In the early days of COVID-19, cities did something they almost never do: they got quiet. Storefronts
rolled down their shutters. Sidewalks emptied. The normal roar of traffic turned into an awkward
hushlike the whole world had been muted while someone fumbled for the remote.

And then, on those suddenly blank walls, a different kind of “breaking news” showed up: street art.
Some of it was tender. Some of it was furious. A surprising amount of it was hilarious in that
“laugh so you don’t cry” way. Few artists captured that blend of pop-culture wit and public-health
urgency as consistently as John D’oh, whose coronavirus-era work treated the pandemic like a
daily diaryone stencil at a time.

This article dives into John D’oh’s pandemic street artwhat it said, why it worked, and how it fits
into the bigger wave of coronavirus murals and graffiti that spread across cities (including in the
United States) during lockdowns, reopenings, and the long weird middle. Expect satire, healthcare
tributes, boarded-up storefronts turned into galleries, and a reminder that sometimes the most
honest commentary is the one you accidentally encounter while buying milk.

Who Is John D’oh (and Why His Work Hit a Nerve)

John D’oh is a pseudonymous street artist known for sharp, stencil-based pieces that remix
familiar pop culture into timely commentary. During the pandemic, he became especially visible
for work that tackled COVID-19 head-onreflecting not just the virus, but the social reactions
orbiting it: panic buying, misinformation, government missteps, and the emotional whiplash of
“two more weeks” stretching into “what year is it again?”

His signature move is to borrow a universally recognizable imageoften from film or celebrity
culturethen twist it into a public-service message or a political jab. That approach matters
because street art has about three seconds to earn attention. The viewer is walking, biking,
scrolling their phone, or mentally reheating leftovers. John D’oh’s work uses familiarity as a
shortcut: you recognize the reference, you stop, and then the message lands.

The “Pulp Fiction” Vaccine Stencil: Pop Culture as a Public Health Nudge

One of his best-known COVID-era pieces riffs on a famous scene from Pulp Fiction to encourage
vaccination. The logic is very John D’oh: take a dramatic injection everyone remembers from
a movie, then convert it into a blunt, street-level reminder that “injections save lives.”
It’s funny, it’s slightly absurd, and it’s also a surprisingly efficient way to pull vaccine
messaging out of abstract charts and into everyday life.

What made that particular piece travel (online and in conversation) is that it didn’t lecture.
It recruited the viewer’s memory. If you’ve seen the film, you’re already emotionally primed;
the stencil just reroutes that energy toward a real-world decision.

Why COVID-19 Street Art Exploded

Street art thrives when official messaging feels either too slow or too polished. The pandemic
was both: public guidance changed as knowledge evolved, and in many places the tone of “stay calm”
clashed with the lived reality of fear, grief, and uncertainty.

Add the visual conditions of lockdownsempty streets, boarded-up businesses, and wide surfaces
suddenly availableand you get a perfect storm. Walls became bulletin boards. Plywood became
canvas. The street turned into a low-budget museum with extremely high emotional stakes.

Artists responded fast because the moment demanded it. Unlike gallery shows that take months
to plan, street art can react to yesterday’s headline before today’s coffee gets cold. During
COVID-19, that speed turned murals into a kind of public diary: documenting the phases of the
pandemic in real time.

The Pandemic Visual Vocabulary: Masks, Viruses, Hearts, and Distance

COVID-19 street art developed a recognizable “look” across countries and cities. Certain symbols
kept repeating because they were instantly legible:

• Masks as protection, obedience, care, or sometimes political identity.
• The spiky virus icon as a cartoon villaineasy to draw, easy to fear.
• Hearts and healthcare tributes as gratitude and grief.
• Distance markers (two meters, six feet) as a new social geometry.
• Everyday objectstoilet paper, sanitizeras symbols of panic and coping.

These symbols weren’t just decorative. They were functional. A mural doesn’t need a press
conference; it needs clarity from a moving vehicle. That’s why the best pandemic street art
leaned into bold shapes and simple ideaseven when the emotions underneath were complicated.

John D’oh’s Superpower: Satire That Stays Understandable

Satire can be tricky in a crisis because the “joke” risks drowning out the point. John D’oh’s
stronger works tend to follow a simple rule: one big idea per wall. You can laugh, but you
also know what you’re laughing at.

This matters because pandemic life already felt like information overload. People were tracking
case numbers, rules, closures, reopenings, and arguments about all of the above. If a piece of
street art requires a 12-step explanation, the sidewalk wins and the art loses.

John D’oh’s pop culture references act like a handleyou grab the reference, and it pulls you
into the message. The humor isn’t the destination; it’s the delivery system.

America’s Pandemic Walls: Murals as Thanks, Protest, and Survival

While John D’oh’s work is rooted in the UK, the U.S. saw its own surge of coronavirus-era street
artoften shaped by local conditions: dense cities, hard-hit hospital systems, political conflict,
and a public that learned to read emotions through masks.

Healthcare Workers as Icons (and Why It Wasn’t Just “Feel-Good”)

Some of the most visible American pandemic murals centered healthcare workersturning nurses,
doctors, and essential staff into monumental figures. These weren’t merely thank-you cards on a
large scale. They also functioned as public memory: a way to mark who carried the most risk when
staying home wasn’t an option.

Large-format public murals and portraits made the invisible visible. They reminded passersby that
the crisis wasn’t only an abstract “case count”; it was people in PPE, long shifts, exhaustion,
and loss.

Boarded-Up Businesses Became Galleries

In many American cities, plywood went up for practical reasonssecurity, vandalism prevention,
uncertainty about how long closures would last. But that same plywood became an invitation.
Artists painted murals on boarded windows and storefronts, transforming anxious streets into
places that still felt lived in.

This shift did something subtle but powerful: it changed the emotional temperature of a block.
A boarded-up store signals fear and retreat. A mural signals presence. Even when the art was angry
or mournful, it still told the neighborhood, “We’re here. We’re watching. We’re making meaning.”

Humor as a Coping Tool: Toilet Paper, Sanitizer, and the “Everyday Artifact”

Not all pandemic art aimed for solemnity. Some of it leaned into the absurd details that defined
early COVID life: empty shelves, panic buying, and the surreal sight of everyday products becoming
symbolic treasure.

Street artists (and adjacent public artists) treated these items like cultural artifacts. A roll
of toilet paper became shorthand for fear, scarcity, and the strange herd instincts that show up
when people feel powerless. In that way, humor wasn’t escapismit was diagnosis.

Street Art as Pandemic Politics

COVID-19 didn’t just disrupt health systems; it strained trust. Street art often stepped into
that tension because it can criticize without needing permission.

In Washington, D.C., for example, political street posters appeared that tied the pandemic to
leadership and accountability. Elsewhere, public artworks tracked grief directlytreating death
counts not as numbers but as moral weight. Pandemic street art became a public argument about
responsibility, truth, and who pays the price when systems fail.

John D’oh’s work fits this tradition. He doesn’t just illustrate the virus; he illustrates the
human behavior around itcompliance, denial, courage, cynicism, exhaustion. The wall becomes a
mirror, and the viewer becomes part of the story.

What Makes Coronavirus Street Art “Work”

Great pandemic street art tends to do at least one of these things exceptionally well:

• Translate public health into human language (simple, visual, immediate).
• Honor people (healthcare workers, neighbors, the dead) without flattening them into slogans.
• Process collective emotionfear, grief, rage, hopeout in the open where it can be shared.
• Challenge power when official narratives feel inadequate or dishonest.
• Create a pause: that moment where a stranger stops, looks, and feels less alone.

John D’oh’s coronavirus work is a case study in that first category: translation. Pop culture is
his dictionary. Humor is his amplifier. And the sidewalk is his distribution network.

How to Read John D’oh’s Pandemic Pieces Like a Critic (Without Becoming Unbearable at Parties)

1) Identify the reference first

John D’oh often starts with a borrowed image. Recognize it and you’ve already solved half the
puzzle. The reference is there to speed up comprehension.

2) Ask what the reference is doing

Is it making the message friendlier? Sharper? More insulting? More emotional? A film reference can
disarm you long enough to make you listen.

3) Look for the target

Pandemic street art usually points at something: fear, policy, misinformation, gratitude, grief.
The target tells you whether the piece is a comfort blanket, a warning sign, or a slap in the face.

4) Notice the “street logic”

A gallery has quiet lighting and wall labels. A street has weather, traffic, and people who didn’t
agree to be your audience. If a piece communicates under those conditions, it’s doing something right.

Conclusion: The Wall as a Diary, the City as the Reader

Coronavirus street art wasn’t a side note to the pandemicit was part of how communities processed
the experience in real time. John D’oh’s work stands out because it used pop culture as a Trojan horse
for public health: you show up for the recognizable image, and you leave with a question, a laugh,
or a new way to think about what’s happening around you.

Years from now, when people try to remember what the pandemic felt like, they’ll have data and
timelinesand they’ll also have walls. Stencils. Murals. Plywood canvases. The unofficial archive
that recorded the emotional truth of the era in plain sight.

Experiences From the Pandemic Street-Art Era (A 500-Word Add-On)

If you talk to people about pandemic street art, the stories rarely start with “I went to see a mural.”
They start with “I was on my way to…”to the grocery store, to work, to a test site, to nowhere in
particular because nowhere was open anyway. That’s the strange magic of street art: it ambushes you
in the middle of real life, when your guard is down and your brain is already full.

One common experience was the sudden sensation of being seen. During lockdowns, many people felt
anonymous in a mask, moving through a quiet city like a background character in someone else’s movie.
Then you’d turn a corner and spot a stencil that captured exactly what you were thinkingpanic buying,
vaccine anxiety, gratitude for nurses, anger at leaders, exhaustion with rules that kept changing. The
message didn’t have to be profound. Sometimes it just had to be accurate.

People also describe how street art created “micro-moments” of community. You’d see a mural and slow
down. Someone else would slow down too. No one was hugging strangers in 2020, but you might exchange a
look that said, “Yep. This is where we are.” Occasionally someone would actually speak: a quick joke, a
complaint, a thank-you, a little burst of human contact that felt rarer than toilet paper.

Another recurring experience: the emotional roller coaster of humor. Pandemic street art was often
genuinely funnyespecially when it leaned into the absurd details of the era. But the laugh usually had
a second layer, like a delayed echo: “Why is this funny?” “Because it’s true.” And if it’s true, it’s
also a little sad. That double-hit became a form of relief. Humor didn’t erase the crisis; it gave
people a way to hold it without breaking.

For some, these artworks became personal landmarks. “Meet me by the nurse mural.” “Turn left at the
stencil with the mask.” In a time when routines collapsed and days blurred together, a wall painting
could serve as a memory hookproof that time was passing, that the neighborhood was still speaking
even when businesses were closed and calendars were meaningless.

And then there was the experience of change. Street art isn’t permanent, and that impermanence matched
the pandemic’s shifting reality. A piece might be covered a week later. A message might feel outdated
a month later. But in the moment, it was aliveresponding to the same headlines you were reading and
the same anxieties you were carrying. That’s why, for many people, pandemic street art doesn’t just
represent what happened. It represents how it felt to live through it: uncertain, communal, and oddly
creative even in the middle of fear.

The post Coronavirus Street Art By John D’oh appeared first on User Guides Tips.

If vaccines had a PR team, they’d be furious right now. Few medical interventions save as many lives, cost as little, and are studied as intensely as vaccinesyet somehow they still get treated like the villain in a movie they funded, wrote, and starred in.

Anti-vaccine sentiment isn’t new, but the speed and scale of today’s misinformation ecosystem make it feel like we’re playing whack-a-mole with a blindfold on. A fraudulent study from the 1990s, a conspiracy-laden Facebook post, a viral TikTok with dramatic musicand suddenly, measles is back in communities that hadn’t seen it in decades.

The good news is that science-based medicine doesn’t just give us what to say, it increasingly gives us insight into how to say it. Communication research, behavioral science, and real-world clinical experience all point in the same direction: if we want to improve vaccine uptake, we need to improve how we respond to anti-vaccine sentimentcalmly, clearly, and with a lot less eye-rolling than we might feel.

The Modern Landscape of Anti-Vaccine Sentiment

Anti-vaccine sentiment today is a messy mix of old myths, new platforms, and deep-seated distrust. Classic claimslike “vaccines cause autism,” “they overload the immune system,” or “natural immunity is always better”have been debunked repeatedly by large, well-designed studies. Yet they persist, because they’re emotionally sticky, easy to share, and often wrapped in narratives about “protecting my child” or “standing up to corrupt institutions.”

Social media supercharges this dynamic. Algorithms reward outrage, fear, and simplicity. A heartfelt story about a supposed vaccine injury can travel faster than any nuanced explanation of risk, probability, or confounding variables. Meanwhile, bots, coordinated campaigns, and politically motivated actors amplify fringe views until they look like mainstream debates.

At the same time, vaccine hesitancy doesn’t always come from denial of science. For many people it reflects:

• Past negative experiences with the healthcare system
• Historical injustices against specific communities
• Genuine confusion in the face of rapidly changing guidance
• Mistrust of government, pharmaceutical companies, or media

In other words, anti-vaccine sentiment is often less about the vaccine vial and more about the social, political, and emotional context around it.

Why Facts Alone Don’t Win: The Limits of “Debunking”

The instinctive science-based response to a false claim is to drown it in facts: show the data, cite the trials, add more graphs. Unfortunately, behavior research has repeatedly shown that “information dumps” often failand sometimes backfire.

Why? Several reasons:

• Motivated reasoning: People interpret information in ways that protect their identity, values, and group loyalties. If vaccines are tied up with “what kind of parent I am” or “which political tribe I belong to,” raw data alone won’t break through.
• Familiarity effects: Repeating a myth, even to debunk it, can increase its familiarity later. The listener may remember the claim but forget that it was disproven.
• Cognitive overload: Dense statistics, acronyms, and technical jargon can make people disengageor push them toward simpler, more emotionally satisfying explanations.

Facts are essential, but they’re not sufficient. Effective responses to anti-vaccine sentiment must be evidence-based and psychologically savvy. The goal is not to “win an argument” but to make the accurate information easier to hear, understand, and remember than the misinformation.

Core Principles for Science-Based Vaccine Communication

1. Lead With a Clear, Strong Recommendation

Studies of clinical practice consistently show that one of the strongest predictors of vaccination is a direct, confident recommendation from a trusted clinician. Instead of opening with “So, what do you want to do about vaccines?” a more effective approach is:

“Today we’ll give the routine vaccines that protect your child against measles, whooping cough, and other serious diseases.”

This “presumptive” style frames vaccination as the default, evidence-based standard of carewhile still leaving room for questions. When parents hesitate, the recommendation remains firm but respectful: “I strongly recommend these vaccines because they’re one of the best ways to keep your child safe.”

2. Listen First, Then Tailor the Response

Many vaccine-hesitant people feel dismissed or talked down to. Before launching into an explanation, ask open-ended questions:

• “Can you tell me what worries you most about this vaccine?”
• “What have you heard from friends, family, or online that concerns you?”

Listen without interrupting. Reflect their concern back (“I can see why that would sound scary”) before gently providing accurate information. This doesn’t mean agreeing with misinformation; it means acknowledging the emotion behind it.

Tailoring the response is key. A parent worried about autism needs a different explanation than someone focused on “too many shots at once” or on government overreach. One-size-fits-all talking points aren’t enough.

3. Be Honest About Risks, While Keeping Them in Perspective

Over-reassuring (“vaccines are 100% safe and risk-free”) isn’t credible, and it hands ammunition to anti-vaccine activists when rare side effects are discussed publicly. A science-based response acknowledges that:

• Serious side effects are possible but extremely rare and are actively monitored.
• The risks from the diseases themselves (measles, pertussis, HPV-related cancers, COVID-19) are far higher than the risks from vaccination.
• Safety systems exist to detect problems early and adjust recommendations if needed.

Framing helps here. For example: “The chance of a severe reaction is much lower than your child’s risk of serious complications if they catch this disease without being vaccinated.”

4. Use Stories and Social Norms, Not Just Statistics

Misinformation travels on the wings of stories. Evidence-based communication can do the samewithout bending the truth.

• Share brief, anonymized cases of children hospitalized with vaccine-preventable diseases.
• Highlight local outbreaks and the impact they had on schools and communities.
• Emphasize social norms: “Most families in our practice choose to vaccinate on schedule.”

When people hear that “most parents” around them are vaccinating, it reduces the feeling that they’re being asked to do something risky or unusual.

5. Prebunk When Possible: Inoculating Against Misinformation

Just as vaccines prepare the immune system to recognize and fight off real infections later, “prebunking” helps people recognize and resist misleading arguments before they encounter them in the wild.

For example, before a new vaccine rolls out, communicators can:

• Explain common tactics used by anti-vaccine accounts (cherry-picked anecdotes, conspiratorial framing, fake experts).
• Show a simplified example of a misleading claim, then debunk it and point out the manipulative technique.
• Invite people to treat dramatic claims without sources as “red flags” that merit fact-checking.

This approach doesn’t just address one rumorit builds a more resilient, critical audience.

Different Audiences, Different Strategies

Parents of Young Children

For many parents, the first big vaccine decisions happen when their baby is only a few months oldright when sleep is scarce and anxiety is high. Helpful strategies include:

• Start early: Introduce the topic in pregnancy or at newborn visits so it’s not a surprise at the 2-month shots.
• Connect to their goals: Emphasize that vaccines protect the child’s future health, school attendance, and ability to participate safely in group activities.
• Offer trusted take-home materials: Simple, visually clear handouts or links from reputable health organizations beat random search results at 2 a.m.

Adults Concerned About New or Rapidly Developed Vaccines

With COVID-19 vaccines and other new technologies, a common theme is “This was rushed.” Science-based responses should:

• Explain how long the underlying technology had been in development before the crisis.
• Outline how large-scale clinical trials and ongoing safety monitoring work.
• Be candid about what we know, what we’re still learning, and how recommendations change as evidence grows.

Transparency about evolving guidance builds long-term trust, even if it’s frustrating in the short term.

Communities With Historical or Structural Reasons for Distrust

In communities that have experienced medical racism, neglect, or exploitation, skepticism toward public health isn’t irrationalit’s a survival strategy. Improving our response in these settings means:

• Partnering with local leaders, faith communities, and grassroots organizationsnot just parachuting in with campaign slogans.
• Hiring and supporting community health workers who share the community’s language and culture.
• Acknowledging historical wrongs openly and describing what safeguards exist today to prevent repeat abuses.

When people feel seen and respected, they’re more willing to engage with scientific information.

Online Spaces and Social Media

You can’t out-shout the entire internet, but you can be strategic:

• Focus on the audience, not the troll: When responding to a misleading post, write for the silent onlookers who aren’t sure what to think.
• Lead with the fact, not the myth: Start with “Vaccines do not cause autism” rather than “Many people wrongly believe vaccines cause autism.”
• Use clear visuals: Simple charts, infographics, and short videos often outperform long text rants.
• Know when to disengage: Hardcore anti-vaccine activists rarely change their minds publicly. The goal is to prevent them from pulling others in.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

Even well-intentioned advocates can accidentally strengthen anti-vaccine narratives. Some pitfalls:

• Ridicule and shaming: Calling people “stupid” or “crazy” for their fears doesn’t make them pro-vaccineit just pushes them deeper into communities that will validate those fears.
• Over-amplifying fringe claims: Repeating every wild rumor in order to debunk it can make it more familiar than the actual evidence.
• Jargon overload: Talking about “relative risk reductions,” “post-marketing pharmacovigilance,” and “phase IV surveillance” without translation loses most non-experts.
• All-or-nothing thinking: A parent who wants to delay or separate some vaccines isn’t automatically an “anti-vaxxer.” Engaging constructively may help them move closer to the recommended schedule over time.

Building Systems, Not Just One-Off Conversations

Improving our response to anti-vaccine sentiment isn’t just about heroic individual doctors battling misinformation in their spare time. It requires systems:

• Clinic-wide messaging: Front-desk staff, nurses, pharmacists, and physicians should all give consistent messages about vaccines.
• Training in communication skills: Role-playing difficult conversations can be just as important as reviewing clinical guidelines.
• Reminder and recall systems: Text messages, patient portal alerts, and follow-up calls help families stay on schedule.
• Monitoring local sentiment: Public health departments can track common myths circulating in their communities and tailor outreach accordingly.

When evidence-based communication is baked into everyday workflows, clinicians are better equipped to handle both routine questions and heated debates.

Measuring What Works

Because anti-vaccine sentiment is noisy and constantly evolving, it’s tempting to throw our hands up and assume “nothing works.” But research suggests otherwise when we measure thoughtfully.

Metrics can include:

• Changes in vaccination rates by clinic, region, or demographic group
• Surveys of vaccine confidence before and after specific campaigns
• Engagement quality on social posts (not just likes, but shares and comments reflecting understanding)
• Requests for additional information or follow-up conversations

No single intervention will “solve” vaccine hesitancy, but incremental improvementsin how we talk, listen, and design systemsadd up over time.

Lessons From the Field: Experiences With Anti-Vaccine Sentiment

To make this more concrete, it helps to look at real-world experiencescomposite stories that reflect patterns many clinicians, public health workers, and science communicators describe.

Consider a busy pediatric clinic in a rural town. Before COVID-19, the staff rarely encountered open hostility to vaccines. Parents occasionally asked questions, but most accepted routine immunizations. Then, as pandemic debates exploded online, the tone shifted. A handful of families began refusing not only COVID-19 vaccines but also long-established shots like MMR and DTaP.

At first, the clinic responded the way many of us would: more handouts, more statistics, more “but the data show…” style conversations. The result? Long, tense visits, frustrated clinicians, and parents who sometimes left without vaccinatingand sometimes without coming back.

After a particularly difficult week, the clinic team decided to change their approach. They introduced short training sessions at staff meetings on how to handle vaccine hesitancy. Physicians practiced opening with a strong recommendation but also role-played active listening and reflective statements:

“It sounds like you’re worried about long-term side effects we might not know about yet. That’s a common concern. Let’s talk through what we actually know from years of safety monitoring, and how we respond if new information appears.”

Nurses, who often had more time in the room, were encouraged to invite questions without judgment: “What have you seen online that’s making you nervous?” They stopped trying to correct every rumor and instead focused on the most important misconceptions related to serious harms or common myths.

Within a few months, something subtle shifted. Parents who were firmly anti-vaccine remained so. But the “moveable middle”those who were worried but unsurebegan accepting more vaccines. Some didn’t fully follow the recommended schedule at first, but they started moving in that direction. The clinic’s no-show rate for vaccine visits dropped, and the tone of conversations became less combative.

Public health departments see similar patterns on a larger scale. One urban health agency had been pushing out generic social media posts like “Vaccines are safe and effective” and “Protect yourselfget vaccinated!” Engagement was low, and the posts occasionally attracted anti-vaccine pile-ons in the comments.

After reviewing communication research, the team redesigned their strategy. They began:

• Featuring short, authentic videos of local clinicians answering one question at a time in plain language.
• Highlighting stories of families who had experienced vaccine-preventable illness and chose vaccination afterward.
• Using prebunking: explaining common misinformation tactics before major news cycles, such as the release of updated vaccine recommendations.

They also monitored sentiment. Instead of focusing on a few loud anti-vaccine accounts, they paid attention to questions from quietly hesitant followers: concerns about fertility, chronic illness, or “too many shots.” Those questions shaped future posts and community town halls.

Science communicators outside clinical settings report similar lessons. Podcast hosts, bloggers, and educators who cover vaccine topics find that their most successful episodes are not angry takedowns of “anti-vaxxers” but patient explanations that:

• Show how we know vaccines work and how safety signals are detected.
• Walk through past mistakes in medicine honestly but distinguish them from current practice.
• Equip listeners with simple questions they can ask when they encounter a sensational claim online (“Who is making this claim?” “What might they gain?” “Is there credible evidence?”).

Across these different settings, the theme is consistent: when we treat anti-vaccine sentiment as a problem to be crushed, we tend to harden resistance. When we treat it as a complex, human response to uncertainty, fear, and mistrustand when we bring science, empathy, and good communication skills to the tablewe create space for minds to change.

These experiences don’t suggest that everyone will be convinced. Some people are deeply committed to anti-vaccine identities and communities. But they do suggest a hopeful reality: there is a sizable group in the middle who are not anti-science, just overwhelmed. Improving our response to anti-vaccine sentiment is, in large part, about serving that group wellconsistently, patiently, and with the best of science-based medicine on our side.

Conclusion: From Frustration to Constructive Engagement

Anti-vaccine sentiment can be infuriating, especially for clinicians and scientists who have watched preventable outbreaks unfold in real time. But frustration alone doesn’t vaccinate anyone. What does make a difference is a deliberate, evidence-based approach to communication: strong recommendations, genuine listening, transparent discussion of risks and benefits, smart use of stories and norms, and systems that support these practices instead of leaving them to chance.

We will never fully eliminate misinformation. But we can reduce its impact by making accurate information more trustworthy, more relatable, and more accessible than the myths competing with it. That is the heart of improving our response to anti-vaccine sentimentand it is work perfectly aligned with the mission of science-based medicine.

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