Olivia: What if the biggest obstacle to fighting racism wasn't an extremist in a hood, but the well-meaning, progressive person who is absolutely terrified of being called a racist? Jackson: Whoa, that's a spicy way to start. You're saying the 'good guys' are the problem? Olivia: What if the very desire to be seen as a 'good person' is actually part of the problem? That's the uncomfortable, and frankly, revolutionary territory we're stepping into today, guided by Layla F. Saad's book, Me and White Supremacy. Jackson: Ah, this is the one that started as a viral Instagram challenge, right? I remember seeing the hashtag #MeAndWhiteSupremacy absolutely everywhere a few years ago. It felt like it came out of nowhere and was suddenly essential reading. Olivia: Exactly. It exploded. And the story behind it is incredible. Before it was a New York Times bestseller, it was a free digital workbook that over 100,000 people downloaded. Saad, who identifies as an East African, Arab, British, Black, Muslim woman, created it as a personal tool, and it landed right in the middle of a global racial reckoning. Jackson: That's a powerful origin story. It wasn't a top-down academic text; it was a grassroots movement that people were hungry for. Olivia: And that's because it starts by flipping the script. The foreword is by Robin DiAngelo, author of White Fragility, and she poses a question that just stops you in your tracks. She says after her talks, white people always ask, "What do I do?" But she challenges them with a different question. Jackson: What's that? Olivia: "How have you managed not to know?"

Jackson: Oof. That is a gut punch. It immediately shifts the blame, or at least the focus, back onto the person asking. It’s not about a lack of solutions, it’s about a lack of looking. Olivia: Precisely. And that's the book's entire premise. It asks you to stop thinking of "white supremacy" as just the KKK or neo-Nazis. Instead, Saad wants you to see it as a pervasive, foundational system. It's the water we swim in, the air we breathe. It's the default operating system that people with white privilege are born into and conditioned by, whether they want to be or not. Jackson: The 'operating system' analogy is helpful. It’s something that runs in the background, influencing all the programs, but you rarely notice it unless it crashes or someone points it out. Olivia: That’s a perfect way to put it. And the first piece of software in that operating system is white privilege. The book leans heavily on Peggy McIntosh's famous 1988 essay, where she describes white privilege as an "invisible knapsack." Jackson: I think I've heard of this. Can you break it down? Olivia: Of course. McIntosh, a white woman, realized she was taught to see racism only as individual acts of meanness, not as invisible systems conferring dominance on her group. So she made a list of all the unearned assets in her knapsack. Things like: being able to turn on the TV and see people of her race widely represented. Not having to worry that her kids will be the only ones of their race in a classroom. Being able to speak to "the person in charge" and know they will likely be of her race. Jackson: Okay, the knapsack is a powerful image. But I can already hear the pushback. The word 'privilege' can feel like an attack. If someone's grown up poor and white, hearing they have 'privilege' sounds like you're completely dismissing their own struggles. Olivia: And that's exactly the reaction the book anticipates and addresses. It makes a critical distinction. White privilege isn't about having an easy life with no struggles. It’s about the fact that your race is not one of the things making your life harder. Jackson: That’s a crucial clarification. It’s not an accusation, it’s an observation about a systemic advantage. Olivia: Exactly. And to make this point, Saad shares a deeply personal story. She recalls her mother sitting her down at age seven and telling her, "Because you are Black, because you are Muslim, and because you are a girl, you are going to have to work three times as hard as everyone else around you to get ahead." That is the flip side of the invisible knapsack. It’s the weight that BIPOC—Black, Indigenous, and People of Color—are forced to carry, which is made heavier by the unearned lightness in the knapsacks of white people. Jackson: Wow. Hearing it put that way, from a mother to her child, makes it so much more concrete than an academic concept. It's about survival. Olivia: It is. And this leads to the next layer of the operating system: white fragility. When that invisible knapsack is pointed out, the typical response isn't curiosity, it's defensiveness. It’s anger, tears, arguing, shutting down. DiAngelo defines it as a state where even a minimum amount of racial stress becomes intolerable. Jackson: But isn't it natural to get defensive when you feel like you're being accused of something? If someone called me racist, my first instinct would be to say, "No, I'm not! I'm a good person!" Olivia: It's a natural instinct, but Saad argues it’s an instinct that protects the system. She tells a story about calling out a spiritual life coach for unintentional white supremacy. The coach, who prided herself on being about "love and light," snapped back, "Well, what about Black supremacy?" Jackson: Oh, boy. That’s a textbook derailment. Olivia: A complete derailment. The coach later apologized, but it revealed how quickly the "good person" identity crumbles under pressure. The book argues that your desire to be seen as good can actually prevent you from doing good. Because if you can't see yourself as part of the problem—as someone with this operating system running in the background—you can't be part of the solution.

Jackson: That makes sense. It's about unearned advantages, not unearned cash. And about seeing the system, not just individual actions. But once you start to see that, the next question is the one DiAngelo mentioned: 'What do I do?' And this is where the book gets even more... prickly. Olivia: It really does, because it moves from self-reflection to how you interact with the world. This is what I call the 'Allyship Minefield.' The book spends a lot of time dissecting the ways well-meaning allyship can go wrong. One of the most powerful concepts she introduces is 'Optical Allyship.' Jackson: Optical Allyship. I think I know what this is, but define it for us. Olivia: The term was coined by writer and activist Latham Thomas. It’s allyship that only serves at the surface level to platform the 'ally.' It looks good, but it's not aimed at actually breaking the systems of power. It’s about performance. Jackson: This feels so relevant to our current online culture. The black squares on Instagram during the 2020 protests, the performative social media posts... It's allyship that's more about signaling your virtue to your own community than about doing the hard, unglamorous work of creating change. Olivia: You’ve nailed it. And Saad shares a perfect example of this. During her viral Instagram challenge, she was invited to speak at a big spiritual women's festival in the UK. It was a predominantly white event, and they wanted her as a 'diverse voice.' Jackson: Okay, on the surface, that sounds like a good thing. They're trying to be inclusive. Olivia: That's the 'optical' part. Her team asked the organizer two simple questions. First, "Are you personally doing the #MeAndWhiteSupremacy work?" And second, "What policies does your festival have to protect BIPOC speakers from racial microaggressions?" Jackson: Let me guess the answers. Olivia: The organizer admitted she wasn't doing the work. And as for policies, she said they didn't have any because, and this is a direct quote, they "can’t protect from people being assholes." Jackson: Wow. So, "We want you for the diversity points, but we're not willing to do any work to make this a safe space for you or to understand the very topic we're asking you to speak on." That's the definition of tokenism. Olivia: It's tokenism, it's optical allyship, and it's also a form of what the book calls 'White Saviorism'—the idea that a white person or organization can swoop in and 'fix' things for BIPOC without doing any internal work or ceding any power. It centers the 'ally' as the hero of the story. Jackson: It’s fascinating how these concepts all weave together. The fear of not being a 'good person' leads to this performative optical allyship, which is a form of white centering, which is rooted in the idea of white saviorism. It’s all part of that same operating system. Olivia: Exactly. And Saad connects this directly to what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote about in his 'Letter from a Birmingham Jail.' He said his great stumbling block wasn't the overt racist, but the 'white moderate.' Jackson: I remember this from history class. The person who says "I agree with your goal, but I can't agree with your methods." Olivia: Yes! The person who is more devoted to 'order' than to justice. Who prefers a negative peace, which is the absence of tension, to a positive peace, which is the presence of justice. That preference for comfort, for non-disruption, is the engine of optical allyship. It’s why people post a black square but don't have the difficult conversation with their racist uncle at Thanksgiving. The first is easy and looks good. The second is hard, messy, and risks their own comfort. Jackson: And it costs them social capital within their own group, which is a price many aren't willing to pay. Olivia: That's the core of it. True allyship, the book argues, is about being willing to lose something—privilege, comfort, social standing—to create a more just world for others. It’s about transferring the benefits of your privilege, not just acknowledging you have it.

Jackson: So after all this uncomfortable self-reflection, after deconstructing your own privilege and your own flawed attempts at allyship, where does the book leave you? It sounds like a pretty tough, and maybe even a hopeless, journey. Olivia: It's definitely tough, but I wouldn't say hopeless. It leaves you with the profound understanding that antiracism is not a destination you arrive at. It's not a 28-day fix where you get a certificate at the end. It's a lifelong practice and commitment. Jackson: So it’s less about being 'woke' and more about the process of 'waking up,' over and over again. Olivia: That’s a beautiful way to put it. Saad's central idea is that you cannot dismantle a system you cannot see. And you cannot see a system that you are not willing to look for within yourself. The goal isn't to be paralyzed by guilt or shame. The book is very clear on that. Those feelings are often just another form of white centering, making it all about your feelings instead of the impact on BIPOC. Jackson: So what is the goal, then? Olivia: The goal is to become what she calls a 'good ancestor.' Jackson: A 'good ancestor.' I like that. That's a powerful way to frame it. It shifts the focus from 'Am I a good person right now?' to 'What legacy am I building for the future?' Olivia: Precisely. It’s not about achieving a state of perfection. It's about making a commitment, and when you inevitably mess up—because you will—you don't retreat into silence or defensiveness. You acknowledge the harm, you learn, and you re-commit to doing better. It’s a practice, like yoga or meditation. You don't 'win' at it, you just keep showing up. Jackson: That feels more sustainable, and more human, than the pressure of perfection. Olivia: It is. And maybe the one action to take from this, for anyone listening, is to start with the book's own method. Don't just think about these ideas. Get a journal, and actually write down your answers to some of these prompts. See what comes up when no one is watching. That’s where the real work begins. Jackson: A challenge for sure, but a necessary one. Olivia: This is Aibrary, signing off.