When I left the office for the last time on March 13, we envisioned being home for two weeks. Ha! How quickly everything changed, at least for those of us in the densely populated, heavily Covid-impacted northeast. And now, just as it seemed the virus was declining from its peak, we confront something equally distressing — serious social unrest after the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis (and countless prior acts of lethal brutality). I was heartened by the cooperative, community-spirited response we saw in the early days of the pandemic, but now our society seems to be unraveling.
It is almost shamefully privileged to sit here with my beloved family in a comfortable suburban home, insulated from the strife on our urban streets. And it is from a position of privilege, too, that I apologetically observe how protesting isn’t safe just now, with the public, police and possible outside agitators confronting one another, everybody with passions flaring, and a potentially deadly virus lurking about. It is also from a position of privilege that I can sit back and philosophically wonder how it advances the cause for me to join the protests to be gassed, injured or catch coronavirus. It wasn’t safe for Martin Luther King either, but he kept marching.
Few possess such courage, and I am not among those better angels. But I need to stop doing nothing. So I’ll salve my conscience with donations to social justice organizations, and by speaking out against intolerance and abuse of power, here and everywhere. It is too little, but if we all do it, we can remake the world.
Linnetontheleaf 
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