SA’s slow tango towards a Covid vaccine rollout programme finally had an injection of momentum this week as an agreement with Pfizer was inked in. The country’s vaccine programme — afflicted by various strokes of vaccine nationalism, financing limitations, incompetence and bad luck — has been a mixture of the surprising and the inevitable.
The rise in vaccine nationalism as practised by the richer nations has led to a divergence in access to vaccinations that mirror the pre-existing patterns of global inequality. Data compiled by Oxford University through its Our World In Data programme indicates that countries such as Israel, the United Arab Emirates and the UK have managed to administer doses to more than 50% of residents.
Such countries have benefited from a combination of variables, including being able to fund research and vaccine rollout programmes due to better financial resources, inking in preferential contracts with vaccines that have eventually been approved for use, and limited bureaucratic impediments.
The EU has struggled to replicate the success of the UK particularly — bringing much embarrassment to Angela Merkel in the twilight of her chancellorship of Germany.
The irony is that the consensus on globalism that has been built up over the years seems to have failed to emerge unscathed from its most acute test. During the immigration crisis, as countries such as Germany showed decisive leadership in the face of stern criticism, the understanding that a more stable global order was in the best interests of the globe at large was prominent in the approach.
Citizens first
Even before the immigration crisis, countries such as the UK understood and implemented the open approach to embracing the world. This only became problematic when far too many local citizens felt squeezed out, which led to Brexit.
The rise of the pandemic, having started during the twilight of Donald Trump’s term of office in the US, required the world to collaborate in unprecedented ways. The risk that existed and eventually materialised was that political leaders would prioritise their own electorate when confronted by a virus whose trajectory and impact was unknown.
For an institution such as the EU, still seeking to contain the fallout from Brexit, solidarity in many forms was non-negotiable. In response to this, the most prominent EU leaders — Angela Merkel and Ursula von der Leyen — placed their faith in the ability of EU institutions to take the lead in the pandemic management strategy. Such resources were either unfit for purpose or not ready to deal with the unique challenges created by the health-care crisis. The UK has thus achieved inoculation rates that will bolster those who believe the bureaucratic structure of the EU has shifted from being an administrative headache to a deadly delaying mechanism.
The secondary element of solidarity that became important during the pandemic was the role and responsibility of multilateral institutions. Called upon firstly to support research efforts, then social and economic support packages, and ultimately the vaccine rollout, such institutions have shown mixed results.
The IMF and World Bank made facilities available to poorer countries needing assistance. Debt payment suspension programmes gave breathing space to low-income countries that needed to channel resources towards managing the pandemic. But perhaps the most important of the institutions — the World Health Organization (WHO) — will look back at this as a chastening period that exposed its limited powers of persuasion. Its Covax facility — aimed primarily at mitigating the expected vaccine nationalism — has so far lagged in terms of resources and impact. Whether it was due to limited funding, Trump’s hostility or a sheer inability to deal with a crisis of this scale remains a point of debate.
Whichever way the debate moves, it is now more crucial than before to note that the WHO’s role in managing pandemics has been altered forever. How it applies the lessons of the crisis to its future management of global health-care challenges will determine whether it survives for another generation.
• Sithole (@coruscakhaya) is an accountant, academic and activist.
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