Volunteers help communities of color get vaccinated against Covid-19



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This moment marked the end of one journey and the start of another. Zayas had desperately tried for three weeks to get a vaccine for his father, without success. Finally, she felt hopeful. And the 35-year-old small business owner wanted to get things done.

Now she spends her nights switching between multiple open tabs on her iPhone screen, racing to help others sign up. His goal: Spanish-speaking immigrants who have trouble understanding the system and getting a place.

“It’s just crazy,” Zayas says. “It doesn’t seem right to me that someone has to spend so much time and so much effort trying to get the vaccine. The people I help don’t have the luxury of sitting home and watching. .. They’re even more vulnerable to the virus because they’re more exposed. They’re the ones who make our food and clean hospitals and things like that, and they don’t have time. “

Zayas and several others across the country trying to help communities of color get vaccinated told CNN that there is no magic bullet for success. They listen to people’s fears. They make the phones work. And sometimes the process still feels as rare and haphazard as playing the lottery.

Here are some of the things they learned:

She answers frustrated calls from people who feel left out

Brenda Robinson has spent her career trying to tackle health disparities. As CEO and founder of the Black Nurses Coalition in Albany, New York, she says she’s been working overdrive since the pandemic struck, heartbroken by the devastating toll she’s seen the coronavirus take in her community.

But Robinson says that even though she was immersed in these issues, she was surprised by the deployment of the vaccine.

“The cast is so chaotic, so disorganized, that we are constantly trying to catch up and get our people to occupy those seats so they can get vaccinated,” she says.

Robinson says the people she talks to are increasingly desperate.

“I have so many people who call my phone to get the vaccine, cry and are upset… I am facing a lot of frustration,” she says. “People say, ‘I know the vaccine is there, I can’t get it, and I know we are affected the most.’”

For weeks, Robinson and other volunteers have been door-to-door in underserved areas of Albany to help people sign up for the vaccine.

If the people they meet have internet access, they are assigned a QR code so that they can register on their phone. If not, the volunteers record their information.

Robinson maintains a list of names and continues to call any community leaders she can think of to try to get more spots.

It was disappointing, she said, to hear some officials point to vaccine skepticism in communities of color as the reason for the disproportionate numbers.

“They use that as an excuse,” she says, “when there are so many ways access is the problem”.

As she strives to enroll more people in her community, Brenda Robinson of the Black Nurses Coalition also shared her story on vaccines.  She says she was skeptical at first, but did some research to make sure the vaccine would be safe.  Recently she had her second stroke.

The solution, she says, is to engage with community members to hear their concerns – and then do whatever is possible to help them sign up.

Robinson drove people to vaccine appointments and helped organize contextual immunization efforts.

She spoke to CNN the day before she planned to visit a meat packing plant and asked questions on the ground of workers concerned about vaccine safety.

Her plan: Tell them about all the research she’s done to make sure the vaccine is safe – and ask everyone in the room if they’ve lost a loved one or been affected by it. ‘one way or another by Covid.

She knows that almost everyone will raise their hand. And she hopes she can help them all get vaccinated, despite all the obstacles in the way.

She says lack of high-speed internet puts her community at a disadvantage

As she stands in the parking lot of the community center she runs in South Dallas, Sherri Mixon looks at the long line of cars and thinks about all the layers of inequality that have built up during the pandemic.

Lots of people in line are here to get food. Mixon, executive director of the TR Hoover Community Development Center, started a drive-through grocery service here months ago to help the growing number of families in need in this predominantly black community. But some of them are lining up for another reason too, she says. They do not have reliable internet service at home and have not been able to register for the vaccine.
Volunteers outside the TR Hoover Community Development Center work to distribute food and check people in for Covid vaccines in a drive-through queue.

“Here you have a community of great disparity – lack of internet or lack of technology, and sometimes both,” she says.

It’s worrying, Mixon says, to see more whites getting vaccinated in Dallas County, even though the community is largely black and Latino.

“It was upside down,” she says. “There should have been more thinking to get us to understand that Internet access and access to technology, these communities had none of that. This is where the action plan should have been. be approached. “

Mixon began registering people for vaccines after one person stopped and asked for help. From there, she says, it turned into a massive effort to register hundreds of people every week. And now, she says, they’ve got funding from the city to help them.

Sherri Mixon, executive director of the TR Hoover Community Development Center, has tried to help more people in her South Dallas neighborhood sign up for vaccines.

“There are a lot of problems … but this registration line, this makeshift line is our first defense against this virus, to get them registered, to get them to take their vaccine,” she said. “Dallas has to become whole. And that’s the only way I know of to do it.”

He sees language barriers getting in the way

Peter Ng heard a common concern from many seniors in his Los Angeles community who were struggling to register for vaccines.

Information on how to proceed, he said, was only available in English and Spanish. This left out many immigrants living in Chinatown who speak other languages.

“They were very anxious,” says Ng, CEO of the Chinatown Service Center. “In an hour or two, all dates were gone.”

The center has started to establish a waiting list. It wasn’t long before he had thousands of names.

Volunteers at the Chinatown Service Center in Los Angeles enroll seniors for Covid vaccines in February.

At first, it was difficult for the center, which also runs a community health clinic, to get enough vaccines to help anyone who wanted one.

And Ng is concerned that the establishment’s name has something to do with it, given the rise in anti-Asian sentiments.

“We’ve been here for a long, long time. We’re just as American as anyone else,” he says. “We are not to be … overlooked, just because we have the Chinese name or look Chinese.”

Recently, the situation has improved, says Ng. Volunteers at the center went out of their way to get more people to sign up. And authorities have provided an increasing number of doses of the vaccine. So now, says Ng, patience is the key.

“We just have to continue to be careful, to protect ourselves, and time will take care of things,” he says.

She learned Facebook group strategies and looks for spots every night

Late at night, Vivi Zayas is sitting in bed, holding her phone – and her husband’s too. He sits down next to her, watching a basketball game. She’s involved in another kind of competition: trying to get people to get vaccines.

Sometimes she screams when she succeeds.

“Did you just score?” asks her husband.

A few weeks ago, Zayas made it her mission to learn all she could about the vaccine registration process. She joined Facebook groups for tips like what times of day different pharmacies post online appointments and how to fill out forms in advance so you’re ready to sign up. Second places are available.

“I started doing research and then I was able to score one for my mom. … Then my mother said, ‘Oh, can you find for my friend from church?’ That’s how things escalated, ”Zayas says.

Now her phone is full of Spanish text messages from other people in the Philadelphia area asking for help.

Since then, Zayas estimates that she’s gotten dozens of dates – many for people she’s never met – and spends several hours each night trying out. Sometimes, even with the tricks she knows, she doesn’t find any.

“It’s like playing the lottery.… It’s very unfair,” Zayas says. “It’s hard enough for everyone, and it’s even harder for the Hispanic community, for immigrants and for people whose mother tongue is not English.”

Vivi Zayas says she looks for vaccine appointments at night and for about an hour in the morning when her daughters Lulu and Ruby are having breakfast.  She wants them to see what she's doing and learn.

Making appointments for vaccines is not Zayas’ daily job. She runs a play cafe in Ardmore, Pa. That hosts parties and events for kids. But she believes her background in running a business has helped her meet this challenge.

“You have to be tough. You kind of have to go with the flow and really push and research and learn, ”she says. “If you don’t know how to do something, then you find out and solve the problem.”

It’s a problem Zayas hopes won’t have to be addressed any longer. But as long as people in her community need help getting vaccinated, she is determined to keep looking.

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