More than a year since the world recorded the first coronavirus cases in Wuhan, China, the Covid-19 pandemic shows little signs of slowing down. The United States, which, at the time of writing this article, records over 70,000 cases a day, is expected to pass 500,000 deaths by the end of February—more than the nation’s casualties during both world wars. In Europe, case counts at the start of the pandemic in March and April appear trivial compared to today’s figures. Moreover, in Latin America, a new variant of the virus emerged in Brazil, which worries scientists even more than other recent mutations, such as in the UK and South Africa. 

Despite the relentless persistence of Covid-19, the development of multiple vaccines since November of last year offers much hope. Vaccines from Moderna, Pfizer, and Oxford/AstraZeneca are already used across North America and Europe. Israel has rapidly inoculated over 80% of its elderly population—with early case data showing promising results. Other countries, such as India and Japan, are ramping up their efforts. Special credit should also go to Britain, on track to vaccinate anyone who wishes the jab by the end of June. According to some experts, such as Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the US National Institute of Allergy and Infectious diseases, rising vaccination might lead to some semblance of normality returning before the end of this year.

However, the success of the world’s vaccine rollout hangs in the balance. So far, the danger lies less in the technology behind the vaccine and more in its global distribution, which rests on economic nationalism instead of cooperation. An unjust and inefficient allocation of doses will shake citizens’ faith in government, foster hostility between states, and—most importantly—undermine efforts to halt the spread of Covid-19. Therefore, a careful look at vaccine economics is crucial to the world’s collective challenge of dealing with the pandemic.

The distribution of vaccine doses between different countries evokes a problem often studied by economists: the tragedy of the commons, a situation that arises when individuals—in their self-interest—exploit shared resources to the detriment of others. Pioneered by William Forster Lloyd, a 19th-century British economist, the idea was initially applied to describe overgrazing on common, collectively owned land. In the absence of legal constraints on individual usage, a farmer could choose to put more of his cattle on the land than his neighbors. But his cattle would graze land also used by other farmers, meaning their herds would be left disadvantaged. The process could eventually lead to the destruction of the initial resource: farmers compete to put more and more of their cattle on the land, leading to overgrazing. By acting unconstrained in their interest, the farmers risk imperiling their livelihood by degrading collectively owned land.

Today’s distribution of vaccines poses similar challenges. Without any legal barriers between states and purchasing doses, the wealthiest nation often finds itself with the most jabs—regardless of population size or the severity of its situation. Thus, in December, Canada had a tally of doses four times its population, while no sizeable African country has yet started inoculating its population so far (the continent’s richest nation, South Africa, will begin this month). The discrepancy in injections between rich and poor states explains why millions of doses have already been administered in prosperous countries such as Britain and the United States, while few in Latin America, Africa, and the Middle East have received a jab. Indeed, according to one estimate by Duke University, high-income countries currently possess 4.2 billion doses, while low to middle-income states only hold 670 million—over six times fewer vaccines.

This so-called “vaccine nationalism” will only hamper efforts to curb new cases: rich countries buying disproportionate quantities to vaccinate their populations reduces the number of vaccines for poorer, less developed countries, which will face more significant case numbers. Since Covid-19 spreads exponentially and vaccinating the population until it reaches herd immunity takes time, these new cases will soon find themselves in rich countries as well, burdening hospitals and the economy. As in the case of the farmers, the exploitation of a particular resource in self-interest by an individual actor results in a situation that leaves everyone worse off.

Vaccines, of course, are not commons; they are privately owned, produced by private enterprises. Moreover, while the quantity of land remains fixed, the supply of vaccines can increase to meet global demand. Nevertheless, treating them as a shared resource would ultimately result in more efficient vaccine distribution; for the moment, vaccine production cannot yet meet the rise in Covid-19 cases, leading to inequalities in access to jabs. Covax, an international inoculation program sponsored by the World Health Organization (WHO) and a host of multilateral organizations and countries, aims to help poorer countries develop, purchase, and administer vaccines for their populations. The scheme provides a good place to start but is limited in its means: so far, it has not started distribution, and the first phase of its vaccine rollout plan includes only 330 million doses for 145 countries; by comparison, the UK alone has procured over 400 million doses. Another issue at hand is the presence of rich, self-financing countries in the first phase of the Covax vaccine distribution, such as Canada and New Zealand, which will benefit from doses that should be going elsewhere. As a dizzying series of mutations appear in Latin America, Africa, and Europe, it is unlikely that Covax’s distribution plan will be able to keep up with the disease’s spread.

In hindsight, the WHO could have cooperated with private companies to create a “vaccine credits” system to inoculate the world’s population equitably. Credits could have been allocated based on population size and financial means, with India and Nigeria securing more credits than, say, Canada or Liechtenstein. The credits would then be used to acquire a certain quantity of vaccines, much like how carbon credits provide the right to emit one ton of greenhouse gas. But in today’s world, with fragilized multilateral agreements and nationalism inflamed by the pandemic, no supranational organization could effectively distribute vaccines on a global scale. Besides, part of the incentive behind the various vaccines on the market or in development comes from the financing of big, rich countries like America, which spent 18 billion on different vaccine projects in its “Warp Speed” project during the Trump administration, for its population’s use. If the US were not spending money to vaccinate its citizens but to fund a global initiative, it would undoubtedly have spent far less, hampering efforts to create a vaccine. Finally, whether in rich or poor states, politicians have a political and moral duty to uphold the needs of their constituents. If a rich country buys a disproportionate amount of vaccines, it is hard to argue that its government acted unjustly or unfaithfully, even if it might hurt the chances of poorer nations.

Assuring a more equitable rollout of vaccines rests on the actions of both governments and supranational organizations. Multilateral institutions, such as the WHO, must prioritize lower to middle-income countries in their inoculation schemes, including Covax. Though any country can request Covax’s help, prosperous states like Canada—with the largest amount of vaccines per capita—should be far lower on the list than countries in dire need of financial aid. The UN and other multilateral organizations should also encourage benevolence among rich countries, expressed through funding programs like Covax or directly sending jabs as humanitarian aid. The rapid development of a coronavirus vaccine is no small cause for celebration. But rich countries should remember the plight of others when procuring vaccines, lest the perennial tragedy of the commons makes an appearance once again.