Introduction
Summary of the Book When They Call You a Terrorist by Patrisse Khan-Cullors & Asha Bandele. Before moving forward, let’s take a quick look at the book. This story begins in neighborhoods many prefer to overlook, where families struggle against relentless odds. It unfolds in cramped kitchens with empty refrigerators, in school halls guarded by suspicious officers, and on streets patrolled by watchful eyes that rarely bring comfort. It’s a story of broken promises and silent cries, of a child’s shocked gaze as siblings are searched without cause, and of a mother’s determined tears. These pages trace the journey from personal heartbreak to a global call for justice—an awakening sparked by false accusations, unfair laws, mental health crises ignored, and precious lives ended too soon. As you immerse yourself, you’ll discover what pushed a young activist to stand up and declare that Black Lives Matter, and why it still matters more than ever today.
Chapter 1: Navigating a Childhood Marked by Scarcity, Unanswered Needs, and Unseen Struggles.
Growing up in a neighborhood where every day feels like a quiet battle for survival is something many young children never dream of experiencing. Imagine waking up in cramped rooms with peeling paint, where mattresses might be worn thin and old refrigerator doors barely close right. Now picture that sometimes there isn’t much food to fill your belly, forcing you to make do with watered-down cereal instead of the creamy milk you’ve seen in commercials. In this atmosphere, the echoes of hunger become background noise, and the scent of stale bread, if available at all, lingers in the air. Such living conditions are not simply a matter of family choices; they reveal the deep cracks in a society that often looks away when poor Black families struggle to just get by.
The world outside can feel just as unforgiving. You hear distant sirens moan in the night, and they do not bring comfort. Rather than rushing to help, officers who roam these streets project suspicion instead of safety. As a child, you try to understand: why do policemen glare at boys your age as if they are criminals waiting to strike? Why does the sight of a patrol car instill fear rather than relief? Perhaps because, here, innocence is often overshadowed by stereotypes. Even well-meaning smiles turn tight and guarded when uniforms appear. In these communities, it’s as if the everyday rules have been twisted. Instead of protection, there is control; instead of trust, there is tension. Childhood innocence evaporates beneath the weighty gazes of those in authority.
The community itself becomes a world of limited resources. There may be one corner store that sells sugary snacks and packaged meals but no fresh produce. A 7-Eleven might stock rows of cheap convenience foods yet offer nothing that truly nourishes body or mind. Liquor stores appear at every corner, as though the neighborhood’s needs begin and end with small vices. There are no health food markets, no encouraging signs that someone cares if children grow strong and healthy. This lack of basics—a decent grocery store, a place to find affordable fruits and vegetables—reflects a pattern repeated across countless Black communities. It’s not just about having little money; it’s about having nowhere good to spend it, even if it were in your pocket.
In this environment, survival skills develop early. Children learn to recognize the subtle signs of trouble: a sudden hush when the police roll by, the way neighbors murmur warnings to one another. They learn to protect younger siblings, offering comfort when there’s not enough of anything else to give. The casual cruelty of a slum landlord who won’t replace a broken refrigerator, forcing you to live without one of life’s simplest conveniences, becomes a bitter reminder that you are not considered worthy of essential repairs. The child grows up understanding that their place in the world has already been decided by those who barely know them. The message is clear: you exist on the margins, and you must fight to hold your ground there.
Chapter 2: A Mother’s Daily Battle to Feed, Shelter, and Protect Her Family.
Visualize a devoted mother rising before dawn, bracing herself for yet another day of hard work. She is not heading off to a single stable position where her efforts will be fairly rewarded. Instead, she might juggle multiple low-paying jobs—cleaning houses in wealthy neighborhoods, working late-night shifts at discount stores, and still barely managing to keep her children fed. Each day is a marathon of exhaustion, with no medals at the finish line. Hours blend into each other as she moves from one workplace to the next, often arriving home too drained to enjoy her children’s laughter or guide them through their homework. Her world is a constant struggle: how to stretch a few dollars to cover rent, utilities, and something resembling a decent meal.
Such mothers often stand as the silent pillars of communities that the rest of the world overlooks. They develop creative strategies: maybe they dilute milk with water or buy day-old bread at a discount to fill hungry bellies. They repair worn-out shoes by hand and mend clothes until the fabric itself begs for mercy. These women carry the emotional weight of a society that treats their children’s futures as an afterthought. Facing unreliable landlords who refuse essential maintenance or bosses who threaten to cut hours without notice, a mother’s patience wears thin. Her heart is full of love but also worry that her kids will never know a world without this daily strain. Still, she endures, finds small joys, and reassures her children that better days might come.
However, this endurance takes a toll. With sixteen-hour workdays, little time remains to offer her children the care and guidance they deserve. Without adequate support systems—libraries, community centers, healthy grocery outlets—her options are limited. She can’t always protect her kids from the lurking presence of gangs or drugs, and she can’t always shield them from the suspicious stares of the police. With no safety net from the state and no accumulated wealth from past generations, each week seems like walking a tightrope. Just one unexpected bill could tip them into homelessness or leave the cupboard bare. This unstable environment isn’t an accident but rather the predictable outcome of policies and practices that push some families into perpetual struggle while others bask in stable comfort.
In the face of these challenges, a mother’s resilience becomes something both inspiring and heartbreaking. She must project confidence, even when her heart trembles with fear. When her children come home hungry, she tries to smile, to assure them that she’s got it under control. She invents stories to distract them from empty plates, she might sing lullabies when her voice is hoarse from overwork. Each day she hopes that her sacrifices will someday pay off, that her children will find a way out of this maze of scarcity. Her bravery is an echo in these rough streets, reminding us that the most profound strength often emerges where people struggle hardest, and where the world seems too indifferent to their pleas.
Chapter 3: Schools That Feel Like Prisons, Where Opportunities Vanish Behind Metal Detectors.
Imagine excitedly stepping into a new school, expecting classrooms full of eager faces, passionate teachers, and a welcoming environment that encourages you to learn. Now replace those bright images with the cold clank of metal detectors at the entrance, uniformed officers patrolling corridors, and the uneasy sense that you’re under suspicion before you even open a textbook. For many Black children, especially in underfunded neighborhoods, school can feel more like a training ground for harsh discipline than a nurturing place for growth. Instead of bright murals and art supplies, they see strict security measures that send a message: We don’t trust you. This atmosphere diminishes the promise of education, making it feel like a punishment rather than a bridge to a better future.
The contrast with wealthier, predominantly White schools is startling. In those privileged halls, children roam freely, explore well-stocked libraries, join science clubs, and discuss literature without feeling like they’re one misstep away from a pair of handcuffs. They slip through days where a small act of teenage rebellion—like experimenting with substances—might be met with a gentle reprimand or a quiet talk. In Black-majority schools, such minor transgressions can lead straight to police involvement, arrests, or a permanent mark on a young record. This difference in response shatters any illusion of fairness. It’s not just the quality of textbooks or the presence of extracurricular activities that matters; it’s also about whether students are treated as individuals with potential or as problems waiting to unfold.
The pressure is immense. A child who dreams of becoming a writer or a doctor must navigate an environment where fear and suspicion overshadow inspiration. The heavy presence of law enforcement within educational spaces sends a message that the students themselves are viewed as dangerous. Instead of counselors offering guidance and encouragement, there might be uniformed officers standing guard, ready to punish rather than help. This approach can damage self-esteem, breed resentment, and hinder academic achievement. For a child who sees fellow classmates treated roughly or even arrested in front of everyone, it’s easy to lose faith in the system. Each morning’s walk through a metal detector becomes a reminder that society views them as guilty until proven otherwise.
When ordinary teenage mistakes are treated like serious crimes, it’s no wonder many students feel disillusioned. They notice that the punishment rarely fits the deed. Writing a silly word on a locker might lead to severe consequences. Having a phone out at the wrong time might trigger an overly aggressive response. This environment fosters mistrust not only between students and the system but also within the community itself. Families see their children’s futures threatened by these early encounters with law enforcement. Over time, these students may drop out, lose interest, or become discouraged. The result is a crushing cycle: limited opportunities in the classroom lead to even fewer chances beyond it. In such conditions, the promise of equal education feels like a distant myth.
Chapter 4: When Societal Blame Falls on Individuals Instead of Broken Systems.
Consider how easily society praises those who find success, labeling them hardworking, determined, and deserving. But what about those who struggle to keep afloat? Too often, we blame them personally, as if their hardships stem from laziness or poor choices. We rarely question the unfair systems that corner people into impossible situations. A lost job can mean lost dignity, lost healthcare, and lost hope. In communities where factories close and stable employment disappears, families face impossible questions: How do we feed everyone? How do we keep the lights on? When a breadwinner, once confident in his abilities, suddenly can’t find decent work, frustration takes root. Rather than understanding these structural issues, society all too often treats individuals as if they alone caused their own downfall.
Imagine a man who once worked proudly on an assembly line, honing his mechanical skills and contributing to the economy. When the plant shuts down, he’s left searching for low-wage gigs that don’t respect his experience. Unable to provide as before, he feels shame gnawing at his pride. His family wonders why a man who once stood tall as a provider now seems burdened by despair. Children sense the tension and fear what it means for their stability. Yet from an outside perspective, people may simplify: He left his family, or He just couldn’t handle responsibility. Overlooking the vanished jobs and limited options, they reduce a family’s hardship to personal failure. Such judgments ignore the complex web of factors that trap people in misery.
This narrow view extends beyond unemployment. Consider addiction. People wrestling with substance abuse are often told to take responsibility for their choices. While personal accountability matters, what about the root causes? What about neighborhoods stripped of opportunities, where after-school programs are nonexistent and hope shrinks like a plant starved of sunlight? Without strong community support, mental health resources, or meaningful ways to grow and thrive, it’s no wonder that drugs and alcohol might feel like an escape. Instead of exploring how lack of investment in these neighborhoods fuels addiction, society blames the addict. The focus remains on personal weakness rather than collective neglect, as if no one stopped to ask how these unhealthy patterns emerged in the first place.
The result is a painful cycle of misunderstanding and stigma. Instead of receiving empathy, those who struggle get scorn. Instead of building better support systems—like job training centers, accessible healthcare, or well-funded community spaces—lawmakers and policymakers often stand back. They accept the status quo where millions are left to shoulder burdens that no single person can bear alone. In the process, entire generations grow up believing that their worth is measured by their ability to pull themselves up in a game rigged against them. The damage is profound: families break apart, young people lose faith, and deep within these neglected corners of society, bitterness and resignation fester. This relentless blame game prevents real change from taking root where it is most desperately needed.
Chapter 5: America’s Prison Obsession Tears Families Apart and Ignores Core Root Problems.
Think about the United States, famed for its skyscrapers, Hollywood movies, and vast highways. Beneath this glossy surface lies another reality: a prison system massive beyond imagination. Though Americans make up a small fraction of the world’s population, U.S. prisons hold a quarter of all the world’s incarcerated people. Why so many? Because, for decades, policies have favored locking people up over investing in their communities. Instead of tackling root issues—poverty, lack of mental health support, limited educational opportunities—America has often chosen handcuffs and steel bars. Jails swell with people who needed help, not punishment. This approach does not make communities safer. It merely sweeps society’s neglected individuals into concrete cells, out of sight and out of mind, while their families suffer outside.
Families divided by these prison walls know the heartbreak intimately. A father whose only crime may have been drug addiction finds himself behind bars instead of in a recovery program. He leaves children confused and angry, struggling to understand why their dad is gone. A brother, once a gentle soul who needed therapy or affordable treatment, ends up in a cell where no one bothers to address his mental health needs. These are not isolated tales; they are part of a pattern so common it barely surprises anyone anymore. The cost is measured not just in taxpayer dollars, but in broken bonds, traumatized youth, and communities drained of their potential leaders, caretakers, and providers. Prison becomes a revolving door that solves nothing fundamental.
Inside these prison walls, conditions often worsen the very problems they claim to handle. People suffering from mental illness are not guided towards healing. Instead, solitary confinement and neglect breed despair, deepening the wounds. Prisoners are sometimes forced into dangerous tasks, like fighting wildfires for little to no pay, risking their lives to shave years off a sentence. Is this justice, or a form of modern servitude? Meanwhile, outside, families try to cope with the absence, writing letters that may go unanswered, scraping together money for phone calls, or making long journeys to visit loved ones behind thick glass. The prison system does not rehabilitate; it often dehumanizes. It stands as a monument to a society unwilling to confront why so many lives veer off track.
Each incarceration ripples through a family’s future. A child who already struggled with school might lose an important role model. A mother must carry on without the support of a partner, working even more hours and worrying constantly about meeting her family’s basic needs. This system creates permanent scars, passed from one generation to the next. The intended message—that crime leads to punishment—gets lost when crime can mean petty theft, drug possession, or simply having a mental breakdown. There is no healing, only loss. These structural choices reflect a harsh truth: the nation’s leaders have invested more in prisons than in the human beings who fill them. Until that changes, America’s prison obsession will continue to shatter families and stall any path toward genuine justice.
Chapter 6: Mental Illnesses Are Punished, Not Treated, Turning Vulnerable Lives Into Statistics.
Consider what it means to suffer from mental illness in a community that offers little support. Instead of counseling, understanding doctors, and well-funded mental health clinics, many receive suspicious glances and, eventually, a prison sentence. Imagine living with voices in your head or intense mood swings that you cannot control, while those around you interpret your distress as dangerous misbehavior. In this environment, reaching out for help can feel pointless. When a breakdown occurs, it is often met with handcuffs rather than compassion. The lack of proper treatment options feeds the prison population. Countless individuals who should be receiving medical attention instead face the harshness of solitary confinement, further inflaming their conditions. Society’s refusal to acknowledge these needs only perpetuates a cruel cycle.
The cruel irony is that, in practice, prisons have become the largest mental health institutions in the country. More people with mental illnesses languish behind bars than in all the psychiatric hospitals combined. They do not receive steady treatment, therapy, or consistent medication. Instead, many find themselves locked in tiny cells, isolated for hours or days, with nothing but their troubled minds to keep them company. Such conditions can intensify paranoia, depression, anxiety, and hallucinations. Instead of steps toward recovery, each hour spent in that cell amplifies despair. This outcome should shock anyone who believes in fairness and the dignity of human life. Yet the system continues, churning out broken souls who come out of incarceration worse off than when they went in.
For those who love these individuals, watching this unfold is devastating. Relatives remember the person before their illness overtook them. They recall smiles, dreams, the laughter over Sunday dinners. Now they watch helplessly as their loved one becomes a statistic—just another inmate labeled dangerous, unpredictable, a threat. Community members who might have offered a helping hand find themselves powerless, overshadowed by institutions that do not value treatment. Even when families scrape together resources for lawyers, the fundamental issue remains: mental illness is criminalized. The entire approach reveals a blatant failure to respect human complexity. Instead of looking at patients as people needing care, the system brands them as criminals, fueling a crisis of faith in the idea that justice and mercy can coexist.
If ever there were an issue demanding change, this is it. Truly addressing mental illness requires investment in accessible healthcare, early intervention programs, and community support networks. It means guiding people through their difficulties with empathy, not punishment. Turning jails into warehouses for the mentally ill is not just cruel but also deeply inefficient. It wastes human potential, taxpayer money, and moral integrity. Imagine the possibilities if resources flowed towards prevention: specialized counselors in schools, affordable therapy, crisis teams trained to de-escalate rather than arrest. Imagine how many lives could move toward stability, productivity, and happiness rather than being lost behind bars. Treating mental illness like a crime is not only a betrayal of those suffering; it is a stain on society’s conscience.
Chapter 7: Legal Battles, Unexpected Accusations, and the Birth of Inner Resistance.
Sometimes, a family member’s crisis becomes the spark that ignites something greater. For the author, seeing her beloved brother, Monty, face exaggerated criminal charges revealed just how merciless the system could be. Monty’s mental health struggles were already a heavy burden. When he had an outburst, he didn’t harm anyone physically, yet he found himself accused of terrorism—a label that conjures images of catastrophic violence. Can a vulnerable, mentally ill man’s angry words truly equal terrorism? To the authorities, it seemed so. This outrageous charge threatened to send Monty away for life, thanks to laws that piled punishment upon punishment, known as three strikes rules. Faced with this nightmare, the family realized they had to fight back, no matter how unfair the odds.
Finding an attorney willing to defend Monty was no small feat. It required pooling together resources, calling in favors, and passing the hat among friends and relatives. The goal was not just to save Monty from wrongful imprisonment, but to challenge a system that so casually shrugged off the humanity of a Black man in crisis. In this desperate struggle, something else took shape: a sense of determination, a realization that standing by and hoping for justice was not enough. Action, organizing, and raising voices became necessary steps. By defending Monty, the author discovered her ability to push back against monstrous injustices. This realization was painful but awakening, forging her into someone who understood that ordinary people could confront vast systems and demand fair treatment.
Such a personal battle reshapes one’s perspective. Suddenly, every news story of a wrongful arrest or brutal police encounter resonates more deeply. The pattern emerges clearly: Black individuals treated as threats, mental illness dismissed, and strict laws wielded like clubs. The case against Monty became a mirror reflecting society’s moral failures. Each step in fighting for him—gathering money, talking to lawyers, pleading with judges—exposed the cracks in the structure society calls justice. This awakening showed that fairness wasn’t guaranteed. It had to be seized, wrestled from those who preferred the status quo. Monty’s ordeal was more than just one family’s struggle. It opened the author’s eyes to the systemic nature of these problems and fueled a burning desire to foster significant change.
Emerging from this struggle, the author carried both scars and strength. She had faced a seemingly unstoppable machine—one powered by racial bias, fear, and a refusal to understand mental illness. She had learned that resistance begins when people refuse to accept injustice as normal. Monty’s case, though deeply painful, served as a lesson: if a single family could rally, fight, and secure better outcomes for a loved one, what might a larger movement achieve? When communities join forces, share their stories, and challenge the outdated notions of punishment, they can shake the foundations of oppressive systems. The seeds of change had been planted, nurtured by personal heartbreak and righteous anger. This newly discovered determination would soon find its place in a broader fight for justice.
Chapter 8: From Outrage Over Trayvon Martin to Planting the Seeds of BLM.
Sometimes, a tragic event in a distant place can feel oddly personal. When Trayvon Martin, a 17-year-old Black teenager, was shot dead while doing nothing more than walking home, it struck a raw nerve. He wasn’t carrying a weapon—only a bag of candy and a drink. Yet he lost his life simply because someone decided he looked suspicious. When the shooter, George Zimmerman, was acquitted, many across the nation gasped in disbelief and frustration. How could the law fail so utterly to protect an innocent Black life? For the author, this shocking verdict connected directly to her family’s struggles. It revealed an unsettling truth: the system that menaced Monty and so many others also allowed killers of innocent Black children to go free.
Outrage pulsed through social media, conversations in homes, and whispered disbelief in community centers. The sadness and anger turned into a question: What can we do? How do we respond when the legal system seems blind to injustice, when it condemns the innocent and excuses the guilty if they target Black lives? Inspired by the memory of her family’s fight and the raw wound left by Trayvon’s loss, the author and other activists gathered their courage. They knew that isolated outrage would fade, but a collective movement could endure. They wanted to remind the world that Black lives are not disposable, that they matter every bit as much as anyone else’s. From this sense of urgency and purpose, the Black Lives Matter movement began to form.
Black Lives Matter (BLM) started humbly: as a hashtag, a rallying cry on social media channels. But it quickly grew, fueled by each new instance of unjust killing, each fresh wound inflicted on Black communities. The movement sought to name the pain, to say aloud that Black people deserve safety, respect, and dignity. It called on everyone—Black, white, and all communities—to stand up and demand transformation. This wasn’t about one single case; it was about centuries of mistreatment woven into the fabric of laws, policing, and public opinion. When outrage and empathy meet organization and purpose, something powerful emerges. BLM became a beacon that reminded people worldwide: injustice cannot be excused or overlooked. It must be confronted, challenged, and ultimately uprooted.
Through protests, social media campaigns, community gatherings, and urgent conversations, BLM expanded its reach. It sought to expose how law enforcement practices often unfairly target Black communities, resulting in tragedies that might otherwise be preventable. No longer could society pretend these incidents were isolated flukes. Instead, BLM revealed patterns: unarmed Black individuals gunned down, families left grieving, and officers or vigilantes walking free. In response, people marched in streets across America and beyond. They chanted, carried signs, and refused to let these names fade into silence. By raising these voices, BLM began changing the narrative, placing Black people’s experiences at the center. The seeds planted by these early efforts grew, transforming scattered cries for justice into a coherent demand that the world could not ignore.
Chapter 9: Black Lives Matter’s Inclusive Vision, Amplifying Voices and Demanding True Justice.
Black Lives Matter is more than a protest slogan. It’s a commitment to building a world where no one must fear the police simply for existing in their own skin. Too many times, Black families see patrol cars not as shields against danger, but as sources of anxiety and potential violence. BLM wants to rewrite this story, ensuring that law enforcement officers serve and protect every community equally. But beyond that, the movement stands for something even broader: a call for human rights. It acknowledges that when Black lives are systematically undervalued, everyone’s freedom is at risk. By focusing on the specific dangers facing Black people, BLM spotlights problems that once hidden or denied, must now be addressed for all to move forward.
Unlike some movements that revolve around a single leader or a narrow set of demands, BLM intentionally embraces a wide range of voices and identities. It recognizes that Black communities are not a monolith and that those who identify as transgender, non-binary, or gender-nonconforming face even more layers of danger. This inclusivity is not an afterthought; it is a guiding principle. If justice is to be meaningful, it cannot leave anyone behind. The movement seeks to uplift the most marginalized among the marginalized, ensuring that the struggles of Black trans women or disabled Black individuals are not ignored. This broad vision insists that any liberation worth achieving must welcome everyone, no matter their gender identity, orientation, or personal circumstances.
The movement’s efforts have revealed chilling truths: in places like California, a person might be killed by police every few days. Such statistics make clear that these deaths are not random incidents but part of a larger pattern. BLM’s organizers respond by refusing to let these names become just another faded headline. They speak them out loud, share their stories, and mourn them publicly. Through art, music, literature, and peaceful demonstrations, they create space for remembering victims as human beings whose lives held meaning. In this way, BLM challenges society to confront what it would rather ignore, ensuring that each victim’s humanity is recognized. This collective grieving, paired with demands for policy changes, makes it harder for the system to quietly continue its old habits.
By continuing to push, BLM forces conversations about defunding or restructuring police departments, introducing community-led safety initiatives, and implementing practices that value prevention over punishment. Some critics misunderstand these demands, claiming they are anti-police. In truth, BLM seeks a healthier relationship between communities and those who serve them. It imagines neighborhoods where mental health experts respond to crises rather than armed officers. It envisions a future where schools nurture growth instead of funneling students into the criminal justice system. The road ahead is long and fraught with challenges, but with each step, BLM shows that change is possible. If society listens and learns, if it reforms and invests in communities, then the harrowing cycle of violence, fear, and injustice can give way to genuine safety and equality.
All about the Book
Discover the courageous story behind the Black Lives Matter movement in ‘When They Call You a Terrorist.’ Patrisse Khan-Cullors sheds light on systemic injustice, inspiring readers to challenge oppression and advocate for transformative change.
Patrisse Khan-Cullors is a renowned activist and co-founder of the Black Lives Matter movement, dedicated to social justice, equality, and human rights.
Social Workers, Educators, Human Rights Activists, Journalists, Community Organizers
Social Justice Advocacy, Reading Non-Fiction, Activism, Community Service, Public Speaking
Systemic Racism, Police Brutality, Mass Incarceration, Social Inequality
We have to stay focused on the work. We have to keep organizing and fighting for what we believe in.
Ava DuVernay, Angela Davis, Michael B. Jordan
NAACP Image Award, American Book Award, Indies Choice Book Award
1. What does systemic racism mean in today’s society? #2. How can personal stories illuminate broader social issues? #3. What role does family play in activism and resilience? #4. How can one understand the Black Lives Matter movement? #5. What impact does trauma have on community dynamics? #6. How do grassroots movements drive social change effectively? #7. What strategies exist for building coalitions across communities? #8. How can storytelling influence public perception and empathy? #9. What lessons can be learned from historical struggles? #10. How does intersectionality affect individual experiences and activism? #11. Why is self-care important in activist work? #12. How can we challenge stereotypes about marginalized groups? #13. What are the implications of police violence in society? #14. How does art contribute to social justice movements? #15. How can readers confront their own biases and privilege? #16. What is the significance of hope in social justice? #17. How can empathy bridge gaps between diverse communities? #18. What does healing look like in activist spaces? #19. How can education empower future generations in activism? #20. In what ways can ordinary people advocate for justice?
When They Call You a Terrorist, Patrisse Khan-Cullors, Asha Bandele, Black Lives Matter, social justice, memoir, civil rights, activism, racial equality, police brutality, personal narrative, systemic racism
https://www.amazon.com/When-They-Call-You-Terrorist/dp/1250171081
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