So, apparently COVID has been surging again this summer — apparently, there’s a “stratus” and a “nimbus” strain, and I hadn’t heard about either — and I had no idea. And that’s weird for me, because I’m a big ol’ dorky science and medicine geek, and I pay attention to stuff like that.
And I get it, kind of. We’re more than five years out from the start of the pandemic, and it’s hard to pay a ton of attention to any one thing for that long (particularly in our current… political… environment). Unfortunately, another surge is forecast for this winter, and our current… political… environment has made it even more challenging to acquire the a) knowledge and b) accoutrements that can help minimize its impact. And public health communicators?
…. Yeah, you’re kind of on your own for this one.
Not, like, totally on your own. But while you once might have been able to rely on the CDC for messaging and data, the CDC of today is, in fact, likely to be more of a hindrance than a help, spreading misinformation about diseases and vaccines with their full chest while you’re trying to supply accurate information and hamstringing access to the resources you’d be relying on to minimize, for instance, death and stuff in the coming season.
Now I am not, of course, a CDC, but with nearly two decades’ experience in healthcare, medicine, and/or research marketing and advertising, I do have some guidance for filling in any new communication gaps. And I will also say: I’m not here to tell you how to do your job. If your shit is on lock right now — you’re sufficiently staffed, you’re sufficiently funded, you’ve got your messaging nailed down — take me with you but also you’re good, watch this video of a mama and baby otter. If you’re worried about the prospect of stepping into winter without the help of a formerly trusted ally, here’s what I got.
What am I up against?
[Gestures vaguely to overall public health environment]
1. Lack of science and medicine literacy
Most people in the U.S. aren’t great big dorky science and medicine geeks like I am. Overall health/science/medicine literacy is pretty substandard, particularly among older adults — like, the ones most likely to die of pandemic diseases. People range from middling to distrustful about medical science, and all the revolutionary, groundbreaking stuff is just as likely to confuse and/or intimidate them as it is to make them go oooh.
The average health consumer out isn’t some kind of unfrozen caveman, but it’s not a reach to say subjects like viral contagion, mRNA, public health modeling, so many other complex topics go above a lot of people’s heads. And in circumstances like this, “thing I don’t understand” has a tendency to lead to a lot of fear, which leads to… well, lots of stuff.
2. Fear and mistrust
Yeah, pandemics and disease and such are scary, no matter where you fall on the politics/literacy scale, and scary things tends to make your brain shut down (as in, literally impair your prefrontal cortex). Fear leads to vapor lock (which leads to anger, which leads to hate, which leads to suffering, which leads to the Dark Side). (I joke, but also, people didn’t attack public health workers at the height of the pandemic because they were totally cool and chill about the situation.)
And speaking of attacking public health workers, a recent study shows that confidence among Americans in the CDC and other institutions did, in fact, fall during the pandemic. (It sucks, but a populace that struggles with things like the scientific method and public health modeling are actually going to lose trust in an institution when it manages to avert a worst-case scenario.) It did rebound a little in late 2024, just in time for it to take another nosedive thanks to unceasing leadership shakeups and ongoing partisan disinformation. So… cool.
3. Pandemic fatigue, and un-scary numbers
Currently, around 150 to 200 people in the U.S. die of COVID every week, which is awful — that’s a weekly Boeing 737 crash with no survivors — but still pales in comparison to numbers at the height of the pandemic, and that makes our current numbers appear a lot tamer. And all this is complicated by almost certain underreporting — people testing at home and not reporting their results, people not even bothering to test — meaning the numbers would likely be higher, but we don’t know by how much and probably couldn’t prove it to the general public’s satisfaction anyway. And all that can erode a sense of gravity and urgency that might have made people more open to public health messaging in recent times.
4. Meme-able, memorable misinformation
Misinformation is easy to memeify, because it doesn’t have to be accurate (obviously) or stand up to regulatory scrutiny. Accurate information requires nuance and details, BS can fly like a bird. Healthcare hoaxes and vaccine conspiracy theories get Joe Rogan and Jenny McCarthy and, y’know, the U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services. Actual healthcare information gets Dr. Mike, and while he’s a certified muffin, he’s not exactly the world’s most popular podcaster or a former Playboy model. Or, y’know, the top public health officer in the country. Lies are easy. Truth takes work.
5. Moving targets
With healthcare policy and messaging (and staffing, and funding, and…) changing in an instant basically on the whim of administration officials, you can’t know what information you’ll need to be providing and what misinformation you’ll need to be fighting. Welcome to Public Health Whack-A-Mole, 2025 Edition.
(How are we doing? Porcupine ASMR?)
Well, great. What am I supposed to do, then?
Short answer: Whatever you can.
Longer answer:
1. KISS (Keep Is Simple, Scientist).
Don’t talk down to people — they really hate it, and they’ll trust you less because of it. But keep it simple. Keep language accessible. Keep messaging relatable. Use metaphors. Use illustrations. Run it by a civilian to see if they can understand it, and if not, don’t try to explain it to them — fix the materials.
For the really involved stuff, explain it three times: Give ‘em a soundbite, a brief overview, and a more detailed explanation, warming them up gradually and laying down a little bit of foundation before adding more complexity. They need the information they need, but if you hit them with all the complicated details all at once, they’re going to lock up. Don’t downplay or mislead, but always provide context so they can determine for themselves what they need to freak out about.
2. Validate.
Validate their feelings. Yeah, the fear and mistrust. It’s easy to dismiss people’s fears to a degree, because what’s to be afraid of? We’ve already explained everything, right? And it’s easy to dismiss and even become resentful of mistrust, because screw them, kind of, you know? But no one ever calmed anyone’s fears by telling them their fears are stupid, and no one gained anyone’s trust by demanding it. Acknowledge why people feel unsafe, confused, lost, worried, and then show them, through your messaging and the way you deliver it, that they don’t have to feel that way.
3. Don’t rely on a sense of urgency or gravity.
When the overall profile of the pandemic is as relatively low as it has been, you’re not going to be able to count on people taking a lot of proactive steps for their own protection (particularly now that even if they would have been inclined to take such steps, it might be off the table). Messaging needs to come with a measured tone, clear calls to action, and no sensationalism. People will be getting enough of that from the fearmongerers and misleaders. Be the steady, trustworthy grownup in the room.
(Does everyone listen to the grownup in the room? Of course not. But those folks weren’t going to listen anyway.)
4. Choose your battles — but be prepared to fight any and all of them.
The other guys can shotgun disinformation, knowing that something’s going to stick and get the job done. You have to limit your messaging — you have about a million things that need to be conveyed to the public, but you need to anchor them in a more simple, cohesive message that’s easier for them to hold onto and carry around. Make a list of all the ideas you need to express and find a common factor you can lean on. Focus on an action you want them to take. Pick an “if you only remember one thing from this message, let it be this” and start from there. You’ll get all the important information to them — you just need to start with a cohesive message that will draw them in to learn more.
And when people are drawn in to learn more? Have learning for them. Don’t just make information available — give them a place to go for answers to their questions and concerns. Maintain that same level of accessible language and imagery. And when something new arises, whether it’s a development that needs explaining or a rumor that needs debunking, you have a place to put your explanation, and they have a place they can turn, trusting that you’ll be ready to explain it. Be ready to reply to any misinformative meme with a brief answer and a link for more information.
5. Catastrophize.
Not advice I’d give anyone else under any other circumstances, but: Imagine the worst. And then prepare for it. FDA just add new restrictions that could make it hard for people to get the COVID vaccine? What if the government outlawed the COVID vaccine? What advice would you provide? How would you communicate it? What if it coincided with a rash of nursing home closures? Be prepared for the absolute worst, and when the not-worst-but-still-shitty happens, you’ll be all ready to go.
6. Work together.
Congratulations: You are now your own CDC. Hook up with other state, regional, and national public health organizations to share the burden — energy, attention, and money — of accurate, effective communication efforts. Also consider groups like the National Public Health Information Coalition (NPHIC) and the Public Health Communications Collaborative (PHCC) for support and guidance. You can also also reach out to your local/regional chapter of the AAF and/or AMA, who can almost certainly hook you up with people who can help you at least get some messaging and imagery together. (Feel free to hit me up for whatever connections I’m able to make.)
There’s absolutely no telling what’s going to happen with public health this winter. There’s no telling what’s going to happen this week — by the time I get this post published, the FDA may have outlawed hand sanitizer unless taken internally. All you can do is lean less on the unsteadier parts of the public health structure and more on the parts that are still steady. And then you all hold each other up, and then we all hold each other up, and then more of us make it out of this thing alive. (That sounded hopeful, right?)