The Promise and Peril of America’s Next Cancer Vaccines

For nearly five years now, Chase Johnson has lived with a shadow following her everywhere. The cancer itself was gone, eradicated through aggressive treatment, but the fear of its return remained a constant, unwelcome companion. When doctors first discovered her breast cancer in 2021, Johnson was just 31 years old, far younger than the typical screening age, with no family history to raise red flags. It was her dog, Cato, who inadvertently saved her life, persistently nudging her chest with his nose until she noticed a lump. The diagnosis was devastating: stage 2B triple-negative breast cancer, a particularly rare and aggressive form of the disease. What followed was an arduous journey through chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery before doctors finally declared her cancer-free in 2022. Yet even in that moment of triumph, her oncologist delivered a sobering warning—there remained a 40% chance the cancer would eventually return. For Johnson, that statistic was unbearable. So when she learned about a clinical trial at the Cleveland Clinic testing a new breast cancer vaccine developed in partnership with Anixa Biosciences, she didn’t hesitate to enroll. The results have been encouraging, with the vaccine generating a strong immune response in nearly three-quarters of participants, including Johnson herself. “It’s just so promising and as a patient, it gave me a lot of hope,” she reflects. “I feel much more protected having done it.”

The vaccine Johnson received represents just the beginning of what could be a revolutionary era in cancer treatment. Over the past two decades, scientists have made steady progress in developing vaccines that could prevent or treat various forms of cancer, but the real excitement centers on mRNA technology—the same platform that produced the COVID-19 vaccines. These sophisticated vaccines use synthetic genetic instructions to teach the immune system to recognize and destroy unique proteins found on cancer cells, essentially training the body to fight cancer the way it fights off a virus. Last month, pharmaceutical giants Moderna and Merck announced a major breakthrough: their personalized mRNA cancer vaccine, when combined with an immunotherapy drug, succeeded in a late-stage trial for skin cancer. The announcement sent ripples of hope through the medical community and raised expectations that a wave of new cancer vaccines could soon become available. For millions of Americans who have either faced cancer themselves or watched loved ones battle the disease, this news felt like the dawning of a new age in medicine—a future where cancer might become preventable or treatable with a simple injection rather than debilitating chemotherapy and radiation.

Yet even as researchers celebrate these remarkable advancements, a troubling question looms: Will Americans actually take these vaccines when they become available? The medical community watches with growing alarm as vaccine misinformation spreads across the country, amplified by the Trump administration and embraced by a significant portion of the population. Doctors and researchers point to a particularly insidious falsehood that has gained traction online—the claim that mRNA vaccines can somehow super-charge tumors, creating what conspiracy theorists call “turbo cancer.” This baseless theory, which originated with the COVID-19 vaccines, threatens to undermine public trust in the very technology that could save countless lives. And when doctors look for a cautionary tale about what happens when misinformation meets vaccine science, they don’t have to look far. The human papillomavirus (HPV) vaccine provides a sobering example of how decades of false claims and political resistance can suppress the uptake of a safe, effective vaccine that prevents several types of cancer.

The story of the HPV vaccine is particularly instructive. The vaccine, first approved by the FDA in 2006 for girls and women aged 9 to 26, and later extended to boys and young men, targets strains of HPV that can cause cancers of the cervix, vagina, vulva, penis, anus, mouth, throat, head, and neck. The vaccine is remarkably safe and extraordinarily effective—yet uptake has stalled for years. For four consecutive years, vaccination rates among teenagers have remained stagnant, with dramatic variations between states. In Mississippi, only 31% of teens have completed the full vaccination series, while Rhode Island boasts an 85% completion rate. The reasons for this disparity are complex, but misinformation has played a central role. “I don’t think we can overstate the impact that the pandemic and the misinformation and disinformation around vaccines has had on all vaccines, including HPV vaccine,” says Dannell Boatman, an assistant professor at the West Virginia University Cancer Institute. Her research, funded by Merck, uncovered truly bizarre conspiracy theories circulating on social media, including claims about girls in India being killed with the HPV vaccine. The comments sections of vaccine-related posts were filled with wild theories and profound mistrust of authority figures. Boatman expects similar dynamics to emerge with breast cancer vaccines, especially since misinformation about mammograms causing cancer is already circulating. She hopes that research on “inoculation theory”—essentially forewarning people about misinformation and then refuting it—might help combat false claims before they take hold.

The political dimension of vaccine resistance cannot be overstated. Before joining the Trump administration, Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. filed complaints and lawsuits against Merck, the HPV vaccine manufacturer, and made inflammatory claims on social media suggesting the vaccine was increasing cervical cancer risk. Early in his tenure, Kennedy dismissed all 17 members of the HHS vaccine advisory panel, replacing some with known vaccine skeptics. Under his leadership, HHS has also attempted to alter the child vaccine schedule for certain diseases, including HPV, though federal courts have blocked these changes so far. Epidemiologist Michael Osterholm, director of the Center for Infectious Disease Research and Policy at the University of Minnesota, says Kennedy’s appointment spurred the creation of the Vaccine Integrity Project, a partnership between the center and the American Medical Association aimed at bolstering public trust in vaccines. The project has published evidence reviews countering administration criticism, including a May review showing HPV vaccines reduce cervical cancer risk by 80% in individuals vaccinated by age 16, with no serious side effects. “To a young parent today who wants to do the right thing, they want to protect their child, they’re so confused because they hear from the leaders in public health in their government talk about these vaccines killing people,” Osterholm says. “The credibility of 80 years of public health work of vaccines in this country is threatened because of confusion.”

The legislative landscape reflects this growing resistance, particularly in conservative-leaning states. The HPV vaccine has long faced opposition from lawmakers who associate it with teen sexuality, and newer vaccines face similar headwinds. In May, Iowa’s Republican Governor Kim Reynolds signed a law prohibiting Iowans under 18 from consenting to vaccinations related to sexually transmitted diseases, including HPV. Idaho Democratic state Representative Brooke Green, a breast cancer survivor herself, watches these developments with growing concern. “We are seeing several attempts to address some of the scientific tools that are used to create vaccines, mRNA vaccines and so forth,” she says. “As a cancer patient, these are life-saving tools that are helping us.” This year alone, lawmakers in 34 states introduced an astonishing 209 bills seeking to loosen vaccination rules, limit access to certain vaccines, or sow doubt about their safety. Green, who was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2024 just one week before her mother received the same diagnosis, finds herself simultaneously thrilled and worried. “I’m thrilled to see these new innovative advancements in medicine for these vaccines. Now, is it going to be widely accepted?” she asks. “There will be some hesitation and some pushback. But look at the flip side: Do you want breast cancer or do you not? Do you want skin cancer? Do you not?”

Despite these formidable challenges, there remains reason for hope. Chase Johnson, celebrating five years of remission this summer, reports that her anxiety has significantly decreased since receiving the vaccine. “I think I’ll always have some sort of low-grade anxiety about it,” she admits. “But it’s definitely at a much lower level than it was before vaccination. It’s given me a great, great amount of peace of mind.” Her story illustrates the profound human stakes involved in this debate. Behind every statistic about vaccine hesitancy are real people facing terrifying diagnoses, desperately seeking hope. Behind every piece of misinformation is a parent trying to protect their child but being led astray by false claims. The challenge facing the medical community is not just scientific but deeply human—how to rebuild trust in institutions that have served as pillars of public health for generations, how to counter misinformation without dismissing legitimate concerns, and how to ensure that the remarkable scientific advances of our time actually reach the people who need them most. As the biotechnology revolution continues producing new vaccines that could prevent or treat cancer, the battle for public acceptance may prove just as challenging as the scientific work itself. The future of cancer prevention hangs in the balance, and the outcome will depend not just on laboratory breakthroughs but on the collective willingness of Americans to embrace the very tools that could save them.