I was pregnant when Trayvon Martin was killed. This week, I had to watch my seven-year-old learn about George Floyd over Zoom

“You good?”

It’s a phrase that I’ve been asked a lot lately.

My family calls me to see if I’m safe, and how I’m bearing up with all of that “craziness”; my colleagues check in on me if I’m on a deadline or they need to decompress.

My answers usually include some version of this: “I’m OK… I’m holding up.”

The truth is I’m not OK. As I write this, day three of Los Angeles’s citywide curfew is in effect. There are protests taking place less than six miles away from me in each direction. You’d never know it, though, because in this historically black enclave of south Los Angeles, everybody is inside. Ironic given that almost 30 years ago it was home to the 1992 LA Uprising (dubbed the Rodney King Riots).

Things feel deceptively idyllic here. By day, people tend to their gardens, or homeschool their kids. At night, things are quiet bar some fireworks here and there. I’ve heard very few sirens pass by.

Even though my neighbours are staying inside as far as I can tell, the message of last week’s events was the same as it’s always been: if you step out of line or speak out of turn, you could pay the ultimate price. Amy Cooper weaponised her skin privilege against Christian Cooper (no relation) because she didn’t like him telling her what to do; George Floyd’s pleas weren’t enough to stop Derek Chauvin from asphyxiating him during an arrest.

President Trump’s actions continue to escalate the tension. This week he threatened to bring the military into cities that he thinks haven’t taken “the actions necessary to defend the life and property of their residents”. This and other declarations like, “looting leads to shooting” send a message that he values property over the lives of black people.

In the face of this, it’s no surprise that black people are using what energy they have to preserve their emotional health. It’s all too much. It’s always been too much. And seeing images of brutalised black bodies isn’t helping. These days, I wonder what people get out of watching those videos circulating. While I never agreed morally with showing them in the first place, there was a time when I thought they might make a difference.

That was in 2012, when Trayvon Martin was killed by George Zimmerman. I was pregnant with my first child at the time. It made my blood run cold, and raised all kinds of questions in my mind about how I’d raise my child in a country where black kids could be seen as a mortal threat. I listened to the national conversation searching for an answer, and I hoped that with social media’s power to bring things like this to light, politicians and individuals would finally take such deaths seriously. But then there was Michael Brown, and so many others after him.

My child is now seven years old. This week her class had a discussion about – that’s right – police killings, racism, privilege, inequality and bias. Her teacher wanted to create a space for the kids to talk about what has happened. I’m grateful that she did that, but my heart broke a little bit the moment when (while eavesdropping) I heard my daughter sigh to herself as the reality of this particular moment dawned on her. And this is a kid who already knows what it means to experience bias. I know this because of the questions she asks me.

I don’t feel particularly hopeful right now, but I have been surprised by the protests in solidarity of the American movement elsewhere in recent days. Not because they’ve happened at all, but rather because the multicultural movements in Canada, Germany, the UK and beyond are seeing the connection between their own struggles for racial equity and that of the United States. I can certainly understand why people are connecting with the US movement.

That’s because while racism might present differently depending on where you are in the world, the result is the same. The people who are subjected to it are exhausted and frustrated. Let’s take the UK and the US: Brits often tell me that America is far more racist than Britain. I’d argue that Americans are a little more in your face about your biases. In Britain, black people are “encouraged” to integrate and assimilate; if one doesn’t, then you’re not “one of us”. This, while being told, “I don’t see colour,” a phrase that reveals an aversion of embracing people who are different. Americans are big on originality, but if they are uncomfortable with you, they’ll tell you – and even call you a name to your face. Ironically, though, given the current political climate, I’ve seen a shift in the UK towards US-style racism.

Maybe these full-throated protests will change things. They’ve certainly moved some leaders to speak out (I’m looking at you, Justin Trudeau). But change can only happen if non-black people speak out too. These global protests have underscored one thing for me: non-black allies have to step up if we’re going to end this. They’ll need to do some heavy lifting too.

We can’t tell you how to do it, but we do need you to commit to understanding how this thing works. Believe me, that scares me too. We did try to make it work; we talked about it on TV, through music and books, by creating safe spaces and so much more.

But we’re done. We need to take a minute. We need to know that you’re ready to join us in this fight. If you stumble, we’ll be there to help guide you along the way. Our lives depend on it.