A word in defence of hippies. Over the weekend, chastened, born-again vaccinator Ian Williams fronted a publicity drive for immunisation, after his child almost died from tetanus. Williams, a science graduate and food technologist, and his health worker wife, Linda, had previously refused to allow their children to get their recommended jabs.
"When it came to my kid's health," he said, "I let the hippy win. I should have let science win." Around 300 years after vaccinations for smallpox had been first introduced to Europe from the Ottoman Empire, he certainly should have let science win. But why suggest hippies were flat-earthers as well?
I was never a hippy myself. Beads and incense weren't my thing. And after years of listening to Auckland University lecturers drone on, I had no wish to rush to India to sit at the feet of yet more gurus. But travelling overland to Europe at the time, we travelled the same roads, caught the same local buses, stayed at the same four rupees-a-day hotels, and swapped information. Like where to update one's vaccinations.
Which is how I ended up in a Russian medical centre on the outskirts of Kabul one freezing morning with assorted hippies, facing a nurse with the demeanour and build of one of her country's then famous shot-putters. She wielded a syringe that could have euthanased a wild elephant at 10 paces. But in my mind, and that of my hippy mates, the fear of catching cholera kept us there.
The Williams' conversion to vaccination came as a result of a face-to-face encounter with tetanus. When my schoolmates and I lined up to receive the miraculous new polio vaccine, there was no dissent that I can recall. We knew the alternative. He clattered around the asphalt playground with one leg encased in heavy metal calipers.