Sitting in a Starbuck’s in KCMO. Listening to Brittney Cooper narrate her book Eloquent Rage and writing the words “How are you living as an anti-racist?” on my empty grande paper cup. As I ask myself where I was mentally when the Nigerian school girls were kidnapped in 2014, I know I was absent. Absent from the fight to make these girls “important enough” (Cooper’s words) for the US to take action and rescue them from a horrific fate. I needed to be there in that moment.

I strive now to be present. I do not always succeed. Some days it feels like too much to read one more news story about a young Black man assaulted or shot in the name of the almighty law or how the US government broke every treaty made with Native Americans. And this, my readers, is white privilege. I have the privilege to turn the other way and close myself off to the truths people of color must grapple with and fight every day. I can save a news story for later and read it or not. It may sit “saved” without my ever looking at the headline again, much less the details of the story revealing a reality I do not have to see if I choose not to.

However, neither reading a story later nor ignoring it completely is acceptable. If I am going to call myself an accomplice in the fight against racism, I need to show up every day. Every. Damn. Day. Emotional energy depleted or not, I have an obligation as a white person who wants to be better and do better.

My accomplice role, and I feel both compelled and honored to fight for it, is not an accessory, an outfit, or pair of shoes that can be put on or taken off at whim. If so, I cannot–must not–claim it. I have no desire to be an ally. Not that I am suggesting others should not do the work of an ally. For me, an ally is not enough. My obligation to my community means living in the trenches and fighting diligently not occasionally when convenient. I must take the time to work on this consistently.

As I was drawing on my cup, I saw one of “my” Black Student Union student’s messages on our organization’s GroupMe. She was wishing me a happy birthday and thanked me for being a “wonderful” advisor. Her words made me teary, both because these Black students honor me with their trust as a white advisor and because more white people need to be present for these Black students and the Black communities around them. C’mon, white folks, do better. I know I need to.

(Written on a receipt from my dog’s vet on Dec. 28. Typed up and edited Jan. 2.)