The Cuban government has announced advanced plans to deliver tens of millions of doses of homegrown Covid-19 vaccines to the Global South, described as “lifesaving” by the head of the Progressive International’s delegation to the Caribbean nation.

Rolando Pérez Rodríguez, Director of Science and Innovation, BioCubaFarma; Olga Lidia Jacobo-Casanueva, Director, Center for State Control of Medicines and Medical Devices (CECMED); Ileana Morales Suárez, Director of Science and Technology Innovation, Ministry of Public Health, Cuba and Coordinator of the national vaccination plan for Covid-19 addressed and took questions from journalists, vaccine manufacturers, public health experts and political representatives from other countries.

Despite the US embargo, Cuba has received funding from The Central American Bank for Economic Integration, which, according to Reuters, is sufficient to produce the 200 million doses. Yesterday (Monday 24 January) at a press briefing in Havana, Dr Vicente Vérez Bencomo, Director General of the Finley Institute of Vaccines said, “they could produce 120 million doses in one year alone.”

At the briefing, the Cuban government announced its plan to get these doses into the arms of those who need them in the Global South, including:

1. Solidarity prices for Covid-19 vaccines for low-income countries;
2. Technology transfer where possible for production in low-income countries;
3. Extending medical brigades to build medical capacity and training for vaccine distribution in partner countries.

The briefing was organised by Progressive International in response to what the World Health Organization (WHO) called a “tsunami” of new Covid-19 cases crashing over the world at the beginning of 2022, a record number since the pandemic began in 2020, amid a situation that WHO chief Tedros Adhanom Gheybreysus described as “vaccine apartheid”. The impact of Covid-19 has been violently unequal: 80 percent of adults in the EU are fully vaccinated, but only 9.5 percent of people in low-income countries have received a single dose of the vaccine.

1. Solidarity prices for Covid-19 vaccines for low-income countries:

• Cuba has already vaccinated its own population, with more than 90 percent receiving at least one dose of homegrown vaccine.
• Price inequities have plagued the Covid-19 vaccine landscape. World Health Organisation (WHO) data analysed by The Independent shows that governments of lower-income countries are paying a median price of $6.88 (£5.12) per dose for Covid vaccines. Before the pandemic, developing countries paid a median price of $0.80 a dose for non-Covid jabs, WHO figures show. South Africa has been forced to buy doses of the Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine at a price 2.5 times higher than that paid by most European countries. Bangladesh and Uganda have also paid more than the EU for the vaccine.
• COVAX, the global vaccine procurement initiative meant to ensure a subsidised supply of vaccines to poorer countries has repeatedly fallen short of its goals and in September 2021, announced a 25 percent reduction in its expected vaccine supply for 2021.
• Cuba has sent donations to countries that requested assistance with Covid-19 vaccines, including recently, to Syria and St. Vincent and the Grenadines. In addition, it has exported doses and negotiated tech-transfer deals with other countries including Argentina, Iran, Venezuela, Vietnam and Nicaragua.

2. Technology transfer where possible for production in low-income countries: Cuba is in conversations with more than 15 countries regarding production in their countries.

• Cuba’s vaccines use a protein sub-unit technology platform, based on protein antigens, which makes them easy to produce at scale and simple to store, as they do not require freezing temperatures.
• Cuba’s offer is likely to find many interested buyers, many of whom have been turned away by big pharmaceutical companies. John Fulton, spokesperson for Canadian manufacturer Biolyse said, “I am interested in this showcase because Cuba presents a unique model of vaccine internationalism. Looking forward to hearing what opportunities may exist in regards to tech transfer for the production of COVID-19 vaccines for lower-income nations.” Biolyse has attempted to seek a compulsory licence through Canada’s Access to Medicines Regime specifically for the Johnson & Johnson/Janssen vaccine.
• Last month, experts identified more than 100 companies in Africa, Asia, and Latin America with the potential to produce mRNA vaccines, urging the governments of US and Germany to compel their pharmaceutical companies to share technology. However, no progress has been made and at the beginning of the year, the World Health Organization lamented the fact that “lack of sharing of licences, technology and know-how by pharmaceutical companies meant manufacturing capacity went unused.”
• BioCubaFarma, the Cuban state-run biotechnology organisation has been in close contact with representatives at the WHO in order to obtain a prequalification status for its Covid19 vaccines, which they hope to do in 2022. A complete dossier of data is scheduled to be delivered to the WHO by the beginning of February. In addition, Cuba plans to work with the national regulatory agencies of all the countries interested in acquiring the Cuban vaccines.

3. Extending medical brigades to build medical capacity and training for vaccine distribution in partner countries:

• Cuba plans to send its Henry Reeve Brigades to countries in need of support with vaccine distribution, both for immediate deployment and longer term training of personnel.
• Disparities in the ability to distribute vaccines are hindering governments’ abilities to ensure a speedy rollout of Covid-19 vaccines in many low-income countries. According to the international humanitarian organisation CARE, the cost for vaccine rollouts in developing countries has been vastly under-calculated by international donors leading to many donated doses lying around waiting to get into arms. Kate O’Brien, the WHO’s vaccine director, reportedly said that funding for distribution “is absolutely an issue that we’re experiencing and hearing about from countries.”
• Cuba has a successful history of this approach: In 2014 and 2015, Cuban medics worked against Ebola in Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Guinea, reducing the morality rates of their patients from 50 to 20 per cent and introduced a preventative education programme to stop the disease spreading. By January 2015, Cuba had trained over 13,000 people to deal with Ebola in 28 African countries, plus 68,000 people in Latin America and 628 in the Caribbean. Since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, some 40 countries across five continents have received Cuban medics.
• The offer of technical assistance holds great promise for developing countries as many have shifted focus to building robust domestic biotech industries. At the Progressive International Summit, Anyang’ Nyong’o, Governor of Kenya’s Kisumu County, invited Cuba “to come to Kenya to share technology and expand production of the vaccine candidates you are developing.”

The briefing follows the Progressive International’s four-day Summit for Vaccine Internationalism held in June 2021 which hailed a “new international health order” and saw participation from the national governments of Argentina, Mexico, Bolivia, Cuba and Venezuela as well as the regional governments of Kisumu, Kenya and Kerala, India alongside political leaders from 20 countries.

At today’s briefing, responding to expressions on interest in Cuba’s vaccines, Rolando Pérez Rodríguez, Director of Science and Innovation, BioCubaFarma, said:

“Cuba is open to any proposal that implies a greater impact of our vaccines in the world.”

David Adler, general coordinator of the Progressive International and head of its delegation to Cuba, said:

“Today’s announcements by Cuban scientists should mark an historic turning point in the history of the Covid-19 pandemic. This lifesaving package sets the standard for vaccine internationalism and a pathway to a New International Health Order, where public health and science are placed above private profit and petty nationalism.”

As a young student, I was always fascinated by the “top” universities and the erudite people that emerged from those august institutions. My first contact with Ivy League people was when I arrived at Mpala Research Centre in Laikipia in 1999 to start my MSc research. I met students and faculty from Princeton University (which is a trustee of the research centre) and was reassured that they looked “normal”, given all the academic challenges and foibles that a Kenyatta University student like me had. After I finished my MSc, the administration was impressed enough with my work to offer me a job as resident scientist, which I took up with the alacrity of someone catching a big break through hard work (I got a rude awakening later, but that’s a story for another day). As part of my job, I was to supervise a group of Princeton undergraduates undertaking a senior field project and, wanting impress, I sharpened my ecologist brain, especially because I thought I would be instructing some of the world’s sharpest young minds. Now I laugh at my consternation when, after mapping out clear and easy ecological transects for them, they strayed off into a neighbouring ranch and I got a call from the security personnel there that they were sunbathing topless on the research vehicle (they were ladies) and that the boss might be offended.

Later on, I asked a postgraduate student from the same institution how these ladies could be so casual about their studies and she couldn’t hide her amusement at my ignorance. “Grad school is competitive. Undergrads get in because of money and name recognition.” I was stunned, but I remembered this when I saw the poor work they submitted at the end of their study. Being an aspiring lecturer (and a student of the late brilliant Prof R.O. Okelo) I marked them without fear or favour, assuming that they would be used to such standards at Princeton. I was told that I couldn’t give them such low marks because they were supposed to qualify for med school after their biology degrees.

They strayed off into a neighbouring ranch and I got a call from the security personnel there that they were sunbathing topless on the research vehicle.

The next cohort included one serious student who I actually enjoyed instructing and who finished her course successfully. By that time though, I was getting restless and had started writing an academic and financial proposal for my PhD, and I finished it about six months after my student had returned to the US to graduate. The then Director of Mpala, Dr Georgiadis, refused to let me do my PhD on the job, so I submitted my proposal to several conservation organizations, including the New York-based Wildlife Conservation Society. I received a positive response from them (offering me a grant) which hit me with a strange mixture of feelings. First of all, I was elated at the prospect of starting my PhD, but I was completely baffled by the signature on the award letter. It was signed by the undergraduate student that I had supervised about eight months earlier. An American undergraduate who had spent two months in Africa was somehow qualified to assess a PhD proposal on the ecology of African wildlife written by an African MSc holder. It was my rude awakening to the racial prejudice that is de rigueur in African conservation practice. But I had to get my academic career moving, and indulge my first taste of the ultimate luxury that my competence and my work could afford me, which was the ability to say “NO”. It was with extreme pleasure that I wrote and signed my letter of resignation from my job at Mpala, leaving it on the Director’s desk.

Years later, after I finished my PhD and had a useful amount of conservation practice under my belt, I attended the Society for Conservation Biology conference in Sacramento, California, where there was a side event featuring publishers from several Ivy League universities. I excitedly engaged them because at the time Gatu Mbaria and I were in the middle of writing “The Big Conservation Lie”. I pointed out to all of them that there were no books about conservation in Africa written by indigenous Africans, but they were uniform in their refusal to even read the synopsis of what we had written. I later understood why when I learned that in US academia, African names — as authors or references — are generally viewed as devaluing to any literature.

An American undergraduate who had spent two months in Africa was somehow qualified to assess a PhD proposal on the ecology of African wildlife written by an African MSc holder.

From Sacramento, I made the short trip to Stanford University in Palo Alto, to give a seminar to an African Studies group. I felt honoured to be making an academic contribution at an Ivy League university and I prepared well. My assertions about the inherent prejudices in African conservation practice were met with stunned silence by the faculty, many of whom are involved with conservation research in Africa. One bright spot in that dour experience was the brilliant PhD student who echoed my views and pointed out that these prejudices existed within academia as well. I later found out that he was Kenyan — his name is Ken Opalo and he now teaches at Georgetown University.

Fast forward to today. The Big Conservation Lie was published, and after the initial wailing, breaking of wind, gnashing of teeth and accusations of racism, Mbaria and I are actually being acknowledged as significant thinkers in the conservation policy field and our literary input is being solicited by various publications around the world. Now, the cultural differences between how European and American institutions treat African knowledge are becoming clear (certainly in my experience). I have been approached by several European institutions to give talks (lectures), and have contributed articles and op-eds (to journals and magazines) and one book foreword. Generally, the approach is like this:

“Dear Dr Ogada, I am_______ and I am writing to you on behalf of________. We are impressed with what you wrote in _____ and would appreciate it if you would consider writing for us an article of (length) on (topic) in our publication. We will offer you an honorarium of (X Euros) for this work, and we would need to receive a draft from you by (date). . .” Looking forward to your positive response. . .”

When inviting me to speak, the letters are similarly respectful and appreciative of my time. The key thing is the focus on and respect for one’s intellectual contribution. Publications from American Ivy league schools typically say:

“Dear Dr Ogada, I am __________, the editor of __________. We find your thoughts on _______ very interesting and we are pleased to invite you to write an essay of________ (length) in our publication. Previous authors we have invited include (dropping about 6-8 names of prominent American scholars).

The entire tone of the letter implies that you are being offered a singular privilege to “appear” in the particular journal. It is even worse when being asked to give a lecture. No official communication, just a casual message from a young student saying that they would like you to come and talk to their class on__________ (time and date on the timetable). No official communication from faculty or the institution. After doing that a couple of times, I realized that the reason these kids are so keen to have an African scholar speak to them and answer all their questions is because they need his knowledge, but do not want to read his publications, or (God forbid) have an African name in the “references” section of their work.

The reason these kids are so keen to have an African scholar speak to them and answer all their questions is because they need his knowledge, but do not want to read his publications.

European intellectuals seem to be catching on to the fact that knowledge and intellect reside in people, not institutions. That is why they solicit intellectual contributions based on the source of an idea they find applicable in that space and time. Name recognition doesn’t matter to them, which is why they seek people like Ogada, who doesn’t even have that recognition in Kenya. The elite schools in US still place this premium on institutions, which is why whenever an African displays intellectual aptitude, those who are impressed don’t ask about him and his ideas, but where he went to school. They want to know which institution bestowed this gift upon him.

For the record, I usually wait about a week before saying “no” to the Ivy League schools. Hopefully, they read my blog and will improve the manner in which they approach me, or stop it altogether.

Aluta continua.

2022 began with a “tsunami” of new Covid-19 cases crashing over the world, according to the World Health Organization. Over 18 million cases have been recorded in the past week alone, a record number since the pandemic began two years ago. In the first 10 days of January, nearly 60,000 Covid-19 deaths have been recorded worldwide — though the total death count is far higher than the official statistics describe.

The Omicron variant is reported to have less “severe” implications among vaccinated patients. But the world remains perilously under-vaccinated: 92 of the WHO’s member countries missed the 2021 target of 40 percent vaccination; at the current pace of rollout, 109 of them will miss their 2022 targets by July.

These statistics tell a story of a persistent vaccine apartheid. Across the EU, 80 percent of all adults have been fully vaccinated against Covid-19. Meanwhile, only 9.5 percent of people in low-income countries have received a single dose. Omicron is a death sentence for thousands in these countries — and as the virus travels across the Global South, new variants will emerge that may be less “mild” for the vaccinated populations of the North.

But the governments of these Northern countries refuse to plan for global vaccination — or even meet their own pledges. By late last year, they had delivered only 14% of the vaccine doses that they had promised to poorer countries through COVAX, the UN vaccine-sharing initiative. Big pharmaceutical corporations are focused almost exclusively on production of boosters for the world’s rich countries, creating a shortfall of three billion doses in the first quarter of this year.

President Joe Biden could easily help fill this shortfall by compelling US pharmaceutical corporations to share their vaccine technology with poorer nations. But he has so far refused to do so. A new production hub in Africa — where only 3 percent of people are vaccinated — is now trying to replicate the Moderna vaccine. But without Moderna’s help, or Joe Biden’s executive action, production could take more than a year to begin.

Amidst this crisis of global solidarity, Cuba has emerged as a powerful engine of vaccine internationalism. Not only has the island nation successfully developed two Covid-19 vaccines with 90 percent effectiveness, and vaccinated more than 90 percent of its population with at least one dose of its homegrown vaccine, Cuba has also offered its vaccine technology to the world. “We are not a multinational where returns are the number one reason for existing,” said Vicente Vérez Bencomo of the Finlay Vaccines Institute in Cuba. “For us, it’s about achieving health.”

But the US and its allies continue to oppress and exclude Cuba from the global health system. The US blockade forced a shortage of syringes on the island that endangered its vaccine development and hindered mass production. US medical journals “marginalize scientific results that come from poor countries,” according to Vérez Bencomo. Meanwhile, the WHO refuses to accredit the Cuban vaccines, despite approval from regulators in countries like Argentina and Mexico.

That is why the Progressive International is sending a delegation to Havana: to combat misinformation, to defend Cuban sovereignty, and to help vaccinate the world.

Bringing delegates from the Union for Vaccine Internationalism, founded in June 2021 to fight the emerging apartheid, the Progressive International will convene Cuban scientists and government representatives to address international press and members of the scientific community in a showcase of the Cuban vaccine on 25 January.

The goals of the showcase are both local and global. Drawing attention to the promise of the Cuban vaccine and the perils of the US embargo against it, the showcase aims to forge connections between Cuba’s public biotech sector and manufacturers who might produce the vaccine and help the Cuban government recuperate the costs of its development.

In the process, the showcase aims to set an example of international solidarity in the face of the present global health crisis, advancing the cause of vaccine internationalism around the world.

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This article was first published by Progressive International.