By MW, ASP’s Graduate Fellow
Florida governor Ron DeSantis recently announced a plan to end all of the state’s vaccine mandates for public schools and nursing homes. Health experts have already warned the public to brace for impact and prepare for long-eradicated diseases re-emerging. But Florida’s dismantling of vaccine requirements didn’t come out of nowhere; the decision is the inevitable result of a sophisticated brand of disinformation that has transformed public health skepticism into a lucrative business model.
I grew up in North Florida, near Jacksonville, and I’m all too familiar with medical freedom and vaccine controversies. What started off as fringe ideas from a handful of science skeptics that were usually ill-received by the community has transformed over the years into a widely-supported movement, and now, Florida’s new legislation. While children face renewed threats from completely preventable diseases like measles and polio, a network of social media platforms is cashing in on the fear they’ve deliberately cultivated.
As a kid, my parents and I followed the CDC’s recommended vaccines schedule—MMR, tetanus, hepatitis B, DTaP, and all the rest. The tetanus shot, well known as a requirement for starting 7th grade, was even offered at school for children who could not or did not receive it from their doctor. You’d fill out a quick form, step out of class for a few minutes, visit the school nurse, get your shot, and head right back, no big deal. I received mine from my childhood pediatrician and, as always, got a lollipop afterward. What stood out most wasn’t the shot itself, but how my doctor explained everything. Why I was getting it, why it mattered, and why this age was the right time. It was all put in words a kid could understand, and that made a lasting impression on me.
Years later, during the COVID-19 pandemic, Florida did not require the vaccine, but I signed up for mine as soon as it became available for my age and health group. Making an appointment through my local Publix grocery store was simple, and I appreciated how accessible vaccines had become. Still, it was a time filled with uncertainty, and misinformation about vaccines spread quickly. Hearing and seeing the rise of vaccine-related conspiracies around me reminded me how important it is to have access to accurate, reliable information when making health decisions.
Upon learning of Florida’s proposal to roll back the vaccine mandates, I decided to do some digging. What I found was an extensive network of anti-vaccine advertising and money.
The digital backbone of the anti-vaccine movement reveals perhaps the most cynical element of the entire operation. According to the Center for Countering Digital Hate (CCDH), anti-vaccine content networks generate approximately $1 billion annually in advertising revenue for major technology platforms. Platforms—and creators, even those who promote vaccine misinformation—earn money through digital advertising systems that automatically place ads based on engagement metrics. Anti-vaccine content is designed to provoke strong emotional responses, driving the clicks,page views, and impressions that then generate advertising revenue. Platforms like X and Facebook are directly profiting from this kind of content through their advertising networks.
CCDH also found that, during the COVID-19 pandemic, just twelve influencers were responsible for 65% of anti-vaccine content online. These aren’t diverse voices raising legitimate concerns, nor average parents in Florida trying to do the best for their kids. They’re a coordinated network of content creators who have discovered that vaccine misinformation pays extremely well. Research from the University of Washington documented how wellness influencers strategically deploy vaccine misinformation as audience-building tools. An Oxford study similarly found that 85% of anti-vaccine websites showed evidence of commercial activity, whether through direct sales, donations, or advertising revenue.
These influencers, amongst hundreds of others, have mastered this dynamic, using deliberately controversial claims to grow their audiences, before monetizing through product sales, premium content, and affiliate marketing.
One of the 12 at the center of this web is Joseph Mercola, a local Cape Coral entrepreneur who has built a multimillion-dollar empire by monetizing medical misinformation, according to the Washington Post. Mercola’s business sells alternative medicines like vitamins and detox kits to vaccine-skeptical customers. During the pandemic, Mercola advised consumers that intentionally contracting the virus and taking “immunity boosting supplements” would provide better protection than vaccines. This wasn’t legitimate medical advice—it was a sales pitch, which put lives at risk to move product. According to the New York Times, “Dr. Mercola has published over 600 articles on Facebook that cast doubt on COVID-19 vaccines since the pandemic began, reaching a far larger audience than other vaccine skeptics.”
Florida’s political environment has created ideal conditions for this sort of fear-based influence to flourish. The state’s embrace of “medical freedom” rhetoric provides political cover for what is essentially a coordinated campaign to undermine public health for private profit. Every actor in this ecosystem benefits from increased vaccine hesitancy: supplement sellers who generate revenue from terrified customers, nonprofits that raise donations by stoking fear, clinics which capture patients seeking alternatives, and platforms that collect advertising revenue from the resulting engagement. Meanwhile, Florida’s children face the return of diseases that were virtually eliminated from American society.
The solution isn’t just better health communication or fact-checking—it’s recognizing that anti-vaccine activism has become a sophisticated business operation that requires regulatory intervention. Platforms that profit from medical misinformation should face consequences. Clinics that market themselves as alternatives to evidence-based medicine should face scrutiny. And entrepreneurs who build fortunes by undermining public health should be treated as the threat to community welfare that they are.
As I watch what’s happening in my home state today and compare it with my own experience growing up, I can’t help but wonder where things went wrong. What could possibly motivate such a strong fear of lifesaving technologies amongst the classmates, friends, and neighbors I knew? The coming months will be telling once this legislation is fully implemented—but we all need to reflect, talk to one another, and figure out how to reverse course on this sure-to-be deadly legislation. Because Florida’s children deserve better than becoming test subjects in someone else’s business plan.
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