782, the first successful hot air balloon flight by the brothers Michel and Etienne Montgolfier. Regarde, I exclaim to my ladies in waiting, pointing to the sky on that bright afternoon as the balloon, made of linen and paper, rises some 6,000 feet. Later, a duck, then a sheep, and finally a human is carried away. I watch, inspired, hopeful, whispering, lest my doctors overhear: when the storm turns sore, and that little bird escapes her little bird cage and is abashed without reckoning, I will sail away in my balloon, prepared, if it fails me, to pluck a few ostrich feathers from the high hair of the Queen of France herself; they and hope (which never asked for a crumb) will carry me beyond disease for as long as I have left to choose between futility and flight.

1. The future is not a “point”—a single scenario that we must predict. It is a range. We should bookend the future, considering a range of outcomes from very bad to very good.     •  Investor Penstock bet on Coinstar when his bookend analysis showed much more upside than downside. • Our predictions grow more accurate when we stretch our bookends outward. 2. To prepare for the lower bookend, we need a premortem. “It’s a year from now. Our decision has failed utterly. Why?” • The 100,000 Homes Campaign avoided a legal threat by using a premortem-style analysis. 3. To be ready for the upper bookend, we need a preparade. “It’s a year from now. We’re heroes. Will we be ready for success?”     •  The producer of Softsoap, hoping for a huge national launch, locked down the supply of plastic pumps for 18 to 24 months. 4. To prepare for what can’t be foreseen, we can use a “safety factor.”     •  Elevator cables are made 11 times stronger than needed; software schedules include a “buffer factor.” 5. Anticipating problems helps us cope with them. • The “realistic job preview”: Revealing a job’s warts up front “vaccinates” people against dissatisfaction.     •  Sandra rehearsed how she would ask her boss for a raise and what she’d say and do at various problem moments. 6. By bookending—anticipating and preparing for both adversity and success—we stack the deck in favor of our decisions.

Bereft of legal status or protectors, institutionalized children were often the test subjects of choice for medical researchers hoping to discover a new vaccine, prove a new theory, or publish an article in a respected medical journal.

The results of the studies opened up a whole new avenue of research into live-attenuated vaccines: synthetic attenuated virus engineering (SAVE). A virus was created with 631 synonymous mutations in its P1 coding sequence, designed to bias it toward the use of codons that rarely preferred in human cells. The result was a highly attenuated virus that caused no disease in an animal model of virus infection, and like the naturally evolved live-attenuated polioviruses developed by Sabin, it proved to be a highly effective vaccine. Unlike Sabin's strains, however, the multiplicity of genetic changes contributing to attenuation is expected to render the phenotype far more stable and resilient to reversion in vivo. This technology could prove extremely useful in the development of safe and stable attenuated viruses that raise an immune response almost identical to that against the natural infection. There are now many examples of the genetic engineering of synthetic attenuated virus vaccines; most notably it has been employed to create a live-attenuated vaccine against a strain of human influenza, a virus that, unlike poliovirus or smallpox virus, we cannot hope to eradicate and for which vaccination remains the lynchpin of disease management.

The President called it the “Epitome of the American dream.” Daddy called it the “unholy alliance of business and government.” But all it really was, was America giving up. Bailing out in order to join the Financial Resource Exchange. A multinational alliance focused on one thing: profit. Fund global medical care to monopolize vaccines. Back unified currency to collect planet-wide interest. And provide the resources needed for a select group of scientists and military personnel to embark on the first trip across the universe in a quest to find more natural resources—more profit. The answer to my parents’ dreams. And my worst nightmare. And I know something about nightmares, seeing as how I’ve been sleeping longer than I’ve been alive. I hope. What if this is just a part of a long dream dreamt in the short time between when Ed locked the cryo door and Hassan pushed the button to freeze me? What if? It’s a strange sort of sleep, this. Never really waking up, but becoming aware of consciousness inside a too-still body. The dreams weave in and out of memories. The only thing keeping the nightmares from engulfing me is the hope that there couldn’t possibly be a hundred more years before I wake up. Not a hundred years. Not three hundred. Not three hundred and one. Please, God, no. Sometimes it feels like a thousand years have passed; sometimes it feels as if I’ve only been sleeping a few moments. I feel most like I’m in that weird state of half-asleep, half-awake I get when I’ve tried to sleep past noon, when I know I should get up, but my mind starts wandering and I’m sure I can never get back to sleep. Even if I do slip back into a dream for a few moments, I’m mostly just awake with my eyes shut. Yeah. Cryo sleep is like that. Sometimes I think there’s something wrong. I shouldn’t be so aware. But then I realize I’m only aware for a moment, and then, as I’m realizing it, I slip into another dream. Mostly, I dream of Earth. I think that’s because I didn’t want to leave it. A field of flowers; smells of dirt and rain. A breeze ... But not really a breeze, a memory of a breeze, a memory made into a dream that tries to drown out my frozen mind. Earth. I hold on to my thoughts of Earth. I don’t like the dreamtime. The dreamtime is too much like dying. They are dreams, but I’m too out of control, I lose myself in them, and I’ve already lost too much to let them take over. I push the dream-memory down. That happened centuries ago, and it’s too late for regrets now. Because all my parents ever wanted was to be a part of the first manned interstellar exploratory mission, and all I ever wanted was to be with them. And I guess it doesn’t matter that I had a life on Earth, and that I loved Earth, and that by now, my friends have all lived and gotten old and died, and I’ve just been lying here in frozen sleep.

Some children (three solemn-faced kids who, with their mother, were staying with us until their mother’s ex-husband quit threatening them) had made too much noise in Kyle’s pool after seven P.M., which was when Mr. Francis went to bed. We should make sure that all children were in their beds and silent so as not to disturb Mr. Francis if we didn’t want the police called. We’d thought it was a joke, had laughed at the way he’d referred to himself as “Mr. Francis” in his own notes. The grapes along the solid eight-foot-tall stone fence between the backyards were growing down over Mr. Francis’s side. We should trim them so he didn’t have to look at them. He saw a dog in the yard (me) and hoped that it was licensed, fixed, and vaccinated. A photo of the dog had been sent to the city to ensure that this was so. And so on. When the police and the city had afforded him no satisfaction, he’d taken action on his own. I’d found poisoned meat thrown inconspicuously into the bushes in Kyle’s backyard. Someone dumped a batch of red dye into the swimming pool that had stained the concrete. Fixing that had cost a mint, and we now had security cameras in the backyard. But we didn’t get them in fast enough to save the grapes. He’d been some kind of high-level CEO forcibly retired when the stress gave him ulcers and other medical problems.

One of the tenants here has a tumor on his face. It covers most of his right eye. Where I come from, it would have been treated and removed. So I find myself thinking, what if I get sick? Something as simple as appendicitis could kill me. I've had all the shots, but what happens when the vaccines wear off? As for the charm and innocence I hoped to find -- it exists, it really does, but consider what it's buried in. Racism. Misogyny and homophobia so absolute as to be nearly universal.

Ella didn’t say anything.  Matthew did.  He always said stuff.  If you put him in a vacuum sealed room with a limited oxygen supply and told him his only hope at survival was to use as little air as possible and speak not at all, the first thing he would do would probably be to say, “Cool, how did you make this place?” and go on from there.  Silence was not an option.  Dad once said that Matthew had been vaccinated with a phonograph needle.  And once he explained to Ella what a phonograph even was, and what the needle did, she thought that was pretty funny.  And totally true.  Matthew had two settings: asleep and talking.

The CIA again used public health workers in Pakistan in 2011. According to an editorial in Scientific American, titled “How the CIA’s Fake Vaccination Campaign Endangers Us All,” the CIA, hoping to identify Osama bin Laden’s family, used a sham hepatitis B vaccination project to collect DNA from residents in Abbottabad who were living close to bin Laden’s suspected hideout (1). After bin Laden’s capture and death on May 2, 2011, the fake scheme came to light, and villagers along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border chased off vaccination workers, accusing them of being spies. The misuse of public health workers had repercussions. In December 2012, nine female Pakistani workers were gunned down while administering polio vaccinations, prompting the UN to withdraw vaccination teams. A similar attack occurred in Nigeria in February 2013, when nine female vaccination workers were massacred. These attacks are presumed to be retaliation for the vaccinator ruse in the capture of bin Laden. In January 2013, several deans of US schools of public health signed a letter to President Barack Obama stating their belief that public health programs should not be used as cover for covert operations and urging the president to assure the public that this type of practice would not be repeated (2). The president did not respond.

Here, those kids are called nerds and geeks and dorks. This may be the only country where people make fun of the smart kids. Now that’s stupid. I only hope that the engineer who built the bridge I drive across or the nurse who administers our vaccines or the teacher who teaches my kids was a total nerd.

JD was born in Poland in 1894. When he was eighteen years old, he immigrated to the United States, where he worked in a ball-bearing factory. In August 1940, a severe form of lymphoma invaded the entire right side of his neck. He could barely open his mouth, turn his head, swallow, or sleep. In February 1941, he was referred to the Yale Medical Center for radiation therapy. After two weeks of daily radiation, he improved. But the improvement was short-lived. By August 1942, he had trouble breathing, couldn’t eat, and had lost a substantial amount of weight. On August 27 at 10 a.m., JD became the first person in history to receive a medicine to treat cancer. Every day, for ten consecutive days, he received an injection of nitrogen mustard. After the fifth dose, his tumor regressed; finally, he was able to move his head and eat. One month later, however, his tumor came back, necessitating another three-day course of nitrogen mustard; again, the response was short-lived. So, he received a six-day course, without effect. On December 1, 1942, ninety-six days after he had received his first dose of nitrogen mustard, JD died. Because this was a covert operation run by the OSRD, the phrase “nitrogen mustard” never appeared in his medical chart. Instead, doctors referred to it as “substance X.” The first paper describing nitrogen mustard’s effects on cancer wasn’t published until 1946, four years after JD was treated. On October 6, 1946, the New York Times, under the headline “War Gases Tried in Cancer Therapy,” wrote, “The possibility that deadly blister gases prepared for wartime use may aid victims of cancer will be investigated by the Army Chemical Corps’ Medical Division.” Nitrogen mustard had provided the first ray of hope in the fight against cancer. The modern age of chemotherapy had begun.

The nutrition recommendations of the American Cancer Society (ACS) are formulated by registered dietitians trained in the food pyramid (read: Big Agriculture) model. Their corporate sponsors are the American Dairy Association, Abbott Nutrition (maker of seasonal vaccines and ibuprofen), and PepsiCo. The “quick and easy” snacks they recommend to people undergoing cancer treatment include angel food cake, cookies, doughnuts, ice cream, and microwavable snacks.16 (We are not kidding; visit their website and see for yourself.) These recommendations turn a blind eye to the many important studies (not to mention the suppressed work of Otto Warburg, PhD, MD, and Thomas Seyfried, PhD, in the field of the metabolic theory of cancer, which we detail in chapter 4; see “How Cancer Cells Gobble Glucose: The Warburg Effect”) that have proven that sugar causes—or, at the very least, can stimulate—cancer. Even a mainstream 2016 study from the University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center concluded that diets high in sugar are “a major risk factor” for certain types of cancers, especially breast cancer. We simply must reverse the dismissive attitude toward the role that diet and lifestyle play in cancer prevention or progression. Because it may very well be our only hope.

Beyond this, the current vaccines are fraught with a toxic protein, the spike protein. This spicule is itself inherently harmful even in the absence of virus, and it can produce long-term symptoms – similar in most ways to COVID-19. Fortunately, Ivermectin binds to this toxic spike and can help neutralize its activity through binding inhibition.

Pfizer filed with the FDA on Friday, November 20, seeking authorization for emergency use of the vaccine.35 It was the first company to seek permission to offer a COVID vaccine to US patients. It was just 248 days since the company had first set out with BioNTech to develop the vaccine. No vaccine had ever been developed that fast. The process involved 150 different clinical trial sites, 43,661 patient volunteers, the work of thousands of Pfizer colleagues, and the hopes of a weary nation: it was one of the largest, fastest, and most important scientific endeavors of its kind in modern history.

In those final fifteen minutes we’ve stamped out most infectious diseases. Vaccines now save more lives each year than would have been spared if we’d had world peace for the entire twentieth century.

[Jonas] Salk never stopped trying to be of “some help to humankind.” In 1962 he founded the Salk Institute for Biological Studies in La Jolla, California, which he hoped would serve as “a cathedral to science.” The competition to work there was so steep that Salk joked, “I couldn’t possibly have become a member of this institute if I hadn’t founded it myself.”42 Salk continued to work until he died of heart failure in 1993. During the last years of his life he devoted his attention to finding a vaccine for AIDS. He said he knew that many people expected him to fail in his attempts, but he maintained, “There is no such thing as failure. You can only fail if you stop too soon.”43 He never did develop that vaccine, maybe simply because death stopped him. But he never gave up. And he never stopped believing in the fundamental capacity for goodness in people. “What is important is that we, Number one: Learn to live with each other,” he said in 1985. “Number two: Try to bring out the best in each other. The best from the best, and the best from those who, perhaps, might not have the same endowment … the object is not to put down the other, but to raise up the other.” Sometimes, as we go about our lives, we’re angry, or other people are angry. We’re idiots, or they are. Maybe it seems a lot to expect that we can lift up our fellow man and bring out the best in everyone. But we’ve done it before. We can work miracles when we come together to help one another. Just look at how we all cured polio.

I hope by the time this book is published, that natural immunity will be recognized and those of us who have it will no longer be shamed for choosing not to add a vaccine that may or may not do more than what my body has naturally done, possibly causing more harm than good. I never dreamed that I could be shamed for my choices while witnessing people who continued to smoke, overeat and be sedentary but vaccinated have more respect from the world.

They had not done the wild things that had no basis in their understanding of the workings of the body. They had not given quinine or typhoid vaccine to influenza victims in the wild hope that because it worked against malaria or typhoid it might work against influenza.

A classical Game Theory case. People are not taking vaccines in the hope that everyone else would be vaccinated and they would be safe.

As Max grows older, I hope that...he will feel empowered to make his own decisions and will have the self-confidence to challenge traditional wisdom. I also hope that he learns the difference between critical thinking and getting swept up in a wave of self-righteous hysteria, and I hope he considers the effects of his actions on those around him. Finally, for his sake and for that of everyone else alive, I hope he grows up in a world where science is acknowledged not as an ideology but as the best tool we have for understanding the universe...

This is where conspiracy theories come in handy. It’s not just that vaccines cause autism; it’s that the medical and pharmaceutical industries are getting rich by destroying everyone’s families. It’s not just that pro-choicers have a different view on the biological status of a fetus; it’s that they’re soldiers sent by Satan to destroy good Christian families. It’s not just that climate change is a hoax; it’s that it’s a hoax created by the Chinese government to slow the U.S. economy and take over the world.37

Wilma Mankiller, chief of the Cherokee Nation, submitted the eighty-five-letter Cherokee alphabet, hoping that her language would still be spoken a hundred years from now.

In James’s time, smallpox was sometimes called the Speckled Monster. Throughout recorded history, it killed ten percent of the population. As a youngster, before being variolated (intentionally infected with smallpox as a preventative measure), Edward Jenner was “prepared” by being starved, purged, and bled, and afterward he was locked in a stable with other ailing boys until the disease had run its course. All in all, it was an experience he would never forget—one that later inspired him to experiment and discover that immunization with cowpox prevented smallpox. In 1801, after he pioneered vaccination, Jenner issued a pamphlet that ended with these words: “…the annihilation of the Small Pox, the most dreadful scourge of the human species, must be the final result of this practice.” Unfortunately, almost 180 years went by before his prophecy came to pass. In Juliana, James was too optimistic in hoping smallpox vaccinations would soon be made compulsory. England didn’t pass such a law until 1853, and the World Health Organization (WHO) didn’t launch its campaign to conquer smallpox until 1967. At that time, there were fifteen million cases of smallpox each year. The WHO’s plan was to vaccinate everyone everywhere. Teams of vaccinators traveled the world to the remotest of communities. The last documented case of smallpox occurred just eight years later, in 1975. After an anxious period of watching for new cases, in 1980 the WHO formally declared, “Smallpox is Dead!” Jenner’s dream had come true: The most feared disease of all time had been eradicated.

Taking the position that the common man should decide whether to be vaccinated, the movement was underwritten by a handful of wealthy demagogues until it was finally stopped in its tracks by the 1905 Supreme Court decision Jacobson v. Massachusetts, which ruled that compulsory vaccination was in the best interest of the state.79

As one of the Pandemic citizens of the lost world, I still hope that rich countries open their eyes, to end “vaccine apartheid”.

For of course as Miguel de Unamuno said, the more desperate one is, the more one hopes. But for all their frenzy of activity, they had still always avoided chaos, they had always proceeded from well-grounded hypotheses. They had not, as Avery said with contempt, poured material from one test tube into another. They had not done the wild things that had no basis in their understanding of the workings of the body. They had not given quinine or typhoid vaccine to influenza victims in the wild hope that because it worked against malaria or typhoid it might work against influenza.

They had not done the wild things that had no basis in their understanding of the workings of the body. They had not given quinine or typhoid vaccine to influenza victims in the wild hope that because it worked against malaria or typhoid it might work against influenza. Others had done these things and more, but they had not.

They had not given quinine or typhoid vaccine to influenza victims in the wild hope that because it worked against malaria or typhoid it might work against influenza.

South Korea’s pandemic response earned citizens’ trust, which they repaid in dividends. Infected people generally quarantined voluntarily without lockdowns. By the end of 2021, more than 80 percent of eligible South Koreans had been vaccinated, compared to barely 60 percent in the US and less than 70 percent in the UK. As Prime Minister Chung Sye-kyun later reflected, “Once you have the trust of the people, it is possible to have a high rate of vaccination.” The opposite was also true. Research found that distrustful people around the globe were less likely to be vaccinated, leading to more infection and death among low-trust nations and countries. According to one analysis, if every country in the world had experienced South Korea’s high level of trust, 40 percent of global infection could have been prevented.