Vaccines Save Lives and RFK Jr. Is Risking Ours

By Carol Smokler

Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s appearance at the September 4 Senate hearing, including his potential changes to the recommendations for childhood vaccinations and mandates, hit me very close to home. The RFK Jr. hearing and a JDCA briefing the following day with Rep. Kim Schrier (D-WA), the only pediatrician in the House of Representatives, rekindled personal memories that I want to share because they remind me of the important role that vaccines play in our lives and in our communities- and the unique role that they have played in my life.

My mom contracted and survived polio as a child, before polio vaccines existed. She was lucky to reach adulthood without losing her mobility and showed no signs of long-term physical damage. Her only lasting effects were psychological. She worked hard as a volunteer for the March of Dimes, which helped polio victims and supported research. I remember going door to door with her, collecting dimes and putting them into the slots on donation cards. During my early childhood, she was concerned that my brother or I might contract polio. We were not allowed to swim in public pools in the summer or go into crowded places. We were afraid of getting polio. As a seven-year-old, I was sent away for eight weeks to a summer camp, which my parents could barely afford, so that I would not get polio. My mom thought that country air prevented the virus from spreading.

Then, in 1955, a miracle happened. The Salk Polio vaccine became available. Every family was thrilled. At last, there was a chance that the threat of contracting polio would be gone. We lined up in the gym of our elementary school and rolled up our sleeves. Almost every kid in our school received the vaccine. I don’t remember the needle hurting, but I do remember the joy we felt as kids that we were safer and unlikely to get polio. My dad, a chemist, reminded us that we were part of an important step forward in science. Everyone was proud that this discovery happened in America and that we were a part of medical history. Teachers, parents, neighbors, and kids talked about the vaccine and our newfound safety and freedom. The polio vaccine allowed Americans to develop “herd immunity” and prevented the virus from spreading. People used to say that “polio was wiped out.” My mom relaxed and stopped worrying about polio. We certainly had more freedom and fun in our childhood without worrying about contracting polio.

I don’t think that I gave vaccinations much thought after that time. Routine vaccinations, like tetanus every 10 years, were just a part of being responsible and came with routine, annual doctor checkups. They were just a normal part of life. Fast forward to the 1980s: I became a parent and everything changed. I went from being like “everyone else” to a parent whose child had a medical problem. Suddenly, my family was different, and my child was vulnerable.

My son had a chronic illness that required him to be on immunosuppressive medication for much of his elementary and junior high school years. Vaccinations were contraindicated for children on these medications. He was ineligible for routine vaccinations and was medically excused from mandated vaccinations. We were anxious and frightened until we understood herd immunity. Herd immunity is provided when a sufficient proportion of a population develops immunity to a disease, making it difficult to spread. The vaccinations received by the families and kids in our local school created herd immunity for our community. Our son was able to attend school, have friends, participate in sports, and enjoy a normal childhood because of the high vaccination rate among his schoolmates and their families.

I believe that, in our community, most people knew that vaccinations had two goals: to protect the recipient and to protect others, like our son, who could not protect themselves. There was a strong sense that we were all responsible for the well-being of our neighbors.

Although we did not worry about the most common childhood diseases, influenza was a different story. When our son was young, most kids did not have annual flu shots. It was just not the norm at that time. Because getting the flu could be dangerous for him, and there was no herd immunity against the flu, he could never eat in the cafeteria during flu season and came home for lunch daily. When more than one or two kids in his class had the flu, he could not attend school until the flu cases were resolved. Fortunately, this did not happen often. We adapted to being extra cautious, but he still grew up with his peers, not isolated and home-schooled as he might have been without herd immunity for common childhood diseases.

When policymakers think about eliminating routine vaccines or making them voluntary — which may mean that they are not covered by insurance — they need to think about families like mine and families with relatives on chemotherapy or people who are immunocompromised in other ways. They must consider that without herd immunity, vulnerable children cannot attend school regularly, and vulnerable adults cannot live normally.

Vaccinations serve the community as well as each individual who receives one. They help to build social responsibility and community cohesion. We have been doing this successfully for decades, and vaccine mandates have strengthened us as a community, as well as eliminated dangerous diseases. We need herd immunity to keep disease at bay and give every person the best chance for a healthy life. If we make vaccines harder to get or if we make them voluntary, people like my son and many others will never get the chance they deserve. Aren’t we all responsible for one another? Isn’t that what it means to live in community?

Carol Smokler is a member of the Jewish Democratic Council of America Board of Directors.