An article headline from May 2021, caught my attention on LinkedIn recently. The headline was simple but powerful: "Experts puzzled by why Haiti has one of the lowest COVID-19 death rates in the world despite administering zero vaccine doses." It stopped me in my tracks. How could a nation like Haiti — struggling with poverty, weak infrastructure, and a mere 2.7% COVID-19 vaccination rate — avoid the devastating outcomes seen across the globe?
I reshared the article and asked a question that seemed reasonable: Why hasn’t this paradox triggered scientific curiosity? Why hasn't the global health community investigated this anomaly in depth? And if they haven't — could it be because the answers might challenge the prevailing narrative?
That post stirred a hornet's nest. Some applauded the question. Others were furious. A few dismissed it as rhetorical innuendo. Still, the question stands.
This isn’t a new theme. Two years prior, I had asked similar questions about Papua New Guinea. The pattern was the same: high vaccine hesitancy, low COVID death rates, little scientific interest.
By the time vaccines did arrive in Haiti, hesitancy was high. The country had only administered around 500,000 doses to a population of 11 million. That translates to perhaps 100,000 to 200,000 individuals with any meaningful protection — and still, fewer than 900 recorded COVID-19 deaths.
Yes, some dismiss these numbers, claiming underreporting. But those arguments ignore something essential: people with severe COVID need oxygen. They show up in hospitals. They can't be hidden. Doctors in Haiti would have seen them. Yet, they didn’t — or at least not in numbers that reflected a national health crisis.
So again, we must ask: how did Haiti survive?
Some argue it's because Haiti has a young population. But if youth is protective, why did wealthier countries with young people still vaccinate them aggressively? Why apply different logic to different regions unless ideology, not science, is driving decisions?
Let’s go deeper. Haiti has long battled lymphatic filariasis, a parasitic disease. In response, the WHO implemented mass drug administration (MDA) programs there, including widespread use of ivermectin, diethylcarbamazine, and albendazole. In 2015, MDA coverage in Haiti reached 71%, one of the highest in the Americas.
That means millions of Haitians were regularly taking ivermectin before and during the pandemic. Is it possible this drug played a role in blunting the spread or severity of COVID-19?
Here's why it might: SARS-CoV-2 uses motile cilia and microvilli in the upper airway to invade cells and replicate. A 2023 study showed the virus manipulates PAK-1 proteins to remodel microvilli and enable rapid spread. Interestingly, ivermectin is known to interfere with PAK-1.
If ivermectin slowed this viral reprogramming, it wouldn't prevent infection, but it could delay spread and buy time for the immune system to mount an effective defense. Slower spread means fewer viral particles and potentially less severe illness.
Vitamin D may offer a similar protective effect. It's not about stopping infection — it's about reducing the velocity of viral replication.
Despite the logic, no robust epidemiological study has been done to explore this. Why not? Why isn't science demanding answers from places like Haiti, Papua New Guinea, and large parts of Africa? If an outlier challenges your theory, you investigate — or you risk abandoning science altogether.
The real test of science isn’t data that confirms expectations. It’s data that contradicts them.
We owe it to the world — and to truth itself — to ask the uncomfortable questions. If we don’t, we allow ideology to masquerade as evidence.
And next time, we might miss the answers that matter most.
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