Dear Black Friends: What would you have me do?

I'm aware my choice of title may come across as defensive, but it isn't.

I am increasingly aware and deeply troubled by racism.

I have witnessed, and been infuriated by, institutional racism, and I have seen white privilege at play. One example that I really hit close to home was in my 9 months counseling at the homeless shelter, I saw white men barely sober a few months given opportunity after opportunity, regarded as tragic stories of unfulfilled potential, while black men 10 years sober with proven work ethic were overlooked because they were treated as though their history was a reflection of their choices, and ultimately their character.I do not feel that those experiencing white privilege should lose those privileges, I feel that those privileges are a model for what should be available to everyone. Every person should be seen for the potential they have yet to fulfill.

But as I awaken to the breadth and extent of racism that continues to be present in our culture, I am horrified to realize that the position I am in at this point is that of bystander.

The role I have been playing in this conversation has been too close to those situations where a murder takes place on a street overlooked by dozens of windows, where nobody called the police, and nobody came to help.

I am really sorry.

We all hear stories of that sort of thing happening and think "if I had been there I would have helped!" 

But here so many of us are, watching through the window or drowning out the ruckus, thinking "Well, I'm not the one committing the crime, and I'm not the victim, so what could I possibly do about it? I'm sure someone else better qualified will come along and intervene."

I do not want to be that. I am repulsed by the thought that I have done that. 

I am heartbroken for the harm racism is inflicting on my brothers and sisters, an I am horrified at my own apparent complacence about it. It is not enough for me to love you, and to respect you and your background and recognize that you are in no way less valuable than anyone else because of the color of your skin.

But I realized, too, that I do not know how best to leverage my white voice to help you. I will not be so arrogant as to believe that I could possibly be in a position to offer a solution to a crime that does not threaten me.

The best I can be is a tool or a megaphone in your hands, black friends. I know that some of my role is to speak on your behalf to those too racist to listen to you directly.

But beyond that, and I know that there is a lot beyond that, I do not know what to do.

So I pose the question to you, in a posture of genuine submission:

How best can I back you up?

What would you have me do?