February is often called the month of love. We’re encouraged to pause and express affection—sometimes loudly, sometimes symbolically. But as I reflect on this month, especially alongside Black History Month, I am reminded that love has always meant something deeper to me.
In Black history, love has never been passive. It has been an act of resistance, a commitment to truth, and a determination to preserve stories when the world tries to silence them. Love showed up as courage, speaking out when it was dangerous, documenting history when it was inconvenient and standing firm when justice demanded it.
Black History month invites us not only to honor the past, but to consider how its lessons live in the present. It challenges us to ask ourselves whose voices we protect, whose stories we amplify, and how we show up for one another when the stakes are high.
That understanding of love feels especially important in the times we are living in now.
We are navigating a world of deep division, widespread misinformation, and growing efforts to rewrite and erase history. I see it when public records are harder to access, when uncomfortable truths are labeled “biases” and when communities are asked to accept simplified narratives that leave out context, nuance and lived experience, particularly the experiences of Black Americans.
In moments like these, love must be intentional.
For me, this is not abstract. It’s deeply personal. When I think about the future, I think about my granddaughters, Einsleigh and Jerricka. I think about the world they are growing up in, and the one they deserve. I want them to inherit a society that values truth, understands its history and refuses to look away from injustice. I want them to know that their stories matter and that their voices belong in every room.
February also marks the birthday month of my dear friend, Cynthia White. Celebrating her life without her physical presence is a reminder that love does not disappear when someone is gone. It transforms. It deepens. It asks us to carry forward what they poured into our lives.
Cynthia’s friendship was a gift, steady, affirming, honest. In times of challenge and in moments of uncertainty, she showed up. And that kind of love, the kind that shows up consistently, is the same kind of love our communities have relied on for generations. It is the love that sustains movements, preserves history and refuses to let stories be erased.
Love, loss and remembrance are intertwined. They remind us that our lives are connected—to the past, to one another and to the future.
This February, I hold gratitude for the love that surrounds me, reverence for the friends and ancestors whose memories guide me and for the generations coming behind us.
Love endures. Memory matters. And what we choose to carry forward defines us.
This MFP Voices opinion essay reflects the personal opinion of its author(s). The column does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.