Editor's Note: (Bhaskar Chakravorti is the dean of Global Business at Tufts University's Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy. He is the founding executive director of Fletcher's Institute for Business in the Global Context, where he established and chairs the Digital Planet research program. The views expressed in this commentary belong to the author. View more opinion at CNN.)
(CNN) Covid-19 has disproportionately devastated the Black community. Black Americans are dying from the coronavirus at nearly twice the rate of White Americans -- and have been hospitalized nearly three times as often, according to data from the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black Americans, who make up a disproportionate share of essential workers, are also shouldering greater socioeconomic burdens during the pandemic. You would think that one way to bring back a measure of racial justice would be to work vigorously to eliminate this disparity when it comes to who can get the vaccine.
Think again.
In a nation where the rollout is only highlighting long-standing racial inequities, President Joe Biden has promised Black and brown people equal access to the vaccine. But even in Biden's home state of Delaware, where Black Americans make up 24% of Covid-19 cases, as of Friday, they accounted for only 9% of vaccinations. This pattern is widespread: Black Americans are being vaccinated at rates far lower than their share of the population.
There are many reasons for this. Modern technology might be one major culprit since vaccination appointments are often booked online. Black households tend to have less access to computers and the internet compared with White households. Even though smartphones have largely bridged the digital divide, studies show that users pay more attention to news on desktops than on their phones and are more susceptible to misinformation when they use mobile devices exclusively.
For a particularly stark example of how this digital divide affects the vaccine rollout, consider the poorest ZIP code in Shelby County, Tennessee, where 96% of residents are Black and 70% of households do not have internet access, according to census data. When the county first launched its vaccine rollout, all available appointments were snapped up online before a designated hotline was even available, according to a ProPublica report. That left people who did not have internet access and could only register for an appointment via phone at a measurable disadvantage.
More than half of Black adults in the US remain hesitant about getting the Covid-19 vaccine, according to a survey released earlier this month by the National Foundation for Infectious Diseases. Many have attributed this to the US history of racism in medicine and the legacy of unethical research like the Tuskegee Syphilis Study.
The digital divide only exacerbates the issue of equitable access to public health.
The first step to fixing this inequity is acknowledging that Covid-19 is more than a public health crisis and an economic crisis. It is also an information crisis. People need reliable information, free of rumors and untruths. They need to know their own exposure risks, infection status and how to register for vaccinations. The authorities need data on individuals' risk and exposure profiles and to match them up with vaccine supplies. Whether it's inadequate testing, confusing local restrictions or misinformation on social media, we are battling Covid-19 in an information fog.
Cutting through the fog requires a multiprong approach involving local and community leaders and organizers, health officials, tech companies and the US government:
This is Black History Month -- a time when we reflect on racial injustices from decades and centuries past. The Covid-19 pandemic has already added to that legacy of racial injustice. There is an opportunity to finally start getting things right.