Love can feel like the softest of sentiments. Especially when we’re surrounded by cookie cutter templates of what it looks like, on a day like Valentine’s Day.
Even if you don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day, you can make your love a form of resistance to commodification, resistance to the superficiality of pinks and reds and cuddly toys. If you do celebrate it, enjoy the hearts, flowers, cards and meals. Make your love a form of resistance in a world of growing hate, division and despair. Make it intentional, a statement of humanity, respect and value for another.
Stories that make the news often depict such templates of love, that don’t fit the soft focus Hollywood or Hallmark depictions.
A mother in Afghanistan educating her daughters at home in the face of erasing women and their rights is love as resistance. Images of a wedding in Gaza amid the destruction is the real-life version of love as resistance. The photographs of medics treating orphaned children in the destruction of Palestinian hospitals, rescuing babies under rubble – this tenderness is love as resistance.
In London, the imam who in 2017 stood over a terrorist who attacked the Finsbury Park mosque to protect him from being attacked by crowds may be described as a hero – he was recognised for his heroism. But his act of saving the man should also be seen as an act of his love in the face of discord and violence.
In the same year, in the US, two men were stabbed to death on a train in Portland, Oregon, defending Muslims from slurs. That incident can also be seen as love as resistance. There are countless brave acts of love. The women’s marches holding hands, the peace marches with people from all backgrounds.
Too often, we see stories of hate and division on the news, on social media. But even in these spaces, we so often also see stories that stand out, that become the blood in the veins of our social discourse.
There are so many other examples that give voice to love and humanity. And poets and musicians and artists understand this all too well. Mahmoud Darwish through his poetry resisted with love. So did Umm Kulthum, Fayrouz and many others through their songs.
Love is powerful in all its forms – romantic, familial, and communal. It is the ultimate tool in times of hardship. Through storytelling, love is not just experienced – it is documented and shared.
Those who seek to oppress and dehumanise will seek to erase the stories of love. And often the most striking of these are found in the most difficult circumstances.
In Gaza last year, when three-year-old Reem was killed, we saw the deep emotion of her Palestinian grandfather Khaled Nabhan, who called her the "soul of my soul". His existential love for her can also be considered resistance against oppression . And people stood with him a year later when he too was killed. There are so many such stories just in Gaza.
Love is not passive. It is an act of defiance. In today's world, it is our distinction from Al. It is about speaking up when silence is demanded. It is about loving the truth, facts and justice in a world that can seek to distort and destroy them.
As we increasingly walk in the shadow of polarisation and confusion, we can become tired and disoriented, unable to resist feeling defeated. And too tired for resistance can mean too tired for love. Because hate is easier.
I think of my own story. Years ago, I wrote a book titled Love in a Headscarf, a tale of my search for love. At the time, I thought it was just my story. But now I see it as an act of resistance, in the face of constantly being told love wasn’t for Muslim women, for South-Asian women. That as a woman with such an identity, I wasn’t seen as worthy of love or with a right to it. To challenge that, my story for me became one of love as resistance.
Your love is also resistance. Your love is an act of defiance that asserts your existence beyond mere survival. It is a declaration that you are not just alive – you are human.
