There isn’t anything I can say about racism that hasn’t already been said by people more qualified, knowledgeable, and erudite than me. Inexplicably, hate continues to rule. It just so happens that this weekend, I read Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates. I read about the pain of racism, the pervasive fear that it leaves people with, a lifetime of looking over one's shoulder.

And I felt powerless. What can I do, I wondered, against such a tide? As one person, what effect could I hope to have on the wide world?

For a long time, I believed words were the key to it all. As a reader and a writer, it only made sense. Somewhere inside all of us, I figured, was a suppository, a vein full of the perfect words for each situation. If we paid enough attention, we could tap into it. At any moment of tragedy or pain or joy, the right thing to say would be hovering just behind our lips, ready to be released.

But I have come to realize that actually, words can get in the way. We’re so limited, our language so inadequate, that we are all only moments from saying the wrong thing. We grapple with self-expression all the time. Our emotions are so vast that often, we cannot find the exact words to express how we feel. Instead, a lukewarm sentence must stand in for our white-hot emotions.

But why should that matter? Words get in the way. Connection does not equal articulation. We can connect to the people around us in ways that don’t require words, in ways that transcend the boundaries that words necessitate. In a moment of pain, people don’t want to be told that it gets better some day, because they are suffering now. They don’t want platitudes, or pat, emotionless sayings. They want to feel a hand on their arm, comforting them. They want a kind smile from a stranger. They want a hug.

So instead of trying to say the right thing, I will try to do the right thing. I know that no single action of mine, or anyone else’s, can ensure that our problem with race in this country will be solved. It is far too intricate, far too insidious and institutionalized. It will take many, many actions from so many people all over, to help make this problem go away. So I am going to dispose of words, at least for now. At least when it concerns this: the pain that we, as humans, can inflict on one another. Instead of saying anything, I will do what I can to show that, as flawed as we are, as cruel as we can be, there is light in each of us. I will try to be a purveyor of that light, as much as I can be.

And though I’ll be putting the often confusing words aside, there are some that I will use to guide me, a manual to help show me the way. These words come from tracts of knowledge both ancient and new. In Ethics of the Fathers, a compilation of ethical advice from ancient rabbis, we are told, “You are not required to complete the work, but neither are you permitted to desist from it.” I know that I alone, one small human among the mass of this world, cannot finish this, not alone. But I can be responsible for my share of it, whatever the amount.

And in Between the World and Me, Coates ends his treatise on racism by saying, “Do not struggle for the Dreamers. Hope for them. Pray for them, if you are so moved. But do not pin your struggle on their conversion. The Dreamers will have to learn to struggle themselves… I do not believe that we can stop them, Samori, because they must ultimately stop themselves.”