26 minute read
SEARCHING FOR STABILITY AMIDST SICKNESS
SEARCHING FOR STABILITY AMID SICKNESS
For years, my aunt told my mom and me that the two of us needed to watch the show Gilmore Girls together. But between her long work hours and my need to over-pack my schedule, we never found the time to sit down and watch the show. In June of 2020, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and weekly episodes of Gilmore Girls found their way into our routine as part of our search for a sense of stability.
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My mom and I created a ritual after her chemotherapy appointments. She would come home from the hospital, exhausted and defeated. She would then lament about a nurse not being able to find her vein or about the cold cap, meant to protect her hair, not fitting tightly enough around her head. After a grilled chicken breast dinner—it was always grilled chicken breast—we would retreat to my family’s bulky, off-white sofa to hide away for the rest of the night. Each episode of Gilmore Girls we watched was followed by a “one more?” until one of us could no longer keep their eyes open.
During our Gilmore Girls nights, I could sense that she was in pain. When she first received her diagnosis, we were told that the cancer was not aggressive, and she would never need any chemo or radiation treatments. After a failed lumpectomy and mastectomy, it became clear that this was not the case. She spent long days in the hospital being poked and prodded; the chemo nauseated her, the cold cap gave her migraines, and her arms were bruised with the remnants of missed needles. But, despite all of this, we never broke our routine. It was sacred.
At times, the show felt repetitive. After four or five sequential episodes, it was easy to feel sick of the quaint and quirky charm of suburban Connecticut. But during the worst of the pandemic, Stars Hollow, the idyllic, suburban setting of the show, felt like a second home. New York City, my hometown, saw some of the highest COVID numbers in the nation—hospitals saw cases and deaths like never before. The sirens of ambulances could be heard at all times of night, and there was even a makeshift COVID treatment center constructed in the middle of Central Park. In the midst of the insanity of the world around us, Stars Hollow was simple, unchanging, and provided the exact sense of stability we were searching for.
I was terrified of bringing this disease into my home, as my mom’s
By Sophie Fishman
immune system was extremely fragile from her treatments. As a result, we rarely left our apartment over the course of the next several months. During the summer of 2020, while cases in New York began to decrease and the city started to ease its restrictions, my family and I remained shut down. Instead of reuniting with our friends and extended family, my mom and I had Lorelai and Rory to keep us company.
One afternoon, my mom came back in tears from a walk with an old friend. She was reaching the end of her first round of chemo at the time and had been holding on tight to what little hair she had left. During this walk, her friend had been making snide comments about her thinning hair, telling her to “just cut it off.” For my mom, who is typically a composed figure, this distress felt out of character—in the grand scheme of what she had lost in the past few months, her hair felt the most trivial. But her friend’s comments hurt her, and she decided it was time to let go. Later that day, we bought a pair of scissors and cried together as I cut off what little hair remained on her head.
That day was the first time I ever saw her cry. I knew she was embarrassed to be displaying this emotion in front of me. At that moment, I was reminded of an episode of Gilmore Girls we had watched the night before. In season four, Lorelai falls into a significant amount of debt and has to ask a friend to loan her the money. Feeling like a failure, she breaks down into tears. My mom could not be more different than Lorelai Gilmore; while Lorelai is messy and obnoxious, my mom is organized and kind. Despite their differences, they are both deeply afraid of relying on others and feeling vulnerable. Beyond the daily Gilmore Girls episodes, my mom letting herself rely on me is what truly brought us closer together.
The morning of my mom’s first chemo appointment, I woke up with a sore throat. Fearing the worst, I ran four blocks to my nearest Urgent Care, in tears, for a COVID test. After three days of anxious self-isolation, my test came back negative. Confused, I attributed this sudden onset of sickness to a cold or hypochondria, but when I woke up with a similarly-painful sore throat the morning of her second, third, and fourth appointments, I knew the cause of my symptoms went beyond just that.
My body has always been prone to stress—come finals season, I always find myself fighting off a cold or a fever. Usually, a few days of rest can alleviate my symptoms, but the piling up of stressors during that time began to take a more serious toll on my body and overall well-being. During my sick days, I found it hard to do even simple tasks like getting out of bed and eating. These days led me to miss days of school, and eventually fall behind in most of my classes.
The worst part of these sick days was the guilt. Seeing how much pain my mom was in made me feel selfish and attention-seeking for feeling unwell. Despite the physical and academic discomfort I experienced, it all felt so trivial in comparison to what she was going through. When she was first diagnosed, I promised myself that I would be a stable and reliable figure for her in such a turbulent and chaotic time in her life—how could I be anything less than strong for the person who has dedicated their life to me? My mind was practically begging me to be strong, but my body could not follow suit.
On a Friday morning in December, I found myself on the verge of missing a fifth consecutive day of school due to illness. Receiving multiple texts from concerned friends, I recognized that I could not continue to do this alone. I realized that, in my attempts to be strong for those around me, I was actually hurting them more. Allowing myself to be vulnerable with my friends after choking down my anxieties and fears for months was what really saved me during this whole ordeal. There were so
many people in my life who wanted to be there for me and to support me; I just had to let them. At the same time, I learned that it was possible to be strong for my mom while also investing in my mental health. Attending therapy twice a week allowed me to work through the anxiety I was feeling in a healthy and productive way. In the end, it was more comforting for my mom to know that I was getting help rather than suffering in silence. A friend of mine recently told me that my love for my mom was one of my most defining personality traits. I was initially taken aback by that statement because I feel it’s usually reserved for people who tell their parents a little too much about their lives. But, upon reflection, I think it’s true. During my I PROMISED MYSELF THAT I WOULD BE A first few months at Tufts, I felt incredSTABLE AND RELIABLE FIGURE FOR HER IN ibly homesick—it was the first time I had spent the Jewish High Holidays SUCH A TURBULENT AND CHAOTIC TIME away from my family, and Medford just felt so small in comparison to IN HER LIFE—HOW COULD I BE ANYTHING New York. These waves of sadness LESS THAN STRONG FOR THE PERSON WHO and nostalgia often led to distressed phone calls home with my concerned HAS DEDICATED THEIR LIFE TO ME? mother on the other end of the line. During one particularly teary phone call, my mom suggested I watch an episode of Gilmore Girls. We had not seen an episode of the show since she had completed her last round of chemo. I did not know if I could get the same effect from watching it alone, nor did I care to be reminded of the negative circumstances around my watching of the show. Despite my reservations, I heeded her advice, I turned off the lights in my dorm, and started the show from Season One, Episode One. I immediately felt at home; something about the beautiful simplicity of Stars Hollow and its residents felt familiar, and I felt connected to my home, despite being hundreds of miles away. Now, when I’m in search for a little bit of stability, Gilmore Girls offers comfort. Despite the painful context around my viewing of the show, it reminds me of all of the people in my life who were there for me when I needed them—especially my mom.
TRY NOT TO LAUGH AT
TFL COMEDY By Clara Davis With reporting contributions by Mariana I. Janer Agrelot
It’s not SNL. No cisgender white men here. TFL comedy operates as the only comedy club on campus exclusively for women, nonbinary students, and trans men, opening doors and Zoom rooms for these students in the cis male-dominated world of comedy. e comedy group uses a diverse set of media to perform comedy, including standup and sketches in both video and live formats.
TFL originated on campus in 2016 as Tu s Funny Ladies, a Facebook group made up of students in other Tu s comedy groups who wanted a place to discuss the challenges of being in male-dominated comedy spaces. e group rebranded as TFL later that year, stripping the acronym of its female connotation to better commit themselves to creating an inclusive space for all types of gender minorities that may not necessarily identify as “ladies,” like nonbinary people and trans men. is change in name was only the beginning. Former TFL president, senior Alex Soo, said that to facilitate more than just a “super cial type of change,“ TFL’s rebranding involved a culture shi within the organization, including who serves on the executive board, and with the content TFL produces.
Jamie Boots, a junior and the Head of Film for Tu s Institute Sketch Comedy, believes TFL has had an impact on the larger comedy scene on campus. “It is really di cult for women and nonbinary people to gain a presence within the community for many reasons,” Boots said. “[TFL] gives people the opportunity to… see what [gender minorities] can add to the comedy community.”
Junior Grace Abe, who is Head of Acting at TFL, said she goes to see other Tu s groups’ shows as well. “I think [the other Tu s comedy groups] are all great… they each provide… a di erent space [and] a di erent way of doing comedy that can t
everyone’s interests.”
TFL shows o en bring the quirks of Tu s culture to center stage, with recent sketches poking fun at the tacit rule to avoid conversation with people you know while waiting in line in the mailroom, and providing humorous explanations for why students spend so much time in the genderneutral bathrooms at Tisch. is relatable content keeps audiences engaged. eir show on February 26 attracted a group that is estimated to be their largest yet—both on the stage and in the audience.
“ e reason I keep coming back to TFL shows is because the writers o en draw from relatable and niche Tu s experiences like the mail room line into their scripts,” sophomore Aarushi Dabas, who attended the February show, wrote in a statement to the Tu s Observer. “ e jokes are extremely witty and so unpredictable.”
In addition to jokes aimed at community issues, some TFL members get personal in their comedy, especially during standup sets. “We’re all about breaking the boundaries here at TFL,” said sophomore Casey Weaver, Head of Standup at TFL. “We want to deal with the weird, cathartic stu , which impacts our comedy… ere’s de nitely a lot of trauma dumping going on, but at the same time, it is incredibly empowering sharing our experiences to an audience that is listening to us with [so] much attention,” she said.
At the February 26 show, junior Nuria Lizarraga embraced this culture at TFL to poke fun at her own life. “One of [the sketches] is pretty much about my old boyfriends, [whom] I describe in way-toospeci c detail,” said Lizarraga, Co-Head of Public Relations at TFL. “I think it’s pretty cathartic and all part of the whole ‘sketches getting personal’ part of TFL.”
Soo previously performed a piece about an ex at a TFL show. “I kind of reclaimed what happened to me because I was able to use it… At least I got material from it [and] was able to make [it] an empowering experience for myself and… translate that into humor,” e larger world of cis male-dominated comedy o en perpetuates prejudice by “punching down,” or making jokes about a marginalized group one is not a part of. In contrast, TFL can act as a safe space for people of marginalized identities to “punch up” towards more privileged people. Soo said, “A lot of other people in the club also [turn personal experiences into comedy] when they talk about the parts of themselves that are [marginalized].”
24 TUFTS OBSERVER MARCH 14, 2022
When comedy draws from personal experiences related to gender and ethnic identity, “it is super important to acknowledge… the fact that one person’s experience of their identity and how they choose to create comedy about it is not going to be universal,” said Weaver. TFL is cognizant that comedy about these topics evolves by engaging in “ongoing conversation of how we talk about our identities through a comedic lens,” said Weaver.
Dabas wrote, “Jokes about the immigrant experience at Tu s don’t really land for me.” She continued, “It’s stu I’ve already heard (and experienced) before that wasn’t super pleasant in the moment, like mispronouncing my name or my home food being “smelly” to the white kids.” Dabas went on to write that she doesn’t want to discourage other comedians from re ecting on their experiences. At the same time, she wrote, “Some of my friends and I also related to the experience of the name mispronunciation and re ected on the bad times it recalled for us instead of laughing at it in the moment.”
In a written statement to the Observer, Weaver emphasized TFL’s commitment to creating “a safe and comfortable experience for their audiences”—especially when the subject matter is related to “jokes surrounding identity.” “We work to be extremely conscious of ensuring that [the jokes] are coming from a place of the writer/performer’s individual experience with the goal of providing a venue for self-expression,” Weaver said.
Within the club, TFL leaders run workshops and closely mentor members in order to ensure their comedy is as strong as possible. Being a non-audition group, TFL attracts some students who don’t have any experience in comedy or acting or perhaps only have experience from a high school improv troupe. Abe said that TFL’s commitment to running workshops to help their members sets them apart from other comedy groups on campus. For students who have o en already been made to feel “unfunny” because of their gender, the stakes while performing on stage feel higher. “I always, always do my best [to mentor members], and I will never ever let them op,” Soo said.
Along with close mentorship, TFL strives to build a strong community amongst its members. Soo shared that when she rst joined TFL, she didn’t immediately feel welcome. “[My] rst semester, some people on e-board didn’t know my name or they mixed me up with another Asian comedian woman, which was really uncomfortable.” In her time as president, she worked to use her leadership skills to improve the club’s culture.
“[ e makeup of e-board] is one way representation matters,” Soo added. As part of TFL’s e-board, she believes she was able to encourage more people of color to join the group. Junior Sam McQuaid, Co-Head of Public Relations at TFL, credited Soo with “working to diversify TFL racially.” In turn, Soo said she was encouraged by McQuaid’s position on e-board, as a trans e-board member. “Having a wide array of experiences, perspectives, and voices makes us a better and funnier club,” McQuaid wrote in a statement to the Observer.
TFL’s culture now includes many inside jokes, as you may expect from a comedy group. During the interview, Soo texted a TFL group chat asking if she should tell the Observer that TFL is “a cult.” ey also like to call themselves “hot and funny”—which started as a bit, but according to Soo has since become “another layer of empowerment.”
TFL also has “lore” gathered from di cult experiences producing content. “We’re banned from the Powder House Dunkin for doing one of our sketches in there, we can’t even enter, I swear,” Weaver said. She added in a written statement for the Observer that TFL had been trying to quickly lm a sketch, but got sidetracked when an MIT student musician approached the members about needing a videographer. “Overall, it’s a funny story to consider in the TFL lore, and a testament to the lengths Alex [Soo], and our group, is willing to go for the content we produce.”
Some of TFL’s most inventive sketches included “ e First Frat” and “First Local Chapter,” both written and directed by Soo. ey imagine how college fraternities would function if they were transported to the 1400s. “ ey are so well written and every single joke lands for me... the posh accent and ‘old English’ with modern-day slang and phrases is so paradoxical and strange that it’s funny,” Dabas wrote in a statement to the Observer. While Soo said “[her] goal is never to upset the Tu s community,” she does aim to “say something in a way that maybe people haven’t thought about before and maybe just bring a new voice to the table.” In the “First Local Chapter” sketch, this meant criticizing Greek life.
For Soo, “[making something into comedy] doesn’t take away from the gravity of the situation, it just gives humans the ability to get through it, day by day… so I think that’s something that has helped… You know, life is just too hard to go through without trying to make it a little bit funny.”
UNPACKING UKRAINE
INVASION AND RESISTANCE
By Layla Kennington
In the days since February 24, Ukraine has been rocked by the perpetual siege of Russian forces. This war, which marks a contrast from the relative peace that characterizes postWorld War II Europe, has taken the continent by storm, marking a newfound era of outright aggression and Russian backlash against the West. In its brief 30-year history, Ukraine, a country with democratic leanings, has routinely been caught between the influences of the West and Russia, with whom Ukraine shares a significant degree of culture and history. This clash of influences is a core cause of the ensuing conflict, one which leaves over 40 million Ukrainians at the behest of an uncertain power struggle between its invaders and the rest of the international community.
To understand the unfolding of the conflict, it is important to recall the historical relationship between Russia and the West during the Cold War and the eventual dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991. For Russia, this dissolution translated to a fundamental loss of global power; for the United States and its allies, it ensured the reign of Western dominance. In the years since the fall of the Soviet Union, NATO, the security alliance between the United States and its European allies, has expanded, inching eastward into former Soviet territory. Russia, specifically its president Vladimir Putin, who has called the collapse of the Soviet Union “the greatest geopolitical catastrophe of the 20th century,” views this growth as a security threat. Arik Burakovsky, the assistant director of the Russia and Eurasia program at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, outlined Russia’s growing agitation with NATO expansion. “Back in December, the Russian Foreign Ministry submitted draft treaties to NATO and the United States... ask[ing] for a variety of security guarantees,” Burakvosky said. These security guarantees revolved around the military activities of Western powers in the region, and, notably, the promise that Ukraine, a former Soviet republic, be denied NATO membership. Burakovsky explained, “When the United States and NATO did not make concessions to Russia, Putin decided that it was time to act.” On March 8, 13 days after the beginning of the invasion, Ukraine’s President, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, declared he would no longer be pressing for Ukrainian NATO membership, a decision seen by many as a move to placate Moscow.
In a speech released in the early hours of February 24, Putin made his case for the “special military operation,” that is the invasion of Ukraine, “It is a fact that over the
past 30 years we have been patiently trying to come to an agreement with the leading NATO countries regarding the principles of equal and indivisible security in Europe... We cannot stay idle and passively observe these developments... For our country, it is a matter of life and death, a matter of our historical future as a nation.”
Burakovsky gave further insight into Putin’s claims to Ukraine, “Russia sees Ukraine as part of its identity. In some sense, the birthplace of Russia is Kyiv.” The relationship between Russia and Ukraine begins with Kievan Rus, the first East Slavic state. The fall of Kievan Rus in the 13th century led to the region being split into pieces that eventually evolved into the modern states of Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus. Russia and Ukraine are additionally both successor states of the Soviet Union.
Artem Dinh, a third-year Ukrainian student, also spoke on the interlinked historical identities between Ukraine and Russia, “The impact of this conflict is you have people fighting other people that share nearly the same identity; they share the same balances. They watch the same TV shows, they listen to the same music, they watch the same movies, they use the same flags.”
Despite the countries’ shared history, Ukraine has fought for its independent identity; it is a nation with its own language, culture, and political system. Since Ukrainian independence in 1991, the country has moved towards becoming a young democracy, unlike Russia, which has moved increasingly towards autocracy, a system in which absolute power rests with a single individual. For Putin, Ukrainian democracy is an ideological shift that places the nation deeper under the West’s influence. Burakovsky explained how this shift has led to Putin’s current efforts, “[He] wants to make sure that the government in Kiev is loyal to Russia.”
Oxana Shevel, an associate professor specializing in the politics of the post-Communist region surrounding Russia, outlined the consequences of the ensuing conflict. “For Ukraine, it’s an existential threat to its survival as a sovereign state.” Additionally, “the very idea that in this age a member of the Security Council [Russia] can violate the UN Charter and the principles of
international law and try to annihilate neighboring countries’ sovereignty… has implications for the kind of world we live in.”
Sam Farbman, an international relations major studying the former Soviet Union, outlined the conflict’s global implications, “At this point, the real issue here is that this is bigger than just Ukraine. This is a complete shift in the world order. This is a complete shift in what we know about diplomacy in the world. And this is setting the stage for more aggressive foreign policy and raised tensions.” Burakovsky added to this sentiment, “We’re in a new era of global politics, we’re back to the era of realism where might makes right, and the use or the threat of the use of force decides the course of events,” On campus, the ramifications of the conflict are widely felt. Dinh spoke on the war’s impact on his friends in Ukraine. “I have a lot of friends in Ukraine; those that I have been in touch [with]... they’re all on the frontlines fighting right now [and they are] the same age as we are… the others are waiting to get drafted [or] staying in the underground basement, in the capital city that is getting shot at every day. [there is] fighting going on the streets every day... they’re all targets of the invasion,” he said.
Dzheveira Karimova, a Russian first-year who has been highly involved in activism and advocacy surrounding the conflict on campus, lamented the inaction of the wider Tufts community, “It’s been very interesting to see the dynamic on campus because so many students are still uneducated about what’s going on. So many students still think that it’s like some sort of joke, and especially when they learn that you’re from the region, they think that it’s the most hilarious thing they’ve ever said to say ‘Happy World War III’ to you when there’s so much turmoil going on.”
Dinh and Dzheveira, along with other students, have organized and attended rallies throughout Boston, with the explicit intent to push the governments of Western countries to further support Ukraine and its people. On March 2, Tufts Community members gathered outside of the Mayer Campus Center, chanting “Act now!” and “Support Ukraine!” The organizers have also created a website with educational resources, lists of nonprofits, and other ways to support those impacted. Their Instagram account @tuftshelpukraine provides further information on how Tufts students can support Ukraine and become involved in related events on campus.
In an email to the community sent on March 4, nine days after the invasion began, the Tufts administration expressed, “solidarity with the people of Ukraine… and deepest concern for those impacted by the tragedy of war unfolding there.”
But for many students, the email fell short compared to the actions taken by other universities. “MIT released a statement immediately, [saying] ‘please let us know what kind of support you need, we will cancel all of our partnership with our Russian partners, to Russian labs, Russian universities, here’s all the support that you need.’ But Tufts at the same time did not even make a statement… it took the 100-person rally for Tufts
to just write three paragraphs saying, ‘Oh, I’m sorry… war must suck for you’… that’s basically all we got,” Dzheveira said.
She added, “the mental health services are booked a month in advance, so it’s really hard to get any mental health counseling. And we have a lot of students who have family in Ukraine, like cousins [or] grandparents, and they literally have to check every second if they’re still alive. And it takes a toll on you, especially when you’re still a student. Students don’t know how to request academic flexibility.”
Dinh and Dzheveria, along with freshman Eulalia Tisnovsky, sent an email imploring the university for more support. “In the email sent by the administration, there was no promise of taking concrete action… We ask for your immediate support to all the students who are impacted by this war. Tufts must recall and embrace its history and tradition of advocacy for democratic values and its international leadership in higher education to bring political change and support Ukraine. We believe that Tufts will use its power to help end violence and human rights violations in Ukraine.”
As of March 7, nearly 2 million people have fled Ukraine, and the United Nations has recorded at least 752 civilian casualties. These figures are expected to rise as Russian forces continue their siege. The United States, European Union, and other nations have unveiled numerous economic sanctions on Russia in retaliation; however, the violence continues, and is now entering its second week. The Ukrainian forces, underestimated by Russian forces, have prevailed in resisting the invasion thus far.
Dzheveria finished with a final plea to the Tufts community, “Please stay educated and don’t think that it’s some sort of abstract issue that WWyou can ignore, or you can joke about. There are real people on campus who are being directly impacted by this. So please be mindful of what you say… please support those affected… and please donate.”
