Infectious Diseases and Politics
It’s surprising, but infectious diseases have become a benchmark for political views—sort of a “you’re either with us or against us” scenario that’s been gaining traction lately. Everywhere you look, these discussions pop up. Should funding for diseases like AIDS, TB, and malaria continue? And what’s your take on Florida possibly reversing school vaccine mandates? Do you roll up your sleeve for that annual flu shot or avoid it?
Having just wrapped up 15 years of post-college training to become an infectious diseases physician-scientist, I find it hard to dodge these discussions. I wish I had the right words to sway those who might dismiss decades of research for something they came across online.
I take pride in my work and am dedicated to my field. Yet, in a country divided over everything—from responses to events like the assassination of Charlie Kirk to drastic changes in vaccine advisory committees—I was cautious when asked about my profession by a chatty fellow passenger on a recent flight.
As I anticipated the “what do you do?” question, I braced myself, knowing full well what might follow. He was quick to bring up Lyme disease, which made sense since we were leaving Connecticut.
“You’ve heard Lyme disease was created as a bioweapon, right?” he asked. Actually, I hadn’t (and it wasn’t, by the way). Amid my patient care, research, and staying updated in my field, I had somehow overlooked this particular conspiracy theory.
“It’s called Lyme because that’s where they released it.”
No, actually. Old Lyme, Connecticut, was where epidemiologists first linked symptoms to recent tick bites, determining that local ticks carried the bacteria responsible for the disease.
“You can’t cure it; it was weaponized.” In fact, though some might develop what’s called complex post-treatment Lyme disease syndrome, we have very effective antibiotics to eliminate the bacteria. I imagine a military strategy that relies on spreading a slow-moving, treatable disease among outdoor enthusiasts wouldn’t work too well.
“But why is it spreading so fast now?”
Well, climate change, tick habitat expansion, and less severe winters play significant roles.
He chuckled. “So, in your ‘professional’ opinion, Lyme disease as a bioweapon is a bunch of nonsense?”
Yes, I concurred.
We moved to the next hot topic: COVID-19. I gave him some space. The vibe was respectful, even if we had different views. He spoke about the pressure of being required to get vaccinated for work while worrying about the vaccine’s risks. I shared my experiences at the hospital, where I saw many people die alone, and noted that the vaccine was pivotal. He thought only older folks were at risk. I reminded him that by September 2023, over 25,000 individuals aged 18-39 had died from COVID in the U.S.
I tried to grasp his concerns. I recognized that my passion for science might make me dismissive of those whose worries stemmed from being unable to pay bills or educate their kids during lockdowns. I admitted there’s always a minor chance of adverse reactions to medical interventions, which could make anyone hesitant.
Still, I emphasized the thoroughness of the scientific process in developing treatments and safety reviews before recommendations. I explained that mRNA vaccines aren’t new—they’ve been in development for decades—and certainly not part of some grand conspiracy to manipulate people. The term “genetic material” can create confusion, but mRNA doesn’t enter our cell nucleus, and our cells lack the machinery to convert mRNA to DNA. That’s a fact, not just my “professional” perspective.
It felt encouraging—efforts on both sides to understand each other. And I learned from him, too. He conceded, “Yeah, you could be right,” but with a grin added, “Conspiracies are way more fun.”
Perhaps they are fun—especially for the young and healthy who are bored and seeking a community that offers “inside information.”
But on a larger scale, such beliefs are incredibly hazardous. Conspiracies contribute to real-world consequences, like the recent measles outbreak in the U.S., threats to public health officials, and challenges in containing Ebola outbreaks or even polio resurgence due to misinformation.
By the time we landed, our conversation had spanned a wide range of topics and perspectives. It filled me with hope that we could still trust each other, reminding me that scientists and physicians need to keep these dialogues going.
“With COVID, vaccines, Lyme disease, anything—I’m not your enemy,” I told him as we prepared to leave the plane. “And I know you’re not the enemy either.”
“True,” he replied. “But someone always wants to create an enemy.”
Exactly. That’s what conspiracies thrive on. We need to engage in these conversations, see each other as individuals, and I’m committed to doing just that.
I’m not your enemy. Science isn’t either.
