Fetterman’s Step Back Promotes Positive Masculinity Western Response to Turkey, Syria Earthquake Inadequate

Hanna Alwine Opinions Editor

Pennsylvania Senator John Fetterman checked himself into treatment for clinical depression at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center on Feb. 15. A statement released by Fetterman’s office assured that “John is getting the care that he needs, and will soon be back to himself.” The announcement came after Fetterman’s widely publicized, near-fatal stroke last May and a more recent hospitalization on Feb. 8 after a Senate Democratic retreat.

This has come on the heels of a months-long campaign largely focused on Fetterman’s personal style. In order to paint him in a way that reflected the blue- collar values of the moderate and conservative voters, coverage of the campaign focused a disproportionate amount on his clothing. Fetterman’s 6’8” stature, thick eyebrows, and tattooed forearms work together to create an intimidating persona, but it’s his clothes that got the most coverage during his Senate run. He does not look like a traditional politician, and despite his degrees from Harvard and the University of Connecticut, he has used this fact to pose himself as an everyman. The persona he has created caters to a certain image of what traditional masculinity dictates a man should look like — big and strong with little concern for polished fashion or rhetoric. This is part of the reason Fetterman’s admission to the hospital for clinical depression has been so jarring for many of his constituents.

Historically, masculinity within the U.S. and the Western sphere more broadly has been associated with a repression of weakness in order to emphasize strength — both physically and emotionally. This repression, in recent years, has led to the formation of a term we see thrown around regularly online and more recently in political spheres: toxic masculinity. The term was used as early as the 1980s, but really gained traction in popular culture in the 2010s.

Toxic masculinity points to a particular understanding and performance of masculinity that causes harm — sometimes physically, but generally mentally — to its adherents. Researchers have found a connection between this conformation to masculine norms and higher rates of male suicide.

Fetterman’s traditionally masculine image promoted by months of campaign efforts, combined with an admission to needing help with something like mental health, seems revolutionary. His choice to take care of his mental and physical health as a prominent figure in the political sphere presents him as a new type of role model for young people in this country.

Fetterman’s win was highly contentious because the seat he competed for was one that determined the Senate party majority, but the response to his announcement has been largely positive, even among members of the opposing political party. South Dakota Republican Senator John Thune came forward to say, “The more open, transparent people can be, the better our understanding is.” Even Senator Ted Cruz, a prominent detractor of Fetterman during his campaign and a hardline Republican, tweeted out, “Heidi [and] I are lifting John up in prayer. Mental illness is real [and] serious, and I hope that he gets the care he needs.”

The bipartisan support that has been drawn from this campaign is a breath of fresh air in a country that seems increasingly divided. However, I would challenge Republican senators who voiced their support for Fetterman’s withdrawal and bravery to put their money where their mouth is and support mental health initiatives and bills within the Senate. What Fetterman has done is an admirable feat, one that is evidence of a shifting political and national emphasis on the importance of mental health and one that presents a good role model for young boys growing up in a continually shifting political climate.

Feb. 6, 11:20 a.m. “Does anyone hear my voice?” echoed in the streets of Hatay. Voices were heard, but help didn’t arrive until after the 80th hour.

It destroyed around 4,500 buildings. People were nowhere to be found, buried deep underground. Roads were cracked and undrivable, airports damaged and unflyable. The temperature is around 20 degrees Fahrenheit, with heavy snow and a blizzard. How do you send help in those conditions? Where would you put the millions of displaced people? How would you act in the critical 72 hours after an earthquake?

Feb. 6, 1:25 p.m. “Allah, it is happening again. More and more people are screaming. My Allah, help us all.” – a middle-aged man who was recording a video when the second earthquake hit.

The second earthquake, a magnitude of 7.5, struck not long after. It was not a tremor — the first one was so powerful that it triggered the next fault line. The total number of destroyed buildings is now 5,600. Many cities are unreachable. Classes? I am in Turkey currently, sorry. May I be excused? No.

Feb. 7, 7:26 p.m. “‘Where is the help? I have lost my perception of time. Will I survive this?’ were the only things I could think of. I felt like I was buried alive.” –a middle-aged woman who was saved in the 200th hour.

Let’s do some quick math: 5,600 buildings demolished, 385,000 apartments seriously damaged. People were sleeping as the first one hit at night. As-

Continued from page 5 EDITORIAL COMIC sume that we assign 20 rescuers to each destroyed building: that is 112,000 rescuers in total, not even taking damaged buildings into account. Let that number sink in.

Assume, magically, that Turkey found that many rescuers; they still have to get to the area. It’s already been nine hours. We need heavy machinery to remove the concrete. Remember you have no roads, no airports. Transportation to those cities is nearly impossible. The tremors are with magnitudes above 6.0. It is not safe to go down there. By this time, we are begging people to share and donate. Are we on mute?

Feb. 8, 12:28 p.m. “I lost everyone I know. My two daughters, my mom, my dad, my cousins, my aunt. I am a nobody. What’s the point of living?” – a 43 yearold woman, who is now staying at the temporary tents, crying during a news interview.

That’s when the despair sets in like a dark foggy creature sitting on our chests. People have died. Many more will. Not because of the earthquake, but due to terminal dehydration and hypothermia.

My friends and I immediately started to think about how we can help: social media, donations. We need outside help. Where is everyone who shares GoFundMe or Venmo links every day? Oh, right. We are used to tragedy. Surely, we cannot be devastated by this after years of wars and terrorism. I am angry, crying on the phone to my parents: “Do we not matter at all?”

The death toll is already in the thousands. What if I was there

Molly Chapin Staff Illustrator

under the rubble? Would you care then?

Feb. 9, 3:45 p.m. “Adıyaman was left to its destiny. No one came to help. We heard the screams: ‘Does anyone hear my voice? Does anyone hear my voice? Does anyone hear my voice?’ I saw people trying to dig a pathway into the rubble to save their loved ones with bare hands. But we couldn’t do anything. We watched, felt, and heard them die.” – a nurse, who had been working non-stop and interrupted the news conference to voice her grievances.

I am so tired. I am fading.

The death toll is above 43,000 in Turkey, 5,000 in Syria, and 100,000 injured in Turkey, soon to be more. 26 million displaced in Syria and Turkey combined.

Such a poorly handled situation, such insensitivity by the West. I am sorry we are nonwhite. I am sorry we are from the Middle East. I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry. Please help. Please share. Please donate.

I was a zombie for two weeks, I still am. Nightmares, not being able to breathe. Constantly on the news, learning that some people I knew passed away. “Are you okay?”

Turkish culture has always been founded on collectivism. None of us were relieved that some people we know were okay. Not when all those people were suffering, suffocating, fading away. We are one and we are bleeding.

I can’t stop hearing: “Does anyone hear my voice?” Does anyone hear my voice? Why is that so hard to hear?