Byline: Emerald Anderson-Ford

I find myself at a loss for anything other than words of mourning intertwined with rage at what is transpiring in Gaza. Last Monday, seven World Central Kitchen (WCK) aid workers were murdered in a missile attack in the deconflicted zone of Gaza.

As I sit writing this, I’m warring with myself over if I should write the words that are bubbling to the surface. I like to use this platform to shed light on the issues and realities of Black folk, and Black folk in NH, more specifically. The beginning of this Women’s History Month however, has me reflecting on the sisterhood, how we act out solidarity with each other, and ways that we can continue to be better at building one another up in love and community. 

Black History Month offers many ways to engage with and understand the history, contributions, and excellence of the Black community and African diaspora. The month often serves as the only time in which people actively acknowledge all that Black people have endured and persevered through, most likely highlighting the extraordinary. 

Often, there is an unspoken understanding that the month of February should invoke strong feelings of pride, determination, and motivation for everyone, but most notably those who identify as Black or African American. And while that is certainly true for a lot of people, there is a more complex understanding of how the celebration of Black History Month can feel, when Black folk are a small minority population of an area. Those complexities can usher in mixed feelings about Black identity and its perception of the diaspora at large. 

In 2020, New Hampshire’s Black population was recorded as roughly 21,000 people, according to census data; that’s about 2% of the total population of the state. If there are 21,000 Black people in the Granite State, one has to assume that there are 21,000 ways to be Black.