The film authentically portrayed how the stigma of a disease can so quickly isolate the affected. It wasn’t just the concern of contagiousness – it was that “I don’t even want to look at you” sort of hostility. Specifically showing this stigma was the scene of them in the pool, where the lady came and asked them to put on a shirt so others do not see their back. While the lady had the kindness to share the presumably private pool with them, she still had to enforce this constricting ‘bubble’ onto them due to the pressure of societal judgements. Even if the disease had not yet reached the point of declining Mark’s physical health, it seemed that the immediate isolation by societal judgements would have already made the reality of death seemingly hovering over his shoulders.

It reminded me of my dad refusing to get a medical check-up, despite being in his early 60s. He’d rather die from a disease with a possible treatment and suffer only when his physical health truly begins to deteriorate, rather than ‘prematurely’ suffering mentally at the moment of diagnosis. At the time, I didn’t get his reason – after all, why not try to identify the illness and have higher chance of treating it? This film documentary, however, truly puts into perspective the degree to which societal judgement has an effect on healthcare.

This parallel is seen during the COVID19 pandemic too – how certain stigmas caused this rift regarding vaccination: Vaccinate, or not vaccinate? Vaccinate Moderna, or Pfizer? Booster, or no booster? Those were the ‘hot topics’ blazing on all media platforms. Healthcare was no longer simply ‘to create a vaccine and provide access’ but rather became an endless wrestling with miscommunication, societal judgements, public opinions, and so forth. From this perspective, society seems to be working against the momentum of healthcare. For example, stigmas in society causes divisions regarding masking, school policies, quarantine policies, social distancing guidance, etc. I wonder what it would take for society to intertwine itself with healthcare, and vice versa, and for both to summate constructively towards battling diseases.

While Dr. Raper did not specifically speak on the difference between COVID19 and HIV, he talked in great details about certain approaches employed to help someone. It was refreshing to hear him emphasize the point that the person offering help to someone needs to be aware that they, as the ‘helper,’ cannot simply be dismissive of the person’s choices, even if it at first seems ‘clearly bad.’ The example he elaborated on was helping someone out of an abusive relationship. Most people would be tempted to bombard the person with questions and assumptions such as “Why are you still with them? They are so abusive! You are so stupid for choosing to stay with them.”

Dr. Raper emphasized, however, that perhaps someone who makes that decision does so out of the comfort knowing that they are familiar with that environment, and that breaking free from the relationship might put them in an unknown financial and/or social status. I thought of how this might be applied to talking to someone who identifies as ‘anti-vaxxer.’ While I’m not too sure of what the correct, best way is, I think the definitely wrong way, supported by the ideas brought up by Dr. Raper, is bashing on those people with statements such as “You don’t want to vaccinate? You’re so stupid! It’s literally going to save your life!” While I intuitively knew that this was the wrong approach even prior to the talk, Dr. Raper spoke of this approach in the broader context of psychiatry, which reassured me that it truly is undoubtedly the ‘wrong’ way to communicate with those opposing views of this pandemic.

Dr. Musa Dube unique story-telling mode of communication shed light on previous lecturers’ message on the effects of choosing the “best” messenger. In her story, the best messengers that united the people to take initiatives against COVID19 were not necessarily the one who knew the most about the virus but rather the one who spoke in a discourse understood by the community – the religious discourse. Such an approach to communication resonated best with the people to whom they spoke – not because it provided indisputable data nor laid out rigorous reasoning. Importantly, it drew from this “trust” reservoir of the community, nurtured by their belief in the same religion. We can see a similar effect during the HIV/AIDS pandemic, when Magic Johnson announced his HIV diagnosis. The reason people believed the dangers of HIV/AIDs when hearing his announcement wasn’t because he pulled up a physician-approved medical report but rather it’s because he is known to love, and be really good, at basketball, yet is now making the drastic move of retiring following this announcement. He is a good messenger because he comes from a place where people do no have reasons to believe he would be benefiting from such an announcement. The comparison in the role of the messengers between these two pandemics shed light on the importance of choosing the right messenger who most resonate with the people. As we can see during the COVID19 pandemic, the US might not have chosen the best messengers, which contributed to the mistrust that brew nationwide. 

I hope my family doesn’t die from this.

Phrases of hope – “I hope that this pandemic ends soon,” or “I hope there will be a vaccine soon,” or “I hope I can find a job again after lock-down ends” or “I hope my family doesn’t catch COVID.”

In the summer of 2020, I myself had religiously uttered these phrases of hope – and every time, it seems to have been answered only with anxiety and worries.

Lessening the worries by trying to stay updated on the latest news didn’t help either – all I got were the words spewed by political leaders downplaying the virus.

“The virus will disappear. It will disappear” (Donald Trump July 21, 2020), while the nation saw an average of 65,000 daily cases.

Many others in positions of power echoed his words.

I remember being paralyzed with fear – an emotional response not unique to just me. Fear erupted all over the US, and continuously up to present day. It puppeted people to lash out at the asian community to “go back where you belong,” or “take the virus back to your commie land.” Fear puppeted people to point fingers at non-vaxxers and non mask wearers – actions that breaks down unity amidst a crisis in which unity is needed the most. 

Dr. Sandra Thurmann herself stated that “It’s important to give people hope in the middle of despair.” 

There was indeed hope, not from the words of leaders but from actions taking place:

Hope surfaced when the global scientific research community pooled together efforts to produce data for an effective vaccine.  

Hope surfaced when new initiatives organized volunteers to safely escort elderly asians leaving their house.

Now, I didn’t expect political leaders to pull a vaccine out of their pocket nor do groundwork with helping in the community; I do expect, however, for them to have the responsibility of communicating some sort of “hope”-esque message to the public, since they know the most of the nation’s current state and its available resources. This leads to the question of the ways a political leader can communicate hope, if they were in such a position where there is indeed hope.

It’s not always apparent that hope does exist in any given moment, since there can be so many unknowns in the pandemic, especially at the start; if hope does not exist, then what is the next best thing to communicate? 

Data?

Thoughts and prayers? 

Mix of both? 

Something else?
I personally think that honesty and transparency is the best way to go – but it is easier said than done.

I was captivated by Steven Thrasher’s emphasis on the words of his colleague, anthropologist Adia Benton: “viruses live briefly in spaces where bodies interface, making the war against the virus is also a war against moments and spaces of connections.” This sentence perfectly paints an explanation for the many social rifts that appeared during this COVID19 pandemic – the “vaxxers vs antivaxxers” or “asians vs Americans” or  “maskers vs non-maskers,” and so forth. Likewise during the HIV/AIDs pandemic, it was “straight men vs gay men.” How might a society maintain unity to combat a pandemic while fragmented enough to not facilitate the spread of the virus? Maybe one way is through communication on the boundaries necessary. The CDC during this COIVD19 pandemic, unfortunately, displayed a horrendous communication efforts on the necessary boundaries with their mix-message on masking. It is difficult to fault entirely the CDC for this issue, however, since achieving this balance between unity and fragmentation is no easy task – especially on a nationwide scale. Perhaps as a nation we need to have deep, critical reflections on both the HIV/AIDs and COVID19 pandemic before hints of any resemblance of an answer might appear. With that said, there are good examples of a closer-to-ideal communications that achieves such balance, evident by speech given by the primer minister of New Zealand. Her communication outlined the boundaries in many aspects while also maintaining the message of compassion and kindness to ensure that society remains united against the pandemic rather than pointing fingers internally and creating divisions.