The infamous Tuskegee syphilis study used Black men in rural Alabama as human test subjects. Now, medical professionals struggle to earn back the trust of the community. 

Cheryl Owens wants her friends and relatives to be safe. A nurse at the Veterans Affairs, she has been encouraging them to take the vaccine against COVID-19. She wrote an editorial in The Tuskegee News, the local newspaper of her predominantly Black hometown of Tuskegee, Alabama, urging her colleagues to get vaccinated for the greater good of their community. “As a wife, mother, health care professional and neighbor,” she wrote, “getting the vaccine is [...] one way I’m looking out for the well-being of the Veterans I serve, my family and the residents of my childhood home.” Vaccine skepticism may foil her efforts; according to Pew research, fewer than half of Black adults intend to get the vaccine. "So I asked why," Owens says. "And it was like, 'Well, you remember that Tuskegee syphilis study. That's why.'"

In 1932, 600 Black men in Tuskegee, Alabama, entered a study to receive treatment for “bad blood.” They received free meals, free medical checkups and burial insurance for their compliance. It was administered by the United States Public Health Service and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Though they told the men they would be treated for bad blood, the true illness can be seen in the study’s title: “Tuskegee Study of Untreated Syphilis in the Negro Male.” None of the men received treatment for syphilis, even when penicillin was discovered as a cure in 1947. By the time the study ended in 1972, 128 participants had died from syphilis or related complications. A class-action lawsuit resulted in a $10 million settlement to be dispensed to participants and their families. 

Now, as the COVID-19 vaccine becomes widely available, medical professionals in Tuskegee must contend with this racist history to mount a successful vaccination drive. Some elderly residents can remember when the Associated Press published an exposé of the study in 1972. Many descendents of survivors from the Tuskegee study still live in Macon County, where it took place. Addressing their concerns will be crucial to getting vaccine doses to more Tuskegee residents. 

"It's the biggest PR project to get Black people to take that vaccine," says Lucenia Williams Dunn, a former mayor of Tuskegee. She will not receive the vaccine because of the legacy of the Tuskegee study. "You cannot separate the experience of the past with what we believe in the present," Dunn says. "People say, 'well, you know, y'all ought not be worried about that syphilis study.' Yeah, we do, because it's part of our experience.” Her thoughts capture some of the many reasons for vaccine skepticism, especially among those who can remember when truth came to light about the syphilis study. 

Many contemporary instances of unequal treatment remain, however. “It's ‘Oh, Tuskegee, Tuskegee, Tuskegee,’ and it's mentioned every single time,” says Karen Lincoln, a professor of social work at the University of Southern California. The elderly people she works with through her group Advocates for African American Elders reports far more recent experiences of discrimination. “It's what happened to me yesterday,” she says. “Not what happened in the '50s or '60s, when Tuskegee was actually active.” 

Susan Moore became an emblem of the persistent racial disparities in modern health care that Lincoln speaks to. A doctor herself, she was admitted to the hospital for COVID-19 but was refused narcotics to alleviate her excruciating pain. She posted a video to Facebook from her hospital describing her abhorrent treatment. “I put forth and I maintain if I was White,” she said, “I wouldn’t have to go through that.” Only by advocating for her needs did she receive treatment that addressed her pain. She died from complications related to COVID-19 two weeks after posting the video. 

Structural barriers to adequate health care also lead to distrust of the medical system. Black patients are 22% less likely to receive pain medication than their White counterparts. Black mothers die during childbirth at three times the rate of White mothers. Black Americans are almost twice as likely as White Americans to contract COVID-19. These disparities are felt in Tuskegee. The town does not have a single hospital open to the general public to administer aid to its 8,000 inhabitants. COVID-19 tests were hard to come by early in the pandemic. Even now, most vaccine sites are a long drive away. 

The Tuskegee VA Medical Center’s vaccination clinic is an exception. A large auditorium was repurposed into a clinic to adhere to social distancing for patients as they wait. There’s a long line, but medical workers try to create a positive environment. They set up a selfie booth where recently vaccinated Alabamians can snap pictures of themselves, a bandaid on their arm. Officials hope social media will help boost support for the vaccine among African Americans. Cheryl Owens put a picture of herself, needle in arm, next to her editorial. Even behind the mask, it was clear that she was smiling. 

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Michael is an undergraduate student at Haverford College, dodging the pandemic by taking a gap year. He writes in a variety of genres, and his time in high school debate renders political writing an inevitable fascination. Writing at Catalyst and the Bi-Co News, a student-run newspaper, provides an outlet for this passion. In the future, he intends to keep writing in mediums both informative and creative.