By Rocio Calleros
Vaccines save lives. That’s something most of us in El Paso understand. We’ve seen how preventive care can protect families, schools and entire neighborhoods.
But public health doesn’t succeed just because a policy exists or a vaccine is available. It succeeds when people trust the systems and are asked to participate. And that trust begins with informed consent.
Too often, consent is treated like paperwork, something to sign and move past. But for many families, medical decisions are personal, emotional and sometimes frightening. When people feel rushed, pressured or afraid of the consequences of saying no, consent stops being a choice and starts feeling like an obligation.
This is especially true in Hispanic and marginalized communities. Here in El Paso, many residents face language barriers, limited access to clear health information and longstanding mistrust of institutions. For some, refusing a medical intervention can mean risking a job, a child’s education or access to essential services. When the stakes are that high, it’s fair to ask whether consent is truly voluntary.
Texas legislators last year passed House Bill 4535, which mandates informed written consent before COVID-19 vaccinations. “Before administering a COVID-19 vaccine to a patient, a physician or health care provider shall obtain the informed written consent of the patient.”
Patients must know the risks, benefits and alternatives before receiving the vaccine. That sounds great. However, getting a signature is not informed consent.
Ethically, informed consent means more than a signature. It means people are given honest, understandable information about medical interventions and enough time and space to make decisions without fear or coercion. This principle is deeply rooted in health care ethics and human rights because it protects something fundamental: a person’s right to decide what happens to their own body.
Yet, public health policies often rely on authority rather than relationship. Government mandates are frequently justified by a century-old Supreme Court case, Jacobson v. Massachusetts, which upheld states’ power to protect public health. While that ruling still stands, it was decided long before modern expectations of transparency, patient rights and ethical accountability. Times have changed, and so have the communities these policies affect.
At the same time, federal laws have limited the ability of individuals to seek legal recourse if they experience serious vaccine-related injuries. Programs like the National Vaccine Injury Compensation Program and the Countermeasures Injury Compensation Program were created to support vaccine development and distribution, especially during emergencies such as COVID-19. But when legal accountability is reduced, the responsibility to ensure meaningful informed consent should increase, not disappear.
People deserve to know both the benefits and the risks of medical interventions, as well as the limits of compensation if something goes wrong. Withholding or oversimplifying that information may speed compliance, but it damages trust.
Trust is also strained by confusion around vaccine safety monitoring. Systems like VAERS are often misunderstood, fueling skepticism and misinformation. When people feel information is unclear or inconsistently communicated, it reinforces the belief that something is being hidden, even when that isn’t the case.
The result is disengagement. People delay care, avoid preventive services, or turn to unreliable sources for information. That doesn’t just hurt individuals; it weakens public health efforts for everyone.
From a social work perspective, this matters deeply. Our professional values center on dignity, self-determination and social justice. Policies that weaken informed consent often place the greatest burden on those who already face the most barriers, reinforcing inequities instead of addressing them.
Protecting informed consent does not mean opposing public health. In fact, it strengthens it. When people feel respected, informed and heard, they are more likely to participate willingly and consistently. Consent built on trust lasts longer than compliance built on fear.
If we want public health to work in El Paso, it has to work with the community. That means prioritizing clear communication, language access, cultural humility and time for questions. It means treating consent as a conversation, not a form.
The best public health includes everyone. It’s rooted in ethics, built on trust and sustained by respect. Protecting informed consent isn’t an obstacle to community health; it’s how we ensure it truly serves the people it’s meant to protect.
El Paso deserves a public health system built on partnership. Informed consent is not an obstacle to community health — it is the foundation that makes lasting health possible.
Rocio Calleros is a master of social work student at Our Lady of the Lake University in San Antonio. Her background in the El Paso-Ciudad Juárez region inspires her passion for helping Hispanic children and families.
The post Opinion: Informed consent strengthens vaccine trust and public health in El Paso appeared first on El Paso Matters.
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