For a moment, earthquake makes Turkey’s divisions a little smaller

Teenagers stand in line shivering in the snow to give blood. A few kilometers away, families stand with boxes full of winter clothes at a donation center. On social media, bank accounts are shared to send money for earthquake victims in southeast Turkey. 

People are filling the gap where the government is falling short of helping and rescuing victims of the Feb. 6 earthquake – a 7.8 magnitude temblor that is one of the deadliest ever to hit Turkey and Syria.

It’s part of a nationwide swell of unity and unconditional sympathy for the thousands of victims and their families emerging from the chaos and grief – even as Turks accuse the government of neglect in disaster response. 

Before the quake and dozens of aftershocks took more than 11,000 lives in Turkey alone, the nation was politically polarized, with resentment voiced against migrants who were blamed for an ailing economy and inflation. 

In an apparent move to curb disinformation and criticism, the government on Wednesday blocked social media – even though it’s a channel of communication for volunteers and families of victims.

But – at least for the short term – the disaster has palpably shifted the mood to one of solidarity in this deeply nationalistic country of 85 million.

Jihan Hajbakri, a Syrian journalist from Hatay on the border of Syria, says she’s grateful for the sudden unity. She lost 50 members of her family. Her husband and two children survived.

“There are many efforts to help, perhaps so far they have not reached everyone because of the disaster, but I appreciate what everyone is doing to help the victims,” says Ms. Hajbakri.

Dozens of countries are sending money, rescue teams, and even rescue dogs to help. The United States is sending two search and rescue teams, each with 79 people, and Los Angeles County is sending 100 firefighters and engineers. Even Afghanistan – in the midst of a dire humanitarian crisis – is sending $166,000 to both Turkey and Syria.

The relief efforts are complicated by the freezing weather – rescue teams and aid are just arriving in some areas three days later. Ten cities are officially in a state of emergency. 

Demir Karabacak is a student at Bosphorus University and a member of the youth political group Gençlik Komiteleri, which normally lobbies for worker rights. But they are collecting tents, sleeping bags, canned and baby food, and winter clothes and shipping them by road to earthquake victims. It can take more than 20 hours to reach some of the villages in the snow.

“We had to take action. The government doesn’t reach all the places. We took responsibility, even though it’s not what we normally do,” Mr. Karabacak says in an office full of somber volunteers, much like volunteer gathering points in virtually every neighborhood.

One woman comes in with a suitcase full of winter coats, and team members pack the clothes in boxes. Young men and women talk on the phone to their group members in the southeast. 

Mr. Karabacak reaches out to Mert Batur, a paralegal, who has just arrived in Malatya from Istanbul after 26 hours of driving with food and medicine for victims. Mr. Batur says 18 aid vehicles are on the way, but it’s not enough.

“We really need proper equipment to dig. Usually, the government’s emergency teams do this, but this earthquake is beyond the government’s capacity. It’s just too big. We all need to pitch in,” Mr. Batur says, his voice shaking from the cold outside.

In Hatay and Kahramanmaraş, entire blocks have been reduced to rubble, and nowhere is safe inside because of structural damage and possible aftershocks. Roads and airports are damaged, and there are few flights to get people in and out. 

Survivors say they had to dig with their hands to find loved ones under fallen buildings. 

The journalist Ms. Hajbakri is safe with her children now in the capital, Ankara, while her husband stays behind in Hatay to search for missing relatives. She’s grateful, but also disappointed that the Turkish government wasn’t faster in sending rescue teams and aid. More lives might have been saved, she says. 

“There was no rescue team. The city was not prepared for such a catastrophe,” Ms. Hajbakri says, crying on a phone interview. “My home is leveled. The help is chaotic. Everyone is trying to rescue who they know. People now only go to the buildings where they hear people calling out.”

But the calls are fewer and fainter, as fatalities increase, people interviewed in four cities say.

For the moment, quake chaos has relieved high political tension that was mounting for upcoming elections May 14. In addition to blatant xenophobic resentment of Kurdish and Syrian migrants and immigrants, Turks on all political sides were casting blame back and forth for inflation, censorship, the high cost of housing, and security concerns. And as the nation recovers, there are already questions about what happened to funds from tax hikes for preparedness and enforcement of building codes following the major earthquake in 1999 that killed 17,000 people near Istanbul.

Hunadah Hariri, a Syrian graduate student and activist who fled the war in Syria to live in Turkey, survived the earthquake with her sister and 10-year-old niece in their four-story apartment in Gaziantep. They are staying in a shelter in an art center with their cat.

Despite the national solidarity, Ms. Hariri, no stranger to discrimination, says the poorer neighborhoods suffer disproportionately, losing more lives because of older, shoddier buildings.

Nevertheless, she’s touched by the camaraderie.  

“One very positive feeling that I was very surprised at was the overwhelming warmth of people. Honestly, it was magical,” Ms. Hariri says. “I’m in contact with people I have not been in contact with in years, and they are so genuine. And you start appreciating things. We were lucky. 

“But I feel guilty that so many others are under the rubble.”