Desperation led José Luis Hernández to ride atop a speeding train through northern Mexico with hopes of reaching the United States 13 years ago. But he didn't make it. Slipping off a step above a train coupling, he slid under the steel wheels. In the aftermath, he lost his right arm and leg, and all but one finger on his left hand.
He had left his home village in Honduras for the U.S. "to help my family, because there were no jobs, no opportunities," he said. Instead, he ended up undergoing a series of surgeries in Mexico before heading home "to the same miserable conditions in my country, but worse off."
It would be years before he finally made it to the United States. Now, as a 35-year-old living in Los Angeles, Hernández has begun organizing fellow disabled immigrants to fight for the right to healthcare and other services.
No statistics are available on the number of undocumented disabled immigrants in the United States. But whether in detention, working without papers in the U.S. or awaiting asylum hearings on the Mexican side of the border, undocumented immigrants with disabling conditions are "left without any right to services," said Monica Espinoza, the coordinator of Hernández's group, Immigrants With Disabilities.
People granted political or other types of asylum can buy private health insurance through the Affordable Care Act or get public assistance if they qualify. In addition, Medi-Cal, California's Medicaid program, provides services to people under 26, regardless of immigration status. Those benefits will expand next spring to include income-eligible undocumented people age 50 and up.
"That's a small victory for us," said Blanca Angulo, a 60-year-old undocumented immigrant from Mexico now living in Riverside, California. She was a professional dancer and sketch comedian in Mexico City before emigrating to the United States in 1993. At age 46, Angulo was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, a rare genetic disorder that gradually left her blind.
"I was depressed for two years after my diagnosis," she said — nearly sightless and unemployed, without documents, and struggling to pay for medical visits and expensive eye medication.
The situation is particularly grim for undocumented immigrants with disabilities held in detention centers, said Pilar Gonzalez Morales, a lawyer for the Civil Rights Education and Enforcement Center in Los Angeles.
"They always suffer more because of the lack of care and the lack of accommodations," she said. Furthermore, "COVID has made it harder to get the medical attention that they need."
Gonzalez Morales is one of the attorneys working on a nationwide class action lawsuit filed by people with disabilities who have been held in U.S. immigration detention facilities. The complaint accuses U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement and the Department of Homeland Security of discriminating against the detainees by failing to provide them with adequate mental and physical healthcare.
The 15 plaintiffs named in the lawsuit, which is set for trial in April, have conditions ranging from bipolar disorder to paralysis, as well as deafness or blindness. They are not seeking monetary damages but demand the U.S. government improve care for those in its custody, such as by providing wheelchairs or American Sign Language interpreters, and refraining from prolonged segregation of people with disabilities.
Most of the plaintiffs have been released or deported. José Baca Hernández, now living in Santa Ana, California, is one of them.
Brought to Orange County as a toddler, Baca has no memory of Cuernavaca, the Mexican city where he was born. But his lack of legal status in the U.S. has overshadowed his efforts to get the care he needs since being blinded by a gunshot six years ago. Baca declined to describe the circumstances of his injury but has filed for a special visa provided to crime victims.
ICE detained Baca shortly after his injury, and he spent five years in detention. An eye doctor saw Baca once during that time, he says; he relied on other detainees to read him information on his medical care and immigration case. Mostly, he was alone in a cell with little to do.
"I had a book on tape," said Baca. "That was pretty much it."
According to the lawsuit, treatment and care for disabilities are practically nil in government detention centers, said Rosa Lee Bichell, a fellow with Disability Rights Advocates, one of the groups that filed the case.
Her clients say that "unless you are writhing or fainted on the floor, it's nearly impossible to get any kind of medical care related to disabilities," she said.
"There is kind of a void in the immigration advocacy landscape that doesn't directly focus on addressing the needs of people with disabilities," said Munmeeth Soni, litigation and advocacy director at the Immigrant Defenders Law Center in Los Angeles. "It's a population that I think has really gone overlooked."
ICE and Homeland Security did not respond to requests for comment on the lawsuit.
COVID-19 poses a particular threat to people with disabilities who are detained by ICE. On Aug. 25, for example, 1,089 of the 25,000-plus people in ICE facilities were under isolation or observation for the virus.
In an interim ruling, the federal judge hearing Baca's class action lawsuit this summer ordered ICE to offer vaccination to all detained immigrants who have chronic medical conditions or disabilities or are 55 or older. The Biden administration appealed the order on Aug. 23.
Hernández, who lost his limbs in the train accident, was among the hundreds of thousands of Central American immigrants who annually ride north through Mexico atop the trains, known collectively as "La Bestia," or "the Beast," according to the Migration Policy Institute. Injuries are common on La Bestia. And more than 500 deaths have been reported in Mexico since 2014 among people seeking to enter the U.S.
Hernández, who finally made it to the U.S. in 2015, was granted humanitarian asylum after spending two months in a detention center in Texas but quickly realized there was little support for people with his disadvantages.
In 2019, with the help of a local church, he formed the Immigrants With Disabilities group, which tries to hold regular gatherings for its 40-plus members, though the pandemic has made meetups difficult. Hernández is the only person in the group with legal papers and health benefits, he said.
Angulo has found solace in connecting with others in the group. "We encourage each other," she said. "We feel less alone."
She volunteers as a guide for people recently diagnosed with blindness at the Braille Institute, teaching them how to cook, shower and groom themselves in pursuit of self-sufficiency. Angulo would like to have a job but said she lacks opportunities.
"I want to work. I'm capable," she said. "But people don't want to take a chance on me. They see me as a risk."
She's also wary of any organization that offers medical or financial assistance to undocumented immigrants. "They ask for all my information and, in the end, they say I don't qualify," she said. "Being blind and without papers makes me feel especially vulnerable."
Americans who have lost loved ones to COVID in communities where the disease isn't taken seriously may encounter efforts to shift responsibility from the virus to the victim.
This article was published on Thursday, September 16, 2021 in Kaiser Health News.
Months after Kyle Dixon died, his old house in Lanse, Pennsylvania, is full of reminders of a life cut short.
His tent and hiking boots sit on the porch where he last put them. The grass he used to mow has grown tall in his absence. And on the kitchen counter, there are still bottles of the over-the-counter cough medicine he took to try to ease his symptoms at home as COVID-19 began to destroy his lungs.
Dixon was a guard at a nearby state prison in rural, conservative Clearfield County, Pennsylvania. He died of the virus in January at age 27. His older sister Stephanie Rimel was overwhelmed with emotion as she walked through Dixon's home and talked about him.
"I'll never get to be at his wedding," Rimel said. "I'll never see him old."
Her expressions of grief, however, quickly turned to anger. Rimel recounted the misinformation that proliferated last year: Masks don't work. The virus is a Democratic hoax to win the election. Only old people or people who are already sick are at risk.
Rimel said her brother believed some of that. He heard it from other prison guards, from family and friends on Facebook, she said, and from the former president, whom he voted for twice.
Falsehoods and conspiracies have fostered a dismissive attitude about the coronavirus among many people in rural Pennsylvania, where she and her siblings grew up, Rimel said. And, because of the misinformation, her brother didn't always wear a mask or practice physical distancing.
When family members expressed dismissive beliefs about COVID, Rimel's grief became even more painful and isolating. Rimel recalled a particularly tough time right after her brother had to be hospitalized. Even then, family members were repeating conspiracy theories on social media and bragging about not wearing masks, Rimel said.
Some of the people who attended Dixon's funeral are still sharing COVID misinformation online, said another sister, Jennifer Dixon.
"I wish that they could have been there his last days and watched him suffer," she said. "Watch his heart still be able to beat. His kidneys still producing urine because [they were] so strong. His liver still working. Everything. It was his lungs that were gone. His lungs. And that was only due to COVID."
Both sisters wanted their brother's death notice to be unambiguous about what had killed him. It reads, "Kyle had so much more of life to live and COVID-19 stopped his bright future."
While these sisters have chosen to be outspoken about what happened, other families have opted to keep quiet about deaths from COVID, according to Mike Kuhn, a funeral director in Reading, Pennsylvania.
Kuhn's business did not handle Kyle Dixon's funeral, but his chain of three funeral homes has helped bury hundreds of people who died from the coronavirus. He said about half of those families asked that COVID not be mentioned in obituaries or death notices.
"You know, I've had people say, 'My mother or my father was going to die, probably in the next year or two anyway, and they were in a nursing home, and then they got COVID, and you know, I don't really want to give a lot of credence to COVID,'" Kuhn said.
Some families wanted to have their loved one's official death certificate changed so that COVID was not listed as the cause of death, Kuhn added. Death certificates are official state documents, so Kuhn could not make that change even if he wanted to. But the request shows how badly some people want to minimize the role of the coronavirus in a loved one's death.
Refusing to face the truth about what killed a family or community member can make the grieving process much harder, said Ken Doka, who works as an expert in end-of-life care for the Hospice Foundation of America and has written books about aging, dying, grief and end-of-life care.
When a person dies from something controversial, Doka said, that's called a "disenfranchising death." The term refers to a death that people don't feel comfortable talking about openly because of social norms.
So, for instance, if I say my brother died of lung cancer, what's the first question you're going to ask — was he a smoker? And somehow, if he was a smoker, he's responsible."
Doka first explored the concept in the 1980s, along with a related concept: "disenfranchised grief." This occurs when mourners feel they don't have the right to express their loss openly or fully because of the cultural stigma about how the person died. For example, deaths from drug overdoses or suicide are frequently viewed as stemming from a supposed "moral" failure, and those left behind to mourn often fear others are judging them or the dead person's choices and behaviors, Doka said.
"So, for instance, if I say my brother died of lung cancer, what's the first question you're going to ask — was he a smoker?" Doka said. "And somehow, if he was a smoker, he's responsible."
Doka predicts that Americans who have lost loved ones to COVID in communities where the disease isn't taken seriously may also encounter similar efforts to shift responsibility — from the virus to the person who died.
Dixon's sisters said that's the attitude they often perceive in people's responses to the news of their brother's death — asking whether he had preexisting conditions or if he was overweight, as if he were to blame.
Those who criticize or dismiss victims of the pandemic are unlikely to change their minds easily, said Holly Prigerson, a sociologist specializing in grief. She said judgmental comments stem from a psychological concept known as cognitive dissonance.
If people believe the pandemic is a hoax, or that the dangers of the virus are overblown, then "anything, including the death of a loved one from this disease … they compartmentalize it," Prigerson said. "They're not going to process it. It gives them too much of a headache to try to reconcile."
She advises that people whose families or friends aren't willing to acknowledge the reality of COVID might have to set new boundaries for those relationships.
As Rimel continues to mourn her brother's death, she has found relief by joining bereavement support groups with others who agree on the facts about COVID. In August, she and her mother attended a remembrance march for COVID victims in downtown Pittsburgh, organized by the group COVID Survivors for Change.
And in June, a headstone was placed on Dixon's grave.
Near the bottom is a blunt message for the public, and for posterity: F— COVID-19.
Long after they are gone, the family wants the truth to endure.
"We want to make sure that people know Kyle's story, and that he passed away from the virus," Rimel said.
This story is from a partnership that includes NPR, WITF and KHN.
In January — long before the first jabs of COVID-19 vaccine were even available to most Americans — scientists working under Dr. Anthony Fauci at the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases were already thinking about potential booster shots.
A month later, they organized an international group of epidemiologists, virologists and biostatisticians to track and sequence COVID variants. They called the elite group SAVE, or SARS-Cov-2 Variant Testing Pipeline. And by the end of March, the scientists at NIAID were experimenting with monkeys and reviewing early data from humans showing that booster shots provided a rapid increase in protective antibodies — even against dangerous variants.
Fauci, whose team has closely tracked research from Israel, the United Kingdom and elsewhere, said in an exclusive interview with KHN on Wednesday that "there's very little doubt that the boosters will be beneficial." But, he emphasized, the official process, which includes reviews by scientists at the Food and Drug Administration and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, needs to take place first.
"If they say, 'We don't think there's enough data to do a booster,' then so be it," Fauci said. "I think that would be a mistake, to be honest with you."
The support for an extra dose of COVID vaccine clearly emerged, at least in part, from an NIH research dynamo, built by Fauci, that for months has been getting intricate real-time data about COVID variants and how they respond to vaccine-produced immunity. The FDA and CDC were seeing much of the same data, but as regulatory agencies, they were more cautious. The FDA, in particular, won't rule on a product until the company making it submits extensive data. And its officials are gimlet-eyed reviewers of such studies.
On boosters, Americans have heard conflicting messages from various parts of the U.S. government. Yet, Fauci said, "there is less disagreement and conflicts than seem to get out into the tweetosphere." He ticked off a number of prominent scientists in the field — including Surgeon General Vivek Murthy, acting FDA Commissioner Janet Woodcock and COVID vaccine inventor Barney Graham — who were on board with his position. All but Graham are members of the White House COVID task force.
Another task force member, CDC Director Rochelle Walensky, said her agency was tracking vaccine effectiveness and "we're starting to see some waning in terms of infections that foreshadows what we may be seeing soon in regard to hospitalizations and severe disease." As to when so-called boosters should start, she told PBS NewsHour on Tuesday, "I'm not going to get ahead of the FDA's process."
Differences in the scientific community are likely to be voiced Friday when the FDA's vaccine advisory board meets to review Pfizer-BioNTech's request for approval of a third shot. Indeed, even the FDA's official briefing paper before the meeting expressed skepticism. "Overall," agency officials noted, "data indicate that currently US-licensed or authorized COVID-19 vaccines still afford protection against severe COVID-19 disease and death." The agency also stated that it's unclear whether an additional shot might increase the risk of myocarditis, which has been reported, particularly in young men, following the second Pfizer and Moderna shots.
Part of the disagreement arose because President Joe Biden had announced that Americans could get a booster as soon as Sept. 20, a date Fauci and colleagues had suggested to him as practical and optimal in one of their frequent meetings just days before — though he cautioned that boosters would need CDC and FDA approval.
Now it appears that that decision and the timing rest with the FDA, which is the normal procedure for new uses of vaccines or drugs. And Fauci said he respects that process — but he thinks it should come as quickly as possible. "If you're doing it because you want to prevent people from getting sick, then the sooner you do it, the better," Fauci said.
Researchers at the NIH typically focus on early-stage drug development, asking how a virus infects and testing ways to treat the infection. The job of reviewing and approving a drug or vaccine for public use is "just not how the NIH was set up. NIH does relatively little research on actual products," said Diana Zuckerman, a former senior adviser to Hillary Clinton and president of the nonprofit National Center for Health Research in Washington, D.C.
"It's no secret that FDA doesn't have the disease experts in the way that the NIH does," Zuckerman said. "And it's no secret that the NIH doesn't have the experts in analyzing industry data."
'Data in Spades'
Yet no other infectious disease expert in any branch of the U.S. government has Fauci's influence. And while other scientific leaders support boosters, many scientists believe Fauci and his colleagues at the NIAID — some of the world's leaders in immunology and vaccinology, men and women in daily contact with their foreign peers and their research findings — are leading the charge.
Fauci was hard-pressed to give exact dates for when his thinking turned on the need for boosters. The past 18 months are a blur, he said. But "there's very little doubt that the boosters will be beneficial. The Israelis already have that data in spades. They boost, they get an increase by tenfold in the protection against infection and severe disease."
In July, Israel, which started vaccinating its population early and used only the Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine, began reporting severe breakthrough cases in previously vaccinated elderly people. Israel's Ministry of Health announced boosters July 29. Fauci noted that Israel and — to a lesser extent — the U.K. were about a month and a half ahead of the U.S. at every stage of dealing with COVID.
And once Israel had boosted its population, the Israeli scientists showed their NIH counterparts, hospitalizations of previously vaccinated people, which had been rising, dropped dramatically. Emerging evidence suggests boosters make people far less likely to transmit the virus to others, an important added benefit.
To be sure, members of the White House COVID response team — including Fauci and former FDA Commissioner David Kessler — had begun preparing a timeline for boosters months earlier. Kessler, speaking to Congress in May, said that it was unclear then whether the boosters would be needed but that the U.S. had the money to purchase them and ensure they were free.
Fauci explained that "practically speaking, the earliest we could do it would be the third week in September. Hence the date of the week of September the 20th was chosen." The hope was that would give regulators enough time. The FDA's advisory board meeting Friday is set to be followed next week by a gathering of the CDC's immunization advisory committee, which offers recommendations for vaccine use that can lead to legal mandates.
Tuesday, Dr. Sharon Alroy-Preis, Israel's head of public health services, told a Hebrew-language webinar that her country's booster launch came at a critical time. She provided supporting data that Israeli scientists are bringing to the FDA meeting Friday.
Some U.S. scientists have discussed limiting the boosters mostly to those over 60, Alroy-Preis noted, but "if you don't keep it under control, it's like a pot on the flame. If you don't start lowering the flames of the pandemic, you can't control it."
Real-Time Science
Scientists tracking the coronavirus are swimming in data. Hundreds of COVID studies are published or released onto pre-publication servers every day. Scientists also share their findings on group email lists and in Zoom meetings every week — and on Twitter and in news interviews.
Kessler, chief science officer of the White House COVID response team, said the case for boosters is "rooted in NIH science" but includes data from Israel, the Mayo Clinic, the pharmaceutical companies and elsewhere.
As Fauci put it: "Every 15 minutes, a pre-print server comes out with something I don't know."
The SAVE group, active since February, was organized by NIH officials who in normal times track influenza epidemics. The 60 to 70 scientists are mostly from U.S. agencies such as the NIH, CDC, FDA and Biomedical Advanced Research and Development Authority, but also from other countries, including Israel and the Netherlands.
"This is very much the basic scientists who are in the weeds trying to figure things out," said Dr. Daniel Douek, chief of the human immunology section within NIAID. Douek said the larger SAVE group meets every Friday but several subgroups meet several times a week, focusing on different aspects of the virus, such as early detection of viral variants and testing suspicious variants for their ability to evade vaccine-induced immunity and sicken vaccinated mice and monkeys.
The sharing of data and information is free-flowing, Douek said. SAVE is "an amazing thing."
Matthew Frieman, a participant and associate professor of microbiology at the University of Maryland School of Medicine, said the data makes it clear that the time for boosters is approaching. Biden's booster announcement "may have gotten ahead of the game, but the trajectory is pointing toward the need for boosters," Frieman said. "The level of antibody you need to protect against delta is higher because it replicates faster."
While SAVE is an elite group, it's not the only forum for discussing late-breaking data, said Natalie Dean, a biostatistician at the Rollins School of Public Health at Emory University. "We all saw the same data out of Israel," she said. Dean, like many other scientists, found that data unconvincing.
Monday, an international group of scientists led by Dr. Philip Krause, deputy chief of the FDA's vaccine regulation office, and including his boss, Dr. Marion Gruber, published an essay in The Lancet that questioned the need for widespread booster shots at this time.
Krause and Gruber had announced their retirements from the FDA on Aug. 30 — at least partly in response to the booster announcement, according to four scientists who know them. Gruber, who will remain at the agency until later this fall, is listed as a participant in Friday's meeting.
The Lancet paper argues that vaccine-based protection against severe COVID is still strong, while evidence is lacking that booster shots will be safe and effective. University of Florida biostatistician Ira Longini, a co-author on the Lancet paper, said it would be "immoral" to begin widespread boosters before the rest of the world was better vaccinated. As the disease continues its global spread, he noted, it is likely to develop deadlier and more vaccine-evasive mutants.
Longini was also skeptical of an August study, which Israeli scientists are to present to the FDA on Friday, that NIH officials had touted as strong evidence in support of boosters. On an Aug. 24 call with Israeli officials, Fauci urged them to publish that data, and a version appeared in the New England Journal of Medicine on Wednesday.
That study found that people receiving a third dose of the Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine were 11 times more likely to be protected from COVID infection than those who had gotten only two doses. But the study observed people for less than two weeks after their booster vaccinations kicked in. Biostatisticians felt it had irregularities that raised questions about its worth.
"I don't want to say the study isn't correct, but it hasn't been reviewed and there are possible biases," said Longini, who helped design the 2015 trial that resulted in a successful Ebola vaccine and now works on global COVID vaccine trials.
Fauci emphasized that no single study or piece of data led Biden or the members of the White House COVID response team to conclude that boosting was necessary. The compilation of evidence of waning immunity combined with reams of research was a factor. Now the crucial decisions are in the hands of the regulators, awaiting the FDA and CDC's judgment on how the nation should proceed.
"It isn't as if," Fauci said, "one day we're sitting in the Oval Office saying, 'You know, Mr. President, I think we need to boost.' And he says, 'Tony, go ahead and do it.' You can't do it that way. You've got to go through the process."
Journalist Nathan Guttman contributed to this report.
Promise: "I'm never going to raise the white flag and surrender. We're going to beat this virus. We're going to get it under control, I promise you."
On the campaign trail last year, Joe Biden promised that, if elected president, he would get COVID-19 under control. Since assuming office in January, Biden has continued to pledge that his administration would do its best to get Americans vaccinated against COVID and allow life to return to some semblance of normal.
Both signs of progress and setbacks have cropped up along the way.
Initially, as COVID vaccines became available early this year, demand exceeded supply, frustrating many. Eventually, all those who wanted to were able to become fully vaccinated.
In May and June, new COVID cases, hospitalizations and deaths dramatically fell, prompting the Biden administration to ease mask requirements and guidance for fully vaccinated people. But many states and localities responded by dropping mask mandates altogether, even for people who were not inoculated.
The summer also ushered in the highly contagious delta variant, causing another pandemic wave. By Labor Day, daily cases in the U.S. were at their highest point since last winter. Deaths, too, were rising.
On Sept. 9, Biden announced a six-part plan to combat the delta variant and step up efforts to get control of COVID. The plan includes vaccine mandates for federal workers, government contractors and those working at private companies with 100 or more employees; requirements that employers offer paid time off for those getting a shot; increased distribution and lower costs for COVID tests, including rapid at-home tests; and stronger COVID safety protocols in schools and on interstate transportation.
The vaccine mandate for private employers includes an option for workers to be tested weekly instead of getting the shot. Federal workers won't have that option.
KHN teamed up with our partners at PolitiFact to analyze Biden's promises during the 2020 presidential campaign. We asked the experts for their take on whether this list of action items will help make this promise — to beat the virus — a reality.
Limitations and Benefits of Biden's Plan
While the plan is a "big step in the right direction," according to Dr. Leana Wen, a visiting professor of health policy and management at George Washington University, it should have been released two months ago. That would have slowed the delta variant from gaining such a strong foothold in the U.S.
"Had they acted much earlier, we would be in a different position," she said.
And the current plan doesn't go far enough, said Wen, who urged the Biden administration to give companies and jurisdictions incentives to require proof of vaccination for entry into restaurants and other businesses, as New York City and San Francisco did.
"That would send the message of 'You don't get to enjoy the privileges of pre-pandemic life unless you're vaccinated,'" said Wen. "Right now, the vaccinated are being held hostage by the unvaccinated. The vaccinated are having breakthrough infections and the unvaccinated are endangering those who cannot get vaccinated, like kids."
Dr. Marcus Plescia, chief medical officer at the Association of State and Territorial Health Officials, is optimistic that Biden's plan will move the needle, "but it's hard to know how much."
The vaccination mandates for employers, for example, will definitely be helpful in states where similar measures, such as requirements that state workers get vaccinated or test regularly, have already started, he said. It "will reinforce what the state is trying to do."
But it's less clear what will happen in states with strong political opposition to mandates. "There will be partisan disagreement on this," Plescia predicted.
Biden's proposal has elicited broad opposition from many Republican governors, with some pledging to fight it. Others issued more tempered statements. Ohio Gov. Mike DeWine, a Republican, told a Cincinnati radio station the plan may hamper efforts to educate people on the importance of vaccines, because "we're going to now be talking about a federal mandate, which no one likes, instead of talking about 'Look, here's the science.'"
But Plescia is pleased the vaccination mandate broadly extends the requirement for health care workers to get vaccinated. It now goes beyond an earlier announcement affecting only nursing home workers to include staffers at nearly all health facilities that receive federal funding, such as Medicare or Medicaid.
An August announcement that targeted mainly nursing home workers raised concern that some employees would simply quit and find work in health care settings where vaccines were not required, further exacerbating a shortage of nursing home workers.
With the president's new move, "this levels the playing field," Plescia said. The same goes for other industries.
And the mandate might prove less objectionable for some unvaccinated adults, said Dr. Georges Benjamin, executive director of the American Public Health Association, because the employer becomes the enforcer.
"The person telling them what to do is their boss at their job," he said. "That's a different leverage point than the government."
However, Jen Kates, director of global health and HIV policy at KFF, said the testing option for companies with 100 or more workers could slow any positive impact of the vaccine push.
It will also take time to see how the mandates and requirements are implemented. Possible legal challenges could delay results, as could the regulatory steps involved in the enforcement of the employer vaccination requirement, which will rely on the Occupational Safety and Health Administration for enforcement.
The goal to get more testing kits to health centers and to make home test kits available through major retailers for a lower price could also be helpful, Plescia said.
Benjamin gives Biden a "healthy B-plus" on progress in getting COVID under control, citing the more than 200 million Americans who have had at least one shot, even as he acknowledges that, "as a nation, we haven't achieved critical vaccination levels in enough of the country." Currently, 63% of the U.S. population age 12 and over is fully vaccinated.
But, in many pockets of the country, not even half the population is vaccinated, far short of the levels many public health experts believe necessary to tamp down the virus.
"It's pretty clear the carrot has not worked," said Benjamin, referring to the carrot-and-stick metaphor. "We have enormous forces pushing back, both the usual anti-vaccine community plus the politicization at the most senior levels."
Disparities remain in vaccination rates among people of color compared with that of white people, though the gap has been shrinking recently. Still, the share of doses Black and Hispanic people have received is disproportionately smaller than their share of COVID cases in most states.
Continuing to reach out to these populations will be an important tool to boost the vaccination rate across the U.S. — and to slow the delta variant surge.
When Will We (If Ever) Get COVID Under Control?
Despite all this, Dr. William Schaffner, a professor of medicine in the Division of Infectious Diseases at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee, is hopeful.
If things move forward expeditiously, "by sometime this winter we could have COVID under control," he said. By that, he does not mean the virus will be vanquished. Instead, Schaffner said, "we would be on the same track as before delta, entering a new normal."
Kates envisions COVID becoming manageable if the U.S. can achieve a much higher rate of vaccination coverage. But she also thinks it's likely the virus will continue to circulate and COVID will become an endemic disease.
"The likelihood of it not being an issue is diminishing since vaccine coverage is so poor in other countries. Containing COVID depends on what we do globally, too," said Kates. "The likely scenario of the U.S. is we'll be living with it for a while and containment will be dependent on vaccination rates." We continue to rate this promise In the Works.
President Joe Biden last Thursday announced sweeping vaccination mandates and other COVID measures, saying he was forced to act partly because of such legislation.
This article was published on Wednesday, September 15, 2021 in Kaiser Health News.
Republican legislators in more than half of U.S. states, spurred on by voters angry about lockdowns and mask mandates, are taking away the powers state and local officials use to protect the public against infectious diseases.
A KHN review of hundreds of pieces of legislation found that, in all 50 states, legislators have proposed bills to curb such public health powers since the COVID-19 pandemic began. While some governors vetoed bills that passed, at least 26 states pushed through laws that permanently weaken government authority to protect public health.
In three additional states, an executive order, ballot initiative or state Supreme Court ruling limited long-held public health powers. More bills are pending in a handful of states whose legislatures are still in session.
In Arkansas, legislators banned mask mandates except in private businesses or state-run healthcare settings, calling them "a burden on the public peace, health, and safety of the citizens of this state." In Idaho, county commissioners, who typically have no public health expertise, can veto countywide public health orders. And in Kansas and Tennessee, school boards, rather than health officials, have the power to close schools.
President Joe Biden last Thursday announced sweeping vaccination mandates and other COVID measures, saying he was forced to act partly because of such legislation: "My plan also takes on elected officials in states that are undermining you and these lifesaving actions."
All told:
In at least 16 states, legislators have limited the power of public health officials to order mask mandates, or quarantines or isolation. In some cases, they gave themselves or local elected politicians the authority to prevent the spread of infectious disease.
At least 17 states passed laws banning COVID vaccine mandates or passports, or made it easier to get around vaccine requirements.
At least nine states have new laws banning or limiting mask mandates. Executive orders or a court ruling limit mask requirements in five more.
Much of this legislation takes effect as COVID hospitalizations in some areas are climbing to the highest numbers at any point in the pandemic, and children are back in school.
"We really could see more people sick, hurt, hospitalized or even die, depending on the extremity of the legislation and curtailing of the authority," said Lori Tremmel Freeman, head of the National Association of County and City Health Officials.
Public health academics and officials are frustrated that they, instead of the virus, have become the enemy. They argue this will have consequences that last long beyond this pandemic, diminishing their ability to fight the latest COVID surge and future disease outbreaks, such as being able to quarantine people during a measles outbreak.Bottom of Form
"It's kind of like having your hands tied in the middle of a boxing match," said Kelley Vollmar, executive director of the Jefferson County Health Department in Missouri.
But proponents of the new limits say they are a necessary check on executive powers and give lawmakers a voice in prolonged emergencies. Arkansas state Sen. Trent Garner, a Republican who co-sponsored his state's successful bill to ban mask mandates, said he was trying to reflect the will of the people.
"What the people of Arkansas want is the decision to be left in their hands, to them and their family," Garner said. "It's time to take the power away from the so-called experts, whose ideas have been woefully inadequate."
After initially signing the bill, Republican Gov. Asa Hutchinson expressed regret, calling a special legislative session in early August to ask lawmakers to carve out an exception for schools. They declined. The law is currently blocked by an Arkansas judge who deemed it unconstitutional. Legal battles are ongoing in other states as well.
Legislators there also passed limits on local officials: If jurisdictions add public health rules stronger than state public health measures, they could lose 20% of some grants.
Losing the ability to order quarantines has left Karen Sullivan, health officer for Montana's Butte-Silver Bow department, terrified about what's to come — not only during the COVID pandemic but for future measles and whooping cough outbreaks.
"In the midst of delta and other variants that are out there, we're quite frankly a nervous wreck about it," Sullivan said. "Relying on morality and goodwill is not a good public health practice."
While some public health officials tried to fight the national wave of legislation, the underfunded public health workforce was consumed by trying to implement the largest vaccination campaign in U.S. history and had little time for political action.
Freeman said her city and county health officials' group has meager influence and resources, especially in comparison with the American Legislative Exchange Council, a corporate-backed conservative group that promoted a model bill to restrict the emergency powers of governors and other officials. The draft legislation appears to have inspired dozens of state-level bills, according to the KHN review. At least 15 states passed laws limiting emergency powers. In some states, governors can no longer institute mask mandates or close businesses, and their executive orders can be overturned by legislators.
When North Dakota's legislative session began in January, a long slate of bills sought to rein in public health powers, including one with language similar to ALEC's. The state didn't have a health director to argue against the new limits because three had resigned in 2020.
Fighting the bills not only took time, but also seemed dangerous, said Renae Moch, public health director for Bismarck, who testified against a measure prohibiting mask mandates. She then received an onslaught of hate mail and demands for her to be fired.
The new laws are meant to reduce the power of governors and restore the balance of power between states' executive branches and legislatures, said Jonathon Hauenschild, director of the ALEC task force on communications and technology. "Governors are elected, but they were delegating a lot of authority to the public health official, often that they had appointed," Hauenschild said.
'Like Turning Off a Light Switch'
When the Indiana legislature overrode the governor's veto to pass a bill that gave county commissioners the power to review public health orders, it was devastating for Dr. David Welsh, the public health officer in rural Ripley County.
People immediately stopped calling him to report COVID violations, because they knew the county commissioners could overturn his authority. It was "like turning off a light switch," Welsh said.
Another county in Indiana has already seen its health department's mask mandate overridden by the local commissioners, Welsh said.
He's considering stepping down after more than a quarter century in the role. If he does, he'll join at least 303 public health leaders who have retired, resigned or been fired since the pandemic began, according to an ongoing KHN and AP analysis. That means 1 in 5 Americans have lost a local health leader during the pandemic.
"This is a deathblow," said Brian Castrucci, CEO of the de Beaumont Foundation, which advocates for public health. He called the legislative assault the last straw for many seasoned public health officials who have battled the pandemic without sufficient resources, while also being vilified.
Public health groups expect further combative legislation. ALEC's Hauenschild said the group is looking into a Michigan law that allowed the legislature to limit the governor's emergency powers without Democratic Gov. Gretchen Whitmer's signature.
Curbing the authority of public health officials has also become campaign fodder, particularly among Republican candidates running further on the right. While Republican Idaho Gov. Brad Little was traveling out of state, Lt. Gov. Janice McGeachin signed a surprise executive order banning mask mandates that she later promoted for her upcoming campaign against him. He later reversed the ban, tweeting, "I do not like petty politics. I do not like political stunts over the rule of law."
Fawbush was a sponsor of 1989 legislation during the AIDS crisis. It banned employers from requiring healthcare workers, as a condition of employment, to get an HIV vaccine, if one became available.
But 32 years later, that means Oregon cannot require healthcare workers to be vaccinated against COVID. Calling lawmaking a "messy business," Fawbush said he certainly wouldn't have pushed the bill through if he had known then what he does now.
"Legislators need to obviously deal with immediate situations," Fawbush said. "But we have to look over the horizon. It's part of the job responsibility to look at consequences."
KHN data reporter Hannah Recht, Montana correspondent Katheryn Houghton and Associated Press writer Michelle R. Smith contributed to this report.
Twenty-eight million people, or 8.6% of Americans, were uninsured for all of 2020. In 2019, 8% of people were uninsured during the full year; in 2018, it was 8.5%.
This article was published on Wednesday, September 15, 2021, in Kaiser Health News.
Despite a pandemic-fueled recession, the number of uninsured Americans has increased only slightly since 2018, according to Census Bureau health insurance data released Tuesday.
Twenty-eight million people, or 8.6% of Americans, were uninsured for all of 2020. In 2019, 8% of people were uninsured during the full year; in 2018, it was 8.5%.
During a press conference, Census officials said there was no statistically significant difference in the number of uninsured when comparing 2018 and 2020 data. (The Census Bureau has cautioned against comparing 2020 data to 2019 data because of a disruption in data collection and individual responses due to the COVID-19 pandemic — which is why 2018 served as the primary comparison.)
"It's remarkable that, during a pandemic with massive job losses, the share of Americans uninsured did not go up," said Larry Levitt, executive vice president for health policy at KFF. "This is likely a testament to what is now a much more protective health insurance safety net."
Still, the annual report shows a shift in where Americans get their insurance coverage. Private insurance coverage decreased by 0.8 percentage points from 2018. Public coverage rose by 0.4 percentage points from 2018. That shift was likely driven partly by older Americans becoming eligible for Medicare, at age 65, and showed a 0.5 percentage point increase from 2018 to 2020.
Coverage through employers also dropped significantly, said Joseph Antos, a senior fellow in healthcare policy at the American Enterprise Institute, and low-income people were hit especially hard as pandemic cutbacks led to job and health insurance losses. Employment-based coverage dropped by 0.7 percentage points compared with 2018.
The Census 2020 data did show a decline in the number of workers employed full time year-round, and an increase in the number of workers who worked less than full time, suggesting that many individuals shifted to part-time work.
This changing nature of work is "part of the overall story," said Sharon Stern, assistant division chief of employment characteristics at the Census Bureau. For the group that didn't work full time, the uninsured rate increased to 16.4% in 2020 from 14.6% in 2018. And that impact was concentrated at the bottom of the earnings index.
"Almost certainly, the people most prone to lose coverage because they lost their jobs were lower-paid workers to begin with," Antos said.
Antos said the Census Bureau data, which showed there wasn't a significant difference between 2018 and 2020 in the percentage of Americans covered by the Affordable Care Act, misses the larger role the ACA played in helping those who lost coverage get it through the program. Many of those who looked into ACA plans may have met income requirements for Medicaid and joined those rolls instead. Medicaid is a federal-state program for the poor and coverage is free or available at a very low cost. Even with a subsidy, many ACA enrollees may face premium or deductibles or both.
Joan Alker, executive director of the Center for Children and Families at Georgetown University, said one of the main points that jumped out for her was the sharp rise in children below the federal poverty level who were uninsured, rising from 7.8% in 2018 to 9.3% in 2020.
"The rich kids actually did a little bit better, and the poor kids did a whole lot worse," said Alker.
Overall, the percentage of uninsured children ticked up only slightly and wasn't considered statistically significant.
Further research is needed to determine the causes of rising uninsurance among the poorest children, Alker said.
Oddly, the Census report did not show an uptick in Medicaid enrollment, although other reports have shown a big increase.
Data from the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, which comes from state insurance records, shows a 15.6% increase in the number of Medicaid and Children's Health Insurance Program enrollees from February 2020 to March 2021.
A recent report from KFF, which analyzed the CMS data, found enrollment in Medicaid and CHIP increased by 10.5 million from February 2020 to March 2021. Enrollment increased steadily each consecutive month, with increases attributed to people losing their jobs and thus becoming eligible for public coverage and the Families First Coronavirus Response Act, which passed in 2020 and ensured continuous Medicare coverage.
This disconnect may be a result of the nature of Census data, which is self-reported by individuals.
"That's always subject to error, and probably especially so right now," said Levitt. "It could also be a result of particularly high non-response rates among some groups."
Census officials acknowledged during the Tuesday press conference that response rates to their surveys were lower than normal in 2020 and have only just started rebounding in 2021. Other datasources do seem to confirm that the uninsured rate has remained relatively constant over the past couple of years.
Another important takeaway from the data was illustrating the continuing gap in the number of uninsured people between states that chose to expand Medicaid under the ACA and states that didn't. The Census data showed that in 2020, 38.1% of poor, non-elderly adults were uninsured in non-expansion states, compared with 16.7% in expansion states.
"That became a huge gap after the ACA, and it's not surprising at all that it remains a huge gap," said Gideon Lukens, director of research and data analysis for health policy at the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. "That highlights the need to close the coverage gap."
The Census Bureau report also offered insights into national income and poverty rates:
The official poverty rate in 2020 was 11.4%, up 1 percentage point from 2019, marking the first increase in poverty after five consecutive annual declines. In 2020, 37.2 million people lived in poverty, approximately 3.3 million more than in 2019.
Medical expenses boosted the number of impoverished people by 5 million in 2020.
The median household income in 2020 decreased 2.9% from 2019 to 2020. This is the first statistically significant decline in median household income since 2011.
It's a struggle for Joe Gammon to talk. Lying in his bed in the intensive care unit at Ascension Saint Thomas Hospital in Nashville, Tennessee, this month, he described himself as "naive."
"If I would have known six months ago that this could be possible, this would have been a no-brainer," said the 45-year-old father of six, who has been in critical condition with COVID-19 for weeks. He paused to use a suction tube to dislodge some phlegm from his throat. "But I honestly didn't think I was at any risk."
Tennessee hospitals are setting new records each day, caring for more COVID patients than ever, including 3,846 of the more than 100,000 Americans hospitalized with the virus as of Sept. 9. The most critical patients are almost all unvaccinated, hospital officials say, meaning ICUs are filled with regretful patients hoping for a second chance.
In hospitals throughout the South as well as in parts of California and Oregon, more than 50% of the inpatients are being treated for COVID, an NPR analysis shows.
Gammon is a truck driver from rural Lascassas in Middle Tennessee who said he listens to a lot of conservative talk radio. The daily diatribes downplaying the pandemic and promoting personal freedom were enough to dissuade him from vaccination.
Gammon said he's not an "anti-vaxxer." And he said he's a committed believer in the COVID vaccine now. He's also thankful he didn't get anyone else so sick they're in an ICU like him.
"Before you say no, seek a second opinion," he advised people who think the way he did before being hospitalized. "Just to say 'no' is irresponsible. Because it might not necessarily affect you. What if it affected your spouse? Or your child? You wouldn't want that. You sure wouldn't want that on your heart."
Gammon's lungs are too damaged from COVID for a ventilator. He is on the last-resort life support ECMO, which stands for extracorporeal membrane oxygenation. Unlike previous generations of life support, people on ECMO can be fully conscious, can speak to their loved ones (or even reporters), and can even move around with the help of a team of nurses and technicians.
But it is an intense treatment, with a machine doing the work of both the heart and the lungs. Thick tubes run out of a hole in Gammon's neck, and pump all of his blood through the ECMO machine to be oxygenated, then back into his body through other tubes. A mask over his nose forces air into his lungs as they're given time to heal.
Even for patients who survive ECMO, many face months of rehabilitation or even permanent disability or dependence on oxygen.
This Saint Thomas West ICU is treating COVID patients only, and that data point should be pretty convincing to vaccine holdouts, said critical care nurse Angie Gicewicz.
"We don't have people in the hospital suffering horrible reactions to the vaccine," she noted.
If all the patients on this hall could talk — and some can't because they're sedated on ventilators — Gicewicz said they'd tell people to learn from their mistakes. She recounted the story of an elderly woman who was admitted in recent weeks and spent her first days in isolation to control infection.
Gicewicz said she'd wave at the nurses from her sealed room, desperate for anyone to talk to. "The first day I took care of her, she said, 'I guess I should have taken that vaccine.' I said, 'Well, yeah honey, probably. But we're here where we are now, and let's do what we can for you.' "
That woman, like so many who didn't take the vaccine, never recovered, Gicewicz said. She died at this hospital, which averaged more than one COVID death every day during the month of August.
This story is part of a partnership that includes Nashville Public Radio, NPR and KHN.
Gary Popiel had to drive more than 200 miles round trip to visit his adult daughters in separate behavioral health facilities as they received psychiatric and medical treatment.
It was 2000, and the family's only options for inpatient psychiatric beds were in Helena and Missoula — far from their Bozeman, Montana, home and from each other. Fast-forward 21 years, and Montana's fourth-largest city still lacks a hospital behavioral health unit.
"This would be just as traumatic now as it was then. We still would have to leave Bozeman," Popiel said. "Why should families have to witness their loved one being hauled off or take them themselves to another facility — or outside the state — to receive help?"
For years, healthcare workers and people such as Popiel who've had to travel for family members' mental health hospitalizations have been pushing the city's major hospital system, the nonprofit Bozeman Health, to add a behavioral health unit at its Deaconess Hospital. On Sept. 30, the system's board plans to consider whether to add one as part of an expansion of its mental health services.
Hospital leaders have said initial talks have been broad so far, without specifics on the number of potential beds and whether they're designed for adults or kids.
But even if Bozeman Health adds inpatient psychiatric beds, the gaps in emergency mental healthcare could continue. Across Montana, such units routinely hit capacity and some struggle to find enough workers to staff them.
Montana's quandary reflects a national shortage of inpatient psychiatric beds that can leave people with serious mental illnesses far from the services they need when a crisis hits. Ideally, patients would have treatment options to prevent such a crisis. But more than 124 million Americans live in mental health "professional shortage areas," according to federal data, and the country needs at least 6,500 more practitioners to fill the gaps.
The national nonprofit Treatment Advocacy Center, which aims to make care for severe mental illness more accessible, recommends a minimum of 50 inpatient psychiatric beds per 100,000 people. It is still debated, though, who should provide those beds and where they're prioritized on a long list of stretched-thin mental health services.
Given the patient capacity of Montana State Hospital and private hospital behavioral health units, Montana comes close to that recommendation. But those beds are concentrated in pockets of the state, so access isn't uniform.
For example, Bozeman Health sits in a city of 50,000 in a county of 120,000 and also serves two neighboring counties. The city has 10 crisis beds at the Western Montana Mental Health Center's facility there — the only beds for roughly 100 miles in any direction. The crisis center cares for roughly 400 people a year, providing nurses and psychiatrists who can offer safety plans and medication management, but it can't treat children or offer full medical services as a hospital could. The center also faced criticism for closing its two involuntary beds for six months last year because of a worker shortage amid the pandemic.
Bozeman Health's leadership estimated that on average 13 people who live in its primary three-county service area of Gallatin, Park and Madison counties are admitted to behavioral health units elsewhere each month.
Some patients leave handcuffed in the back of a law enforcement vehicle. Last year, the Gallatin County Sheriff's Office transported 101 people experiencing a mental health crisis — 85 of whom were taken to crisis centers hours away or the state hospital. That's up from 2019 when authorities took 36 out of 45 people in crisis outside the county.
"Every other major city in Montana besides us has managed to get inpatient care" at their hospitals, said Dr. Colette Kirchhoff, a physician in Bozeman.
One man went to Bozeman Health to have a cancerous tumor removed in early August, and the next day he had panic attacks that turned into suicidal thoughts. He was driven two hours in the back of an ambulance to the Billings Clinic. His wife, who asked KHN not to publish their names since her husband wasn't in a condition to give his consent, said she wished they'd had a closer option.
"I was there when he got strapped into a gurney and taken away," she said. "I had to book a hotel and get money from the bank and pack clothes."
Bozeman Health leaders have said the hospital hadn't actively considered a behavioral health unit until now because it had prioritized outpatient mental health services. In recent years, it added mental health treatment into primary care, including hiring licensed clinical social workers. It started telepsychiatry to help local providers with patient assessments. It also plans to provide short-term crisis stabilization and medication management.
"The gold standard is let's make the need for high-acuity inpatient care go away completely," said Jason Smith, Bozeman Health's chief advancement officer. "Getting there may be impossible. At the very least, it's going to be difficult."
Elizabeth Sinclair Hancq, director of research for the Treatment Advocacy Center, is skeptical that would be possible. "Efforts to intervene as early as possible are an important step forward, but that doesn't mean that inpatient beds will become obsolete," she said.
Smith said creating inpatient psychiatric services isn't as simple as adding beds. A construction project would be years away. Adding a unit also would mean ensuring discharged patients have access to additional services and recruiting mental health workers to Bozeman amid the national shortage.
"Whether we're going to be able to recruit the behavioral health professionals that are necessary to lead it and provide that care on a day-to-day basis is a major question mark," Smith said.
Dr. Scott Ellner, CEO of the Billings Clinic, said the number of patients who travel to his hospital for care is evidence the state needs more beds. Last year, the hospital treated 161 psychiatric patients from Bozeman Health's service area. Ellner said Billings Clinic loses money on its psych unit, but the service is part of the hospital's job.
"There's so few resources across the state," Ellner said. "We strongly recommend that there be inpatient beds in Gallatin County."
Where the services do exist, they're often stretched.
Benefis Health System in Great Falls has 20 inpatient psychiatric beds. In an email, spokesperson Kaci Husted said those beds hit capacity a few times a week. When that happens, the hospital puts patients in overflow beds until a spot opens.
And in Helena last year, St. Peter's Health turned away 102 patients because its behavioral health unit was out of space or because a patient needed more care than the hospital could manage. Gianluca Piscarelli, the unit's director, said the system's eight adult beds are often full. The hospital also has 14 geriatric psychiatric beds — the only inpatient program in the state designed for seniors who may have dementia and a serious mental illness — but Piscarelli said the unit may deny someone a spot if it already has too many high-needs patients to manage.
Shodair Children's Hospital in Helena has 74 beds for kids in a crisis but, because of a shortage of mental health workers, the facility could admit only 40 patients as of mid-August, said CEO Craig Aasved. In May, a 15-year-old patient died by suicide there, with a state report blaming understaffing as a contributing factor.
The hospital is working on an expansion with a new building design that would make it easier to group patients by diagnosis, but staffing will still be a strain. He said that while more beds are always needed, some kids come from towns where they don't even have access to a therapist.
Having every hospital add psychiatric beds isn't a perfect solution, Aasved said. "The end result is we'll just have a lot of beds and no staff."
NEED HELP?
If you or someone you know is in a crisis, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or contact the Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 741741.
SACRAMENTO, Calif. — Should Gavin Newsom survive the Republican-driven attempt to oust him from office, the Democratic governor will face the prospect of paying back supporters who coalesced behind him.
And the leaders of California's single-payer movement will want their due.
Publicly, union leaders say they're standing beside Newsom because he has displayed political courage during the COVID-19 pandemic by taking actions such as imposing the nation's first statewide stay-at-home order. But behind the scenes, they are aggressively pressuring him to follow through on his 2018 campaign pledge to establish a government-run, single-payer healthcare system.
"I expect him to lead on California accomplishing single-payer and being an example for the rest of the country," said Sal Rosselli, president of the National Union of Healthcare Workers, which is urging Newsom to get federal permission to fund such a system.
Another union, the California Nurses Association, is pushing Newsom to back state legislation early next year to do away with private health insurance and create a single-payer system. But "first, everyone needs to get out and vote no on this recall," said Stephanie Roberson, the union's lead lobbyist.
"This is about life or death for us. It's not only about single-payer. It's about infection control. It's about Democratic and working-class values," she said. "We lose if Republicans take over."
Together, the unions have made hundreds of thousands of dollars in political contributions, funded anti-recall ads and phone-banked to defend Newsom. The latest polling indicates Newsom will survive Tuesday's recall election, which has become a battle between Democratic ideals and Republican angst over government coronavirus mandates. The Democratic Party closed ranks around the governor early and kept well-known Democratic contenders off the ballot, leaving liberal voters with little choice other than Newsom.
"This is a crucial moment for Newsom, and for his supporters who are lining up behind him," said Mark Peterson, a professor of public policy, political science and law at UCLA who specializes in the politics of healthcare. "They're helping him stay in office, but that comes with an expectation for some action."
But it's not clear that Newsom — who will face competing demands to pay back other supporters pushing for stronger action on homelessness, climate change and public safety — could deliver such a massive shift.
Reorganizing the health system under a single-payer financing model would be tremendously expensive — around $400 billion a year — and difficult to achieve politically, largely because it would require tax increases.
No state has a single-payer system. Vermont tried to implement one, but its former governor, a Democrat, abandoned his plan in 2014 partly because of opposition to tax increases. California would not only need to raise taxes, but would also likely have to seek voter approval to change the state constitution, and get permission from the federal government to use money allocated for Medicare and Medicaid to help fund the new system.
The last big push for single-payer in California ended in 2017 because it did not adequately address financing and other challenges. Leading up to the 2018 gubernatorial election, Newsom campaigned on single-payer healthcare, telling supporters "you have my firm and absolute commitment as your next governor that I will lead the effort to get it done," and "single-payer is the way to go."
In office, though, Newsom has distanced himself from that promise as he has expanded the existing health system, which relies on a mix of public and private insurance company payers. For instance, he and Democratic lawmakers imposed a health insurance mandate on Californians and expanded public coverage for low-income people, both of which enrich health insurers.
Newsom has, however, convened a commission to study single-payer and in late May wrote to President Joe Biden, asking him to work with Congress to pass legislation giving states freedom and financing to establish single-payer systems. "California's spirit of innovation is stifled by federal limits," Newsom wrote.
Newsom's recall campaign, asked about his stance on single-payer, referred questions to his administration. The governor's office said in prepared comments that Newsom remains committed to the idea.
"Governor Newsom has consistently said that single-payer healthcare is where we need to be," spokesperson Alex Stack wrote. "It's just a question of how we get there."
Stack also highlighted a new initiative that will build up the state's public health insurance program, Medi-Cal, saying it "paves a path toward a single-payer principled system."
Activists say Newsom has let them down on single-payer but are standing behind him because he represents their best shot at obtaining it. However, some say they're not willing to wait long. If Newsom doesn't embrace single-payer soon, liberal activists say, they will look for a Democratic alternative when he comes up for reelection next year.
"Newsom is an establishment candidate, and we as Democrats aren't shy about ripping the endorsement out from under someone who doesn't share our values," said Brandon Harami, Bay Area vice chair of the state Democratic Party's Progressive Caucus, who opposes the recall. "Newsom has been completely silent on single-payer. A lot of us are really gunning to see some action on his part."
State Assembly member Ash Kalra (D-San Jose), who also opposes the recall, will reintroduce his single-payer bill, AB 1400, in January after he paused it earlier this year to work on a financing plan. Its chief sponsor is the California Nurses Association.
Using lessons learned from the failed 2017 attempt to pass single-payer legislation, the nurses union is deploying activists to pressure state and local lawmakers into supporting the bill. Resolutions have been approved or are pending in multiple cities.
"This is an opportunity for California to lead the way on healthcare," Los Angeles City Council member Mike Bonin said before an 11-0 vote backing Kalra's single-payer bill in late August.
Kalra argued that support from Los Angeles shows his bill is gaining momentum. He is also preparing a new strategy to take on doctors, hospitals, health insurers and other health industry players that oppose single-payer: highlighting their profits.
"They are the No. 1 obstacle to this passing," Kalra said. "They're going to do whatever they can to discredit me and this movement, but I'm going to turn the mirror around on them and ask why we should continue to pay for wild profits."
An industry coalition called Californians Against the Costly Disruption of Our Healthcare was instrumental in killing the 2017 single-payer bill and is already lobbying against Kalra's measure. The group again argues that single-payer would push people off Medicare and private employer plans and result in less choice in health insurance.
Single-payer would "force these millions of Californians who like their healthcare into a single new, untested government program with no guarantee they could keep their doctor," coalition spokesperson Ned Wigglesworth said in a statement.
Bob Ross, president and CEO of the California Endowment, a nonprofit that works to expand healthcare access, is on Newsom's single-payer commission. He said it will work through "tension" in the coming months before issuing a recommendation to the governor on the feasibility of single-payer.
"We have a camp of single-payer zealots who want the bold stroke of getting to single-payer tomorrow, and the other approach that I call bold incrementalism," Ross said. "I'm not ruling out any bold stroke on single-payer; I would just want to know how we get it done."
Rapid at-home COVID tests are flying off store shelves across the nation and are largely sold out online as the delta variant complicates a return to school, work and travel routines.
But at $10 or $15 a test, the price is still far too high for regular use by anyone but the wealthy. A family with two school-age children might need to spend $500 or more a month to try to keep their family — and others — safe.
For Americans looking for swift answers, the cheapest over-the-counter COVID test is the Abbott Laboratories BinaxNOW two-pack for $23.99. Close behind are Quidel's QuickVue tests, at $15 a pop. Yet supplies are dwindling. After a surge in demand, CVS is limiting the number of tests people can buy, and Amazon and Walgreen's website were sold out as of Friday afternoon.
President Joe Biden said Thursday he would invoke the Defense Production Act to make 280 million rapid COVID tests available. The administration struck a deal with Walmart, Amazon and Kroger for them to sell tests for "up to 35 percent less" than current retail prices for three months. For those on Medicaid, the at-home tests will be fully covered, Biden said.
An increased supply should help to lower prices. As schools open and much of the country languishes without pandemic-related restrictions, epidemiologists say widespread rapid-test screening — along with vaccination and mask-wearing — is critical to controlling the delta variant's spread. Yet shortages, little competition and sticky high prices mean routine rapid testing remains out of reach for most Americans, even if prices drop 35%.
Consumers elsewhere have much cheaper — or free — options. In Germany, grocery stores are selling rapid COVID tests for under $1 per test. In India, they're about $3.50. The United Kingdom provides 14 tests per person free of charge. Canada is doling out free rapid tests to businesses.
Michael Mina, assistant professor of epidemiology at Harvard University, lauded Biden's announcement on Twitter while saying he "had some reservations" about its scale and noted that 280 million tests represent "less than one test per person over the course of a year."
Rep. Kim Schrier (D-Wash.) for months has advocated for rapid testing at a lower cost. "In an ideal world, a test would either be free or cost less than a dollar so that people could take one a few times a week to every day," she said in the days before Biden's announcement.
Biden's initiative "is a great start" for broader rapid testing, Schrier said Friday. "But there is a lot more to be done, and that must be done quickly, to use this really important tool to combat this virus."
A nationwide survey released in February by the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health and Hart Research found that 79% of adults would regularly test themselves at home if rapid tests cost a dollar. But only a third would do so if the cost was $25.
Billions in taxpayer dollars have been invested in these products. Abbott Laboratories, for instance, cashed in on hundreds of millions in federal contracts and gave its shareholders fat payouts last year, increasing its quarterly dividend by 25%. Even so, according to a New York Times investigation, as demand for rapid tests cratered in early summer, Abbott destroyed its supplies and laid off workers who had been making them.
More than a year ago, Abbott said the company would sell its BinaxNOW in bulk for $5 a test to healthcare providers, but that option is not available over the counter to the public. Even with the anticipated price decrease, a two-pack will be more than $15. Abbott did not comment further.
Schrier said in spring that test prices were high because "big companies are buying up all the supplies." Also, "their profit is far higher making 1,000 $30 tests than 30,000 $1 tests" — in other words, they can make the same amount of money for many fewer tests.
In March, the Biden administration allocated $10 billion as part of the American Rescue Plan Act to perform COVID testing in schools, leaving the rollout largely to states. This followed $760 million spent by the Trump administration to buy 150 million of Abbott's rapid-response antigen tests, many of which went to schools. The rollout has been mixed, with states like Missouri mired in logistical challenges.
In late August, Schrier wrote a letter asking four federal agencies to update their distribution plans. She also urged the government to increase spending on rapid testing, saying "time is of the essence" as children returned to school.
Antigen tests can give real-time information to people exposed to COVID, said Dr. Dara Kass, an associate professor of emergency medicine at Columbia University Medical Center. Waiting for lab results from polymerase chain reaction (PCR) tests can take days, and many states — particularly in the hard-hit South — are seeing appointments fill up days in advance. At-home collection kits for PCR tests can cost over $100.
Rapid tests take under 15 minutes to detect COVID by pinpointing proteins, called antigens. The tests are similar to a pregnancy test, with one or two lines displayed, depending on the result.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends that fully vaccinated people exposed to COVID wear a mask indoors for two weeks and get tested three to five days after exposure. The unvaccinated should quarantine for 14 days. But that leaves gray area for those vaccinated people hoping to attend classes or go about their lives, Kass said.
"Rapid tests give information," she added, "that allows somebody to engage in society safely." People can follow up with a PCR test, which is more sensitive, for confirmation of a diagnosis.
In Massachusetts, for example, a "Test and Stay" strategy for students exposed to COVID allows them to remain in school: Students take BinaxNOW tests five days in a row following close contact with an infected person.
More than 30 antigen tests have been developed in the U.S. — though just six companies have FDA authorization for over-the-counter use. No rapid COVID tests have full FDA approval. Two rapid molecular options, made by Lucira Health and Cue Health, also have emergency use authorization (EUA).
"Unfortunately, many submissions are incomplete or contain insufficient information for FDA to determine that they meet the statutory criteria," FDA spokesperson James McKinney said.
"As long as these tests are regulated as medical devices, the FDA has to regulate them not as critical public health tools, but as medical tools, with all of the onerous clinical trials that slow everything down 100-fold," Mina said on Twitter.
With only a handful of rapid tests on the market, it is harder for companies that have not yet received FDA authorization to catch up and, in turn, drive the prices down, said Michael Greeley, co-founder and general partner at Flare Capital Partners, a venture capital firm focused on healthcare technology. "If we're talking about people testing their kids every day going to school," he added, "for many families, the current costs are a real burden."
Broad adoption of rapid testing seems premature, he said, even with a mass purchase of tests by the U.S. government: "We can't even get people to floss, so the idea that people are now going to start rapid testing as their standard operating procedure is a flawed assumption."
Regardless, companies can't keep up with demand.
Ellume said it saw a 900% spike in the use of its tests over the past month. Its at-home rapid test costs up to $38.99. On Walmart's website, it was listed for $26.10 Friday but was out of stock.
The Australian manufacturer received $232 million from the U.S. Defense Department in February to scale up production, after the FDA authorized its at-home use late last year. But the federal Healthcare Enhancement Act, which furnished the funding, does not impose pricing restrictions. Ellume said it will begin production at a Frederick, Maryland, plant this fall. For now, it is shipping tests from Australia.
This summer, Lucira Health stopped selling its about $50 molecular rapid test online to focus on larger clients, including San Francisco's Chase Center, home to the Golden State Warriors, and the Olympics, Dan George, Lucira's chief financial officer, said during a recent earnings call.
The company is still losing money as it ramps up production but hopes to return to selling directly on its website and Amazon later this year.