In this op-ed, Char Adams, a black female writer who speaks about racial issues, discusses ways to be a better ally to marginalized people.

The morning after Election Day, I walked in to work devastated, afraid, and angry about the results. I would rather have stayed home in bed, but I put on my big-girl pants and went to the office — where I was met with tears from several of my white coworkers.

As the day progressed, I learned that I, one of the few black women in the office, became the go-to source for my colleagues’ comfort in the wake of the election results. In my eyes, it seemed that they assumed I was used to the oppression they anticipated would come with Trump’s presidency. Thus, they seemed to think I was the perfect person from whom they could draw strength and advice.

“What can we do?” they asked. “I can’t believe this happened.” They’d go on to tell me about their family members and friends who had voted for Donald Trump, saying, “I had no idea they were like that!” Although angry, I was incredulous at neither the outcome nor the fact that their white friends had voted for him — 62% of white male voters cast their ballots for Trump and 52% of white women voters did the same, according to CNN exit polls.

I wanted to tell them that, yes, white men and women will be affected by Trump’s presidency. But for people of color, there is a lot more at stake. I wanted to tell them that because of Trump’s promised “law and order administration,” I am even more afraid to simply walk by a police officer — for fear that I might unjustly join the disproportionately high number of black women being imprisoned.

I wanted to tell them that sustaining a career is already difficult enough with my disability — I have a severe stutter — and the fact that Trump’s administration may weaken enforcement of the Americans With Disabilities Act that I depend on each day causes me to fear for my future. Trump’s properties have been sued for violating the ADA several times, according to MSNBC. If he has not respected that law within his own businesses, I shudder to think of what will become of it over the next four years.

I did not tell my distraught white coworkers these things, though. I was too tired the morning after Election Day to take on the role of educator, and the pain of Trump’s win was still too raw. Instead, I fed them a line I did not even believe: “It will all be okay.”

Last year was difficult for the nation. As 2016 progressed, we saw the deep-rooted oppressive nature of our nation rear its head in a violent way. Trump is now president. And as we’ve spent the last few weeks settling into that reality, my friends, family, and associates have repeatedly asked me the same question my coworkers did: What can we do?

I, as a black, disabled woman, panicked as I watched it all happen. I panicked as I wondered what would happen to my black, 13-year-old sister surrounded by Trump supporters at school in her rural central Pennsylvania hometown. I panicked as I rooted for Bernie Sanders and then Hillary Clinton, hoping either would be victorious. I panicked as I spoke out about why Trump is dangerous and not a joke to be laughed at — and I panicked as the white people around me (supposed allies) continued to write him off.

Throughout the course of his campaign, Trump has made statements targeting Muslims and immigrants, he has vowed to back an anti-LGBTQ bill, he has all but declared war on reproductive rights, he has antagonized African-Americans, and more (much, much more) — all while lying and gaslighting America at every turn.

Trump built his platform on bigotry, intellectual cowardice, and red herrings. His rise to power coincided with a rise in public acts of hate, harassment, and the further normalization of bigotry. In fact, a study from the Southern Poverty Law Center, a civil rights advocacy organization, found that more than 800 incidents, some involving harassment and intimidation against black people, immigrants, and members of the LGBTQ community had occurred in the 10 days following the election.

However, Trump’s rise has proven to be eye-opening for many privileged people, particularly white Americans who had not fully realized the racism embedded in the nation’s foundation. I would love to jump for joy, praising the fact that white people may start to “get it.” But it is concerning that it has taken a political climate as dire as this for people to see the injustice that has been front and center in the nation for centuries. Still, in the wake of Trump’s election, we have seen white men and women donning safety pins to show their loyalty to those discriminated against and to visually announce their status as allies to the oppressed. We have seen hundreds of thousands of white women across the country protest at the recent Women’s March. Much like my coworkers, many of my white peers have begun to take on the title of “ally.”

We’ve seen activists, journalists, and fed-up citizens of many races, sexual orientations, and religions fighting back against Trump’s harmful rhetoric in the face of forceful bigotry.

Well, white allies. You’re up.

I have tried to hold intelligent conversations and debates with many who claimed they “don’t benefit from white privilege.” And one thing I’ve learned, as a black, disabled woman, is this: Oppressors are most receptive to those who share their privilege. Even the most well-meaning white men and women I’ve encountered could not help but, in a way, dismiss my criticisms of inherently racist social, political, and economic culture as irrelevant to their personal experiences. I’d catch some of my dearest friends rolling their eyes when I’d criticize their favorite white feminists for appropriating black culture, and I’ve often been asked by some of my white coworkers why “everything has to be about race.”

I’ve learned that my experiences being slighted as a black woman often have no effect on the everyday lives of white men and women except that it empowers and contributes to the white supremacy from which they benefit.

Now I am hoping that we see action from these newfound allies. I am hoping that the experiences of the oppressed will be heard and considered.

Marginalized groups have fought and battled hard for centuries to secure equality in our nation built on white supremacy. Although we have made great strides, we have also been silenced, erased, and degraded.  And as our battle intensifies in this Trump era, our white allies have a very important job to do: Advocate for us and engage your peers.

Engaging with your fellow privileged white men and women who may find themselves on the wrong side of history is one of the most important ways white people can be active allies to the oppressed. (This is not to say that intersecting oppressions do not include white people.)

There are myriad ways you can actively stand in solidarity with those discriminated against:

Educate yourself.

As the saying goes, knowledge is power. A basic understanding of the intersecting oppressions that the marginalized face in America is key to standing with us. For centuries, intellectuals of many races, religions, and sexual orientations have done great work. For example, legendary novelist Toni Morrison recently wrote about race relations and the dangerous perception of white superiority for The New Yorker. And for Remezcla, Veronica Bayetti Flores wrote about the impact the Pulse nightclub shooting had on the queer Latin community. Those are just two of many great works written by members of marginalized groups. Countless books have been written on the pursuit of justice. Read. Absorb. Understand. Rinse and repeat.

Get involved locally.

Getting involved doesn’t necessarily mean you need to venture too far outside of your own backyard. There are many great justice-seeking organizations. Contact your local chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), Black Lives Matter, etc. These groups need your support. More hands and feet aiding in social justice work only strengthens the cause. Local organizations do the work necessary to influence larger ones. And every person counts in the march toward equality.

Call out your friends, family, and peers on oppressive comments and behavior.

Do not let microaggressions go. A microaggression is a verbal, nonverbal, or environmental — usually racial — slight done either intentionally or unintentionally in daily behavior. For example, asking a multiracial person, “What are you?” in regard to their ethnicity is a microaggression — whether you mean well or not. Calling your peers out on oppressive behavior is a necessary way to interrupt the normalization of racism, sexism, xenophobia, and homophobia. Oppressive behavior usually comes by knowingly or even inadvertently asserting your superiority and the inferiority of someone different from you. Or, as feminist scholar and activist bell hooks said in her 1984 book, Feminist Theory, “Being oppressed means the absence of choices.” When you make it known that offensive comments are just that — offensive — your friend, although they may show resistance, will be forced to think about their behavior. As an ally, it must be made known that your company is a safe space for the oppressed and that you will defend the marginalized at all times. Do not tolerate discrimination in your inner circle, no matter how uncomfortable the ensuing confrontation may be. Those confronted may be stubborn, and likely will, but by condemning every act of discrimination, you make it known that acting in such a way is not okay or normal.

Constantly evaluate yourself.

We are all a work in progress. Most Americans hold some form of privilege, whether it be in terms of race, ability, religion, or sexual identity. We all have to evaluate our behavior — and evaluate it often —  to make sure we are not being oppressive. Social conditioning has led all of us to hold some type of prejudice (as Gail Price-Wise, former president of the Harvard School of Public Health Alumni Council, has explained), and that means we must work that much harder to eradicate it. Evaluate your language, how you interact with people, and even your mannerisms. In other words, check yourself. Examine your behavior and make the necessary changes to be a promoter of equality.

We have a long, difficult road ahead of us. Each and every American has a responsibility to press toward equality. The fight is an individual one as much as it is collective. We all have a job to do: Live out and promote justice in our everyday lives. In our homes and our schools. On the streets and behind closed doors, it is our duty to pursue justice. For white self-proclaimed allies who have recently decided to join the movement: Welcome. It’s time to get to work.