Tonight, while enjoying a nice dinner, I got a call from the director of my son’s preschool. She was calling to tell me that they had made the decision to put my son in a different class because two children in the class he was supposed to be in have “opted out” of their vaccines. This may not sound like a big thing. He is still in the Tuesday-Thursday class, and since he doesn’t start school until next Tuesday, it’s not like he has to get readjusted to a whole new class. No harm, no foul. Actually, this is a big deal–a very big deal. You see, my son is immunocompromised. He has cancer. He was fully vaccinated and supporting the whole “herd immunity” thing before his cancer diagnosis, but that darn chemo wiped out his immunity to the communicable diseases against which he had already been vaccinated.
So, parents who choose to not vaccinate because you feel it’s the “right choice for your family”, I would like to thank you. Thank you for adding yet another worry to my plate and my husband’s plate. You see, we already worry about a lot–it’s an unfortunate part of your child having cancer–you worry every night. On top of worrying about things like relapse, organ toxicity brought on by chemo, debilitating late effects of chemo, secondary cancers brought on by chemo, the mental effects of having more than three years of painful treatment, we now get to worry about, of all things, measles. And mumps. And whooping cough. And chicken pox.
Let me explain something about having a child with cancer to you: everything is robbed from your child in some form or another. Friends, Halloween, Christmas, play dates, school. It’s all taken away at some point or another and in some form or another because we have to protect our children from germs, because if they catch the wrong germs during the worst part of treatment, they can die. My son was isolated from everyone except immediate family for an entire year. For parents whose children are going through chemo, the decision to send them to school is a momentous one. It requires a leap of faith and trust in the surrounding community, in your child’s teachers and administrators, and in the families sending their children to school. It requires herd immunity. Now, even though my son is now in a different class than your unvaccinated children, I get to worry about him using the communal bathroom, the playground, and even walking around the halls with them. If there is an outbreak of measles in, say, Austin this winter, I won’t know if you have relatives in Austin and went to go see those relatives for Uncle Bobby’s birthday. I won’t know if your child was exposed to measles at the Austin Chuck-E-Cheese and then showed up at school on Tuesday. Oh, I’m sure you’ll do your due diligence and call the school to inform everyone that your child has come down with a case of the measles once it appears, but, the damage is done–the exposure to my immunocompromised child has already happened. It’s too late. Your choice just earned him a ticket to the hospital. Your choice just earned him a lot of shots and more toxic drugs in the desperate effort to stave off whatever disease your unvaccinated child passed to him. If, God forbid, he does come down with that disease, your choice just earned him a trip to the Pediatric ICU for a while–days, maybe weeks. Your choice may cost us our son. Who knows–it depends on how his already stressed body handles everything.
People like to say that in choosing to not vaccinate, they are making the “best choice for their family”, and that, after all, their children are the ones at risk, not other people’s children. No, sorry, you’re wrong. Choosing to home school is a choice that is made in the best interest of a family–it impacts nobody but your family. Choosing to eat all organic and locally grown food is a choice that impacts nobody but your family. For that matter, choosing to eat nothing but fast food and frozen meals is a choice that impacts nobody but your family. Choosing to not vaccinate impacts my family and my immunocompromised son. It impacts the teacher who is pregnant and teaching your non-vaccinated child. It impacts the man going through chemo who happened to be behind you in the grocery store when your unvaccinated child sneezed. It impacts the mom next to you at the pick up line at school who is on immunosuppressive drugs for her rheumatoid arthritis and who is bending down to hug her child just as your unvaccinated child coughs. Your “choice” has repercussions for your community.
Part of the cost of living in a first world country is that you have to do things that support the community in which you live. You pay taxes to pay for the police that respond to your 911 calls, to pay for the teachers who teach your children, and to pay for roads to be plowed and paved. You obey traffic laws to ensure an orderly flow of traffic. You don’t shout “fire” in a crowded theater because to do so would cause pandemonium and chaos. Sometimes, to live in a place with the privileges we enjoy here in America, you suck it up and do things you don’t want to do because it’s for the communal good. If everyone chose otherwise, we would not be a first world country. We would be a country without laws, roads, and schools. We would be a country overrun with disease. Your responsibility to your community is to vaccinate your child. The number of people who actually, literally, physically can’t have vaccines is extraordinarily small. The number of people who choose to not vaccinate is not–it’s growing. These people cite a vague unease about the number of vaccines a child gets or statistics they learned from Internet memes on autism. They confess conspiracy theories about Big Pharma and how it’s all a ploy to get doctors and pharmacists rich. They share anecdotes of a college friend’s neighbor’s son who got so sick from his vaccine he was hospitalized. They say their child got incredibly sick from the one round of vaccines he or she got at his 2 month visit, and they said they’re not vaccinating anymore. Guess what–if your child is sitting here today, talking, walking, eating, laughing, playing, and learning, he or she wasn’t that ill from the vaccine. He or she got a fever and reacted to the vaccine–it doesn’t mean they had an “adverse” reaction.
I am horrified, non-vaxxers, that you are so quick to forget the lessons of history. You’re spoiled and selfish because you have never seen the horrors of a society in which vaccines are not available. Perhaps you should talk to my mother about her neighbor growing up–the one who contracted German measles while pregnant with her third child. That third child was born deaf and with brain damage, thanks to his mother catching that communicable–and now preventable–disease while pregnant. Perhaps you should talk to anyone over the age of 60 about what it was like when polio was around–how nobody was allowed to go swimming or use public drinking fountains for fear of catching that dreaded–and now preventable–disease. Perhaps you should talk to the parents of a child with cancer whose daughter spent a month in the Pediatric ICU during treatment because she caught chicken pox–a preventable disease–from an unvaccinated classmate. Perhaps you should take a trip to a third world country and explain to them why they should not be lining up in droves to get their children vaccinated by the Red Cross or other relief organizations. Perhaps, better yet, you should keep your children out of school.
I think the main issue with how progressives/leftists talk about “cultural appropriation” is that is used so goddamn lazily, and usually in an attempt to be woker than thou, instead of actually examining or explaining the issue at hand.
This makes it very easy for people (especially ones who aren’t familiar with online activism terms) to think that the takeaway message is “mixing cultures or doing something from another culture is Doubleplus Bad and Stealing Culture, the only way to preserve culture is to build a fence around it so it doesn’t get diluted and bastardized by contact with outsiders, so DON’T!!! TOUCH!!!” a message that is in fact pretty fucking close to what people like Richard Spencer want to push. (And people like him actually like this misuse of “cultural appropriation” because they see it as a reflection of their ideas about “racial consciousness” and that “culture = race/ethnicity”.)
The only way to really avoid this danger is to be specific about what the problem, and stop counting on the buzzwords to do all the work to show how woke you are. Just screeching “stealing culture!!!!” doesn’t do shit, and probably sends a very different message than you intend. You have to get off your ass and specify that the issue is things like “it’s wrong and harmful that POC/immigrants get stigmatized for their food, language, music, religious practices, hair/clothing styles, etc., while white people who do it are applauded for being cosmopolitan and cool,” or “large corporations making ripoffs of traditional art or craft styles can financially harm traditional artisans, which in turn can financially harm their families and communities,” or “misrepresenting symbols or practices from another culture can lead to misinformation that reinforces stigma against that group (or could even just be plain ol’ insulting to them if you don’t do your research on the topic),” or even stuff that should be common sense like “if you make or are inspired by another culture’s food/art/etc., it’s basic decency to give credit to where you got your inspiration.”
i. you wake up under the willow tree, your hands covered in red. must be strawberries. strange, though, how you can’t remember anything. stranger still, strawberries don’t grow this time of year.
ii. you watch the kudzu vines stretch out over roads, houses, trees. it can grow ten feet a day, they say. yet it always seems unable to cross over the churches’ holy grounds.
iii. there are so many abandoned houses. more unoccupied then lived in. a red x appear on your neighbor’s door. you shudder. they’re next.
iv. “grow up in the South, stay in the South”: the mantra is repeated over and over. no one ever seems to leave. you don’t know who’s guarding the borders or why they keep you here. you don’t ask questions.
v. smoke and the smell of roasted meat fill the air. someone’s having another bonfire. you ignore the screams.
vi. don’t take candy from strangers. a man in a red car appears in the street. obediently, you leave your house to visit him. returning his pointy smile and admiring his horns, you take the sweets he offers you. he ain’t no stranger.
vii. haint blue keeps the spirits away. all the houses are covered in it. the paint’s begun to chip on your house and you hurry to repair it. sun’s going down. the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. paint faster, paint faster, before it’s too late.
viii. you laugh with the girl who just stopped by the bar. nigh breathless, she speaks again. she slips and her real accent comes through. her face pales. the room goes quiet. all but the humming in your ears. outside, outsider, outsider. you step forward, butcher knife raised.