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Illustration: A figure stands on one abstract, geometric path with three other paths crossing in different directions.

What should we do when public health principles conflict?

Few decisions in the field are perfect. We must be prepared to make them anyway.
Written by
Eric Coles
Published
September 24, 2024
Read Time
6 min

For the last four years, I have served as the public health officer for the Tule River Indian Reservation in central California. In this role, I have sought advice from several public health maxims: center equity so my work never loses sight of the most marginalized; listen to the community so my decisions reflect the public’s preferences; and follow the science so my efforts are effective, trustworthy, and dependable.

Though laudable, in my experience these maxims have rarely aligned. In fact, they often conflict: Either the community doesn’t want to follow the science, or the science didn’t center equity, or centering equity wasn’t the community’s priority. As public health problems become more complex and fractious, public health professionals like me need more insightful advice, and we need targeted research and training to get there.

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Consider two personal examples from the COVID-19 pandemic.

In 2021, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) shortened the recommended time for isolation after a COVID-19 diagnosis from 10 days to five. I presented this change to the tribe’s health board so we could update our orders on the reservation. However, the board—composed of elected community members—voted to maintain the 10-day isolation period for several weeks, believing it was the safest course for their reservation. Thus, at that time, our COVID-19 isolation guidance responded to community wishes—but did not follow the science. (They later revised their the isolation period downward, following CDC recommendations.)

The second example occurred during our rollout of the COVID-19 vaccine. I recommended organizing a mass vaccination event and offering the shots at the tribal health center, which was the consensus “best practice” at the time. The goal was to get doses into as many arms as possible. But I knew this approach would not reach all members of the community. Some tribal members did not have an internet connection to see our messages about the event, and others did not feel comfortable visiting the health center; some didn’t even have a way to get there. Our vaccine rollout did not center equity, even if it did follow the science.

In both situations, I chose to break a maxim given the context. For the changes to isolation, I believed the science did not apply perfectly to the reservation’s risk level because compliance with the existing isolation order was uneven, despite high rates both of COVID-19 and pre-existing chronic disease. Being extra cautious seemed prudent, so I listened to the community, as represented by its elected health board, and did not follow the science.

For the vaccine rollout, the community was at high risk around this time. I felt that getting the vaccine out as quickly as possible was the most important issue. Centering equity to reach all community members would have meant downsizing the mass vaccination plan and keeping more people at high risk. I chose to follow the science and not center equity in order to decrease the general risk of catching COVID-19 (or worse, suffering or even dying from it) in the community.

My decisions were imperfect—as most decisions are in crisis response, especially in resource-constrained environments. But the dilemmas I faced are not going away. With the rising rates of syphilis in Indian Country, we are discussing how to apply national best practices, like universal testing, at our health center. A key question is: Does the community want these practices?

Moreover, long-standing challenges in neglected communities like Native American tribes raise questions about whether our public health tools are also equity tools. For example, we know that tribal public health officials lack access to the data they need to improve health outcomes in tribal communities, which face severe inequities. That makes it challenging to do what the maxim asks and center equity. But data collection itself is notoriously blind to inequities. Even if I had that data, would it help? But does that data itself account for equity? Resolving the problem—in this case, data access—does not necessarily lead us to the solution—in this case, equity.

Meanwhile, the U.S. could very well elect a president who has spoken brazenly against science and equity; there is ongoing backlash to DEI initiatives; and there is outright refusal to expand Medicaid resources we know people need—to say nothing of the many examples of outright racism, sexism, or xenophobia we can find across the country. In this environment, it’s no surprise elected officials are choosing public health professionals who refuse to follow the science, such as with measles prevention in Florida.

Public health professionals need more perceptive advice than maxims to navigate these complex situations.

Developing this guidance must start at the top: Senior state and federal public health officials must be exemplars by being more candid about their decision-making, sharing how they resolve competing priorities, and avoiding oversimplified wisdom to justify their actions.

Researchers also have a role to play. Health journals should publish qualitative research that lays out the thought process of leaders as they make major decisions. Those of us on the front lines of public health need more qualitative research that explicates individual decisions, rather than quantitative research that looks for commonalities across situations. P-values aren’t very helpful here.

Furthermore, public health practitioners need case studies, a method used to great effect in fields such as business and law. While many experts have called for such teaching methods, schools of public health are not required to use case studies in order to be accredited by the Council on Public Health Education. I was fortunate nevertheless to be exposed to case studies as part of the leadership training that prepared me, during my doctor of public health program, for addressing complex problems and making decisions facing competing priorities.

This kind of training, in turn, should be a job requirement. I have yet to see a public health job description that demands leadership training. Instead, I see hiring managers for top public health positions focus on advanced degrees and the number of scholarly publications—impressive, perhaps, but an insufficient stand-in for leadership. Communities need leaders who have the skills to make imperfect decisions and justify them to the public, other professionals, and researchers.

Public health practitioners face situations daily in which we can’t simultaneously center health equity, listen to the community, and follow the science, even though these ideals are what we strive toward. To reach them, we’ll need to go beyond current maxims and develop better research, training, and changes to hiring practices. We can’t wait any longer for better decision-making to improve public health.

Image: Dmitry Kovalchuk / iStock

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Eric Coles
Eric Coles is the public health officer at the Tule River Indian Health Center in Porterville, California.

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