Chile lanza Campaña de Invierno 2026 para reforzar vacunación y prevención respiratoria

On a winter morning in Quilpué, health officials gathered at a community health center to announce a campaign that would shape how an entire region approaches the coming cold months. The Campaña Comunicacional de Invierno 2026—Chile's winter communication push—was designed to do something deceptively simple: get people vaccinated and keep them out of overwhelmed hospitals.

Winter in Chile brings a predictable surge in respiratory illness. Hospitals fill. Emergency rooms back up. The system strains. This campaign, launched from the Cesfam Alcalde Iván Manríquez facility in Quilpué, was built on a premise that prevention works better than crisis management. The message was direct: wash your hands often, wear a mask if you're sick, open your windows, get vaccinated, and use the healthcare system wisely. Officials framed it as joining #TeamCuidarnos—Team Take Care of Ourselves.

But the numbers told a more complicated story. Across the Valparaíso region, 724,440 people had already received flu vaccines, representing 68.36 percent coverage. That sounds solid until you look closer. Children between six months and five years old—the most vulnerable group—had reached only 60.20 percent coverage. Pregnant women sat at 61.95 percent. Adults over sixty, another high-risk population, had managed just 54.44 percent. These gaps mattered. These were the people most likely to end up in a hospital bed when winter peaked.

Dr. Mariol Luan, the regional health secretary, spoke about hospitals converting beds and preparing space for the surge they knew was coming. "The idea is to prevent," she said, "but if we do get sick, as a health network we are ready." Aroldo Faúndez, acting director of the Viña del Mar-Quillota-Petorca health service, was more blunt: "The most important thing is vaccination, preventing illness. We don't want patients arriving at our facilities. To prevent that, immunization matters." Evelyn Beiza, acting director of primary care for the Aconcagua health service, pointed directly at the problem: "We have very low coverage in children from six months to five years and also in older adults. That's the population most vulnerable to contracting these illnesses in winter."

The municipal government in Quilpué had already been working the ground—setting up vaccination points in health centers, plazas, and metro stations. Patricia Colarte, the municipal secretary general, described the effort as a territorial push to bring immunization to people where they already were. The region had over 180 vaccination centers ready, with hours and locations available online.

But the campaign's real power came from the people who showed up to speak. Carlos Santana, a patient at the health center, said vaccination mattered not just for himself but for everyone around him. Marta Reyes was more direct: "You have to get vaccinated to prevent illness. We know people have died from not getting vaccinated. So we have to invite our neighbors to come get vaccinated, don't be afraid." That last phrase—don't be afraid—captured something essential. Vaccine hesitancy was real. Deaths from preventable respiratory disease were real. The campaign was trying to bridge that gap.

The target groups were specific: people sixty and older, children from six months through fifth grade, pregnant women, people with chronic conditions, educators in early childhood and elementary schools, healthcare workers, and workers in poultry, livestock, and pig farming operations. Each group had a reason to be there. Each group faced real risk.

As winter approached, the campaign's success would depend on whether those coverage gaps could close before the season peaked. The health system was ready. The question was whether enough people would choose prevention over crisis.