It has been an exhausting week—or year, rather. From Kobe Bryant's tragic death to Australia's wildfires to murder hornets and finally, COVID-19 and its rising death toll, and protests against stay-at-home-orders, 2020 has certainly been one for the history books. But now, our country has shifted its focus to the open rebellion against another deadly disease that has plagued our nation for centuries: racism. The death of George Floyd, yet another name on the continuous "list" of Black people who have been slain—has shaken many of us to our core. For my generation, the aftermath of George Floyd's death reignites the pain we felt after Michael Brown's murder in Ferguson, Missouri; for older generations, it is the Arthur McDuffie and Rodney King riots of 1980 and 1992, respectively.

Like many Black lawyers, I am experiencing vicarious trauma from the loss of a man who could have easily been my husband, father or one of my brothers. However, I also feel a strong desire to figure out —and quickly—what my role should be in making a difference. That answer might be more apparent for some of my other colleagues in the profession, especially those who practice criminal law. A large portion of my graduating class went on to become either State Attorneys or Public Defenders. In the last week, I have seen many of them rally together to assist others in wake of the death of George Floyd by using their resources and knowledge to offer pro bono representation to those who have been arrested during protests. Others have brought light to our daily struggle with covert racism and implicit bias among colleagues, and sometimes (dare I say it?) friends, by exposing colleagues who have "posted and deleted" some problematic statements on social media platforms.

But what about those, like me, who do not practice criminal law? Even more specifically, what can a young associate at a private law firm contribute to the "cause"? I asked myself those questions, and inspired by the other "millennials" that have used their legal experience for good, I realized I was not constrained by my practice area. True, George Floyd's death is a harsh reminder that our criminal justice system requires reform, but it also reminds us of a larger truth—society is not equal for all. Racism is the country's most fundamental and structural problem. It has permeated our economic, social and civic systems, causing more than one infection. As a result, people of color face structural barriers when it comes to securing quality housing, health care, education and employment. And it will take more than just one dose of an antibody to purge the system.

After peeling back the layers of institutionalized racism, it was no longer uncertain to me what my role should be: I had an opportunity to present another "antibody," a cure rooted in diversity and inclusion.

I reached out to my firm's management and expressed my outrage and despair over current events. Typically, I coordinate firm diversity events and luncheons that spark insightful discussions and make for a warm and "safe" gathering for participants. Yet, this occasion didn't warrant cheer or warm pleasantries. I had witnessed a modern-day lynching and needed to know that the firm I called my second home, felt just as outraged—and it did. In return, the firm made a commitment " to use [its] privilege, platforms, and resources to tackle hard subjects, facilitate solution-based reforms to our justice system, and stand in solidarity—muted, listening, and learning—with people of color who have been wounded by years of systemic inequality." The firm recognized that it was "in a unique position to utilize [its] public sector experience, representing dozens of public sector clients, along with its personal relationships with key decision-makers and community activists, to be conduits for effective change."

Seniority within the firm was not essential for me to speak openly against the injustices that have plagued Black communities for years. Neither was it necessary to facilitate a discussion with firm management that, the firm too, has to do better. While making a statement is powerful in itself and is a sign that the "antibodies" are fighting the infection, it is the acts that follow a statement or diagnosis that, truly, begin to rid the "system" of the disease. True change requires more than lip service, diversity luncheons and Zoom panels—it requires action.

Whether you are a young associate at a boutique law firm or a founding partner at a mega-firm, you have a role to play. Systemic racism has shaped the business world as well, and it is incumbent upon us to address the issues head-on. Awareness is no longer enough. What is the makeup of your leadership teams? Are they diverse? How are you tackling mentorship and diverse recruitment? Are you listening to Black voices? Are you willing to accept truths that are outside of your personal experiences that may make you uncomfortable? None of these efforts will bring back George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery or Breyonna Taylor, but they may begin to treat the systemic infection that ultimately led to their deaths.

Therefore, this is a call to action. Take time to figure out what role you play. Silence and inaction can be just as damaging as placing a knee on a Black man's neck as he suffocates to death. I, for one, do not plan on sitting in my nice office waiting on someone to advocate on behalf of me and my people. We have a problem, and luckily, we are in a profession that's supposed to solve problems. There is much work that needs to be done. So, let's get to it.

Chanae Wood is an associate with Weiss Serota Helfman Cole & Bierman in Fort Lauderdale and chairs its diversity and inclusion program.