“3. #ADAPTandRESIST” in “llness Politics and Hashtag Activism”
3. #ADAPTandRESIST
My first two chapters focused on illness politics as a tactic of electoral politics used to discredit candidates for political office. I showed how the deployment of the hashtags #SickHillary and #TrumpIsNotWell, and related media and social media coverage, influenced the presidential elections of 2016 and 2020. I now shift my analysis from illness politics as a component of electoral politics and as focused on individuals running for office to an analysis of hashtags used by disability activist groups whose aim is to counter the shame and stigma surrounding illness and disability and create opportunities for sick and disabled people to participate more fully in public life in a variety of ways. As I discussed in the last chapter, for the most part, disability activists have been less interested than nondisabled people in spotlighting Trump’s offensive mocking of reporter Serge Kovaleski’s disability that was caught on camera in 2015 and replayed frequently during and since the 2016 presidential election campaign. Trump’s crass and childish mockery is clearly a sign of a serious case of ableism, long indicated by his disdain for what he perceives as physical and/or emotional weakness. But it is also clear that the constant circulation of this image keeps the focus on Trump and his character and thus functions as a kind of paternalism rather than as a way of increasing the participation of disabled people in the public sphere and creating more accessible, inclusive, and just societies through political activism.
In his essay “Compulsory Able-Bodiedness and Queer/Disabled Existence,” queer crip theorist Robert McRuer adapts Adrienne Rich’s concept of compulsory heterosexuality to disabled experience, noting the “imbricated systems” of heterosexuality, patriarchy, and able-bodiedness.1 In his analysis, McRuer makes an important distinction between a “virtually disabled identity,” which suggests the inevitability of disabled existence for anyone who lives long enough, and a “critically disabled identity,” which demands “access to a newly imagined and newly configured public sphere where full participation is not contingent on an able body.”2 In the final turn in his argument, McRuer considers expressions of “fabulousness” and “severeness” as two modes of criticality used by queer and disabled activists and scholars. According to McRuer, fabulousness is associated with a disarming over-the-top campiness that uses humor as a way of critiquing the status quo, while severity generates “a fierce critique, a defiant critique, one that thoroughly and carefully reads a situation—and I mean reading in the street sense of loudly calling out the inadequacies of a given situation, person, text, or ideology.”3 McRuer mentions several examples of these sorts of in-your-face tactics of illness and disability politics, including Audre Lorde’s “army of one-breasted women” that she imagined marching on the U.S. Capitol in The Cancer Journals (1980); the Rolling Quads, a coalition of quadriplegic students at the University of California at Berkeley in the late 1960s, who became prominent leaders of the Independent Living Movement; the Deaf Prez Now protests at Gallaudet University in 1988; and ACT UP’s nonviolent takeover of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, also in 1988.4 In this chapter, I discuss a more recent example of the enactment of a severe disability politics articulated in the series of protests under the hashtag #ADAPTandRESIST in 2017 that were organized by ADAPT, a grassroots disability rights and justice organization known for its nonviolent direct-action tactics.
Returning one last time to the image of Trump’s mockery of a disabled person in 2015, for veteran disability activists, including those in ADAPT, the problem is not so much the mockery itself but that such ableist attitudes lead to actions to undo policies and laws that support the rights and needs of disabled people. Thus, as Republicans attempted to repeal and replace the Affordable Care Act and cut and cap Medicaid, ADAPT led numerous protests in Washington, D.C., and elsewhere. These protests in summer 2017 garnered mainstream and social media attention, as images of police removing activists in wheelchairs from Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell’s office circulated widely. Other images showed police separating ADAPT activists from their wheelchairs to remove and arrest them. Such images of the use of force against a vulnerable population helped drive home ADAPT’s message that these policies are a matter of life and death for some people. As one sign at the Capitol proclaimed, “Medicaid is life” for many people with disabilities. Activists like Stephanie Woodward, Gregg Beratan, and Anita Cameron put their vulnerable bodies on the line to generate media coverage and attention on social media about what is at stake—in the most material terms—in the ongoing debates about healthcare in America. The spectacle of ADAPT’s direct-action politics created a severe criticality and enacted a highly visible disabled counterpublic that punctured ableist attitudes about disability, care, access, and freedom.
Images from the protest at Senate Majority Leader McConnell’s office on June 22, 2017, show why direct-action tactics are effective in confronting injustice and raising awareness about issues that might otherwise go unnoticed by people who believe they are unaffected by such politics. In a first-person account of the protests for Vox, Stephanie Woodward, the director of advocacy at the Center for Disability Rights in Rochester, New York, and an organizer with ADAPT, opens with surprise that a photograph of her in handcuffs after her arrest on Capitol Hill had gone viral. The photo by fellow disability rights activist Colleen Flanagan is of Woodward from behind sitting in her pink manual wheelchair with her hands cuffed with zip ties behind her wheelchair. This was one of many still photographs and videos of Woodward and other disabled activists that went viral that day.5 In the essay in Vox, Woodward moves from the viral image of her after her arrest to explain some of the decision-making about the protest, and to make a point about the multiple temporalities of activism: “I’ve been an activist with the Disability Rights group ADAPT for 10 years. When we learned that the Senate planned to vote on a bill that included $800 billion in Medicaid cuts, we knew that we needed to take action quickly. Our months of trying to talk with legislators did not work. We needed to do something more drastic.”6 In this brief account of the process by which she and other activists decided to protest at Senate Majority Leader McConnell’s office on Capitol Hill, we learn that Woodward is an experienced activist and that she and ADAPT had first tried less drastic tactics over a longer period. Much of the coverage of the protest at McConnell’s office described it as a “sit-in,” but according to Woodward, it was meant to be a die-in, “where protestors physically disrupt a space by laying down their bodies to simulate corpses” to represent “the harm that the bill would do to so many disabled people.”7 Die-ins date back to at least the 1960s when antiwar and environmental activists used them to highlight the effects of both mass destruction from war and slow death from climate change.8 In the 1980s, AIDS activist groups like ACT UP used die-ins to demonstrate the horror of AIDS, as well as the U.S. government’s lack of concerted and caring response to the spread of the disease because it was initially perceived as a “gay disease.” As I will show below, dying-in was not a new tactic for ADAPT.
Colleen Flanagan shared the photo of Woodward handcuffed in her wheelchair with a tweet that said, “Medicaid is important to disabled people. We raise our voice and get answered with handcuffs. #ADAPTandRESIST.”9 Flanagan’s snapshot shows the aftermath of the protest, not #ADAPTandRESIST in action. Yet many other images of Woodward show her while protesting and raising her voice, and these would also go viral. It’s not difficult to see why. Woodward is a petite white woman with a striking mane of curly red hair. On the day of the protest, she wore a pair of bright pink sunglasses that matched the color of her wheelchair, and in several of the images of her participating in the protest, the sunglasses are on her head rather stylishly holding back her hair. She had also painted her nails with bright pink nail polish, creating an ensemble of accessories matching her flashy pink wheelchair. In a photograph taken by AP photographer Jacquelyn Martin that also went viral, Woodward has been separated from her wheelchair and is being carried by at least three much burlier Capitol police officers (Figure 3). In Martin’s photograph, Woodward is literally engulfed by the bodies of the police officers, and we only see her head and one outstretched arm. She is captured looking terrified with her eyes turned back toward the camera, as if looking for and appealing to us, the viewers of the photograph and, more generally, the American people who may or may not understand what the protest is about. Her mouth is wide open, shouting. Her arm reaches out from her body, in a theatrical pose, imploring us viewers, as if to also say, “please, help me.”
Martin’s photograph powerfully captures Woodward in action, passively resisting the police in an act of civil disobedience. As she explains in her Vox piece, she knew what she was doing in relation to the law: “I did nothing to insult or instigate the cops, but I refused to comply with the police’s orders to get out of the office.”10 As activists understand, refusing to comply creates a dramatic scene in which the state confronts an immovable object—the body of the protester. If the still photograph captures Woodward beseeching us to care about her cause, video of Woodward being removed shows a harrowing and dramatic scene of the state using disproportionate and excessive force against a disabled person. We see her being lifted out of her wheelchair by three police officers, and as this is happening, she never stops screaming one of the chants used by protestors, “No cuts to Medicaid.”11 In some videos of the incident, we can see that, as she is being lifted, her black t-shirt rides up her torso, exposing her midriff and highlighting further her vulnerability and violation. In a video report on the protests for the Washington Post, Woodward says in an interview, “We’re here fighting for Medicaid for millions of people with disabilities who rely on Medicaid. Without it we will die. There are huge cuts to Medicaid which will result in people with disabilities being forced into nursing facilities and ultimately dying there. And quite frankly, I’d rather go to jail than die.”12 Other activists, including Susan Stahl and Rhoda Gibson, are also interviewed by the Washington Post, and, like Woodward, they emphasize that, thanks to Medicaid, they are able to live independently in the community rather than be institutionalized. ADAPT’s direct-action tactics create a spectacle of state power confronting vulnerable disabled people who simply want to be able to continue to live independently. Another ADAPT activist Julie Farrar links the #ADAPTandRESIST protests to earlier activism for disability rights, asserting, “This is really a life-and-death matter and I have not been this terrified in a very long time.”13 Farrar adds that twenty-seven years ago she was “crawling up the steps to the Capitol to get the Americans with Disabilities Act passed,” emphasizing both the longue durée of struggle for disability rights in the United States and that disabled activists have been and continue to be at the center of that struggle.
Figure 3. Capitol police remove disability activist Stephanie Woodward, of Rochester, New York, from a die-in organized by ADAPT at Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell’s office on June 22, 2017. Woodward and other activists were arrested as they protested Republican lawmakers’ attempts to repeal the Affordable Care Act and cap funding for Medicaid. AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin. https://www.vox.com/first-person/2017/6/27/15876442/healthcare-medicaid-cuts-disability-protests. Reprinted with permission AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin.
The reference to the Capitol Crawl, which took place in 1990 and was also organized by ADAPT, indicates an understanding of the importance of creating images of struggle for the media that will get the attention of the American people more widely.14 Like the Capitol Crawl, this was illness politics in action confronting an uncaring state, and images of what was at stake in this confrontation circulated widely in the media and on social media through the hashtag #ADAPTandRESIST. This was a savvy strategy by activists to use the media to generate empathy for their determination to stop the cuts to Medicaid funding that allows them to remain in community. This was a political demonstration in its most classic sense: as a public showing of feeling about what is at stake regarding a particular issue.
The protests on Capitol Hill were just one of many demonstrations organized by ADAPT in what they called the #SummerOfADAPT. As senators went home for the July 4th recess, ADAPT activists across the country sought to communicate directly to GOP senators in their home states about the devastating impact on their lives that a cut in Medicaid would bring. In Denver, activists conducted a sit-in at Senator Cory Gardner’s office for fifty-eight hours to tell the senator their concerns. As in the protest on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C., activists sought to communicate the crucial fact that without continued support from Medicaid, they could not live independently in the community. Senator Gardner never met with the activists, and they were eventually arrested and removed from his office. Activist Carrie Ann Lucas was charged with trespassing and because she refused to help police operate her motorized wheelchair, she was also charged with interference. As she explained in an interview, echoing Woodward’s comments at the time of her arrest in Washington, D.C., “While I would not resist arrest, I was not willing to help the police.”15 Lucas’s noncooperation fits into a long history of nonviolent civil disobedience as embodied form of resistance. In this case, her power chair is not an instrument used by her body but part of her body that went limp as the police tried to remove her. Her careful distinction between resisting arrest and refusing to help police is not only semantic; it is also tactical, indicating someone trained to do this kind of activism.
The Longer History of Direct-Action Illness Politics
As I’ve already indicated, ADAPT and its direct-action political tactics are not new. While some commentators in 2017 made links between ADAPT and ACT UP, these accounts often mistakenly credited ACT UP as an influence on ADAPT, but ADAPT pre-dates ACT UP by at least a decade. Taking a longer view of health activism and illness politics as I do in my work suggests ACT UP is not the original source of health activism but a link between earlier health-activist movements, including those associated with the women’s liberation movement, Civil Rights groups like the Black Panther Party and the Young Lords, anti-psychiatry, and environmental justice movements.16 This longer view would also include the Independent Living Movement (ILM), which has advocated since the early 1970s for disabled people to live in their communities and not in nursing homes or other institutions, to make decisions about their own lives and care, and in general articulates an everyday ethics of self-determination.
The ILM emerged from the activist milieu centered around Berkeley in the late 1960s and early 1970s, but the movement quickly spread beyond Berkeley to other less countercultural milieus. The second Independent Living Center was the Atlantis Community founded by the Reverend Wade Blank in Denver in 1975. ADAPT emerged out of this local Denver disability-activist environment that Atlantis cultivated and the group first garnered widespread media coverage in 1978 for protests calling for wheelchair-accessible public transportation.17 In July 1978, some thirty disabled protestors in wheelchairs surrounded two Denver Regional Transportation District (RTD) buses, preventing them from moving, to draw attention to the fact that the RTD did not provide transportation for people with disabilities. As the Denver Post reported, “A major traffic jam and three arrests resulted.”18
One photograph from the protest in 1978 shows four disabled activists asleep in the street in front of a bus, preventing the bus from moving. Barricades can be seen in the background of the photo, blocking the street. An empty wheelchair is also in the middle of the street with what appears to be a sign propped on its seat. Signs have also been placed on the large front window screen of the bus, creatively held in place by the bus’s windshield wipers, as if the bus has been commandeered to support the activists’ cause. One sign has two simple equations: an ambulatory stick figure with “= Free Ride” next to it above a figure of a wheelchair user with “= No Ride” next to it. The other sign has the same symbol for a wheelchair user next to the words “TAXATION WITHOUT TRANSPORTATION.” Looking back at earlier protests, we can see that, as with the #ADAPTandRESIST actions in 2017, one goal is to create a visually compelling narrative of determination in the face of adversity. As the caption to the photograph mentions, the four demonstrators sleeping in the street were part of a group of thirty disabled protestors “who maintained an overnight vigil to dramatize the need for greater accessibility to public transportation for the disabled.”19
The ADAPT acronym initially stood for American Disabled for Accessible Public Transport. As the political issues the group has engaged in have broadened, ADAPT would maintain the acronym but adapt—or, in the language of disability theory and practice today, we might say, “crip”—its meaning. Now ADAPT stands for American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today. The fluid meanings of the acronym reflect the importance of both freedom of movement in the public sphere and access to good care and assistance in both the public and private sphere as necessary to enable full citizenship and participation of disabled people. The ADAPT activists know much is at stake in the battle over health care. For these activists, illness and disability are material conditions of everyday life that require creative responses at the level of both the individual and society. They challenge us to adapt—not simply our bodies and ourselves but our society—so that everyone can fully participate in political and social life.
After the #SummerOfADAPT
Protests did not end at the end of the #SummerOfADAPT. In March 2018, hoping to draw on momentum from the summer before, members of ADAPT gathered again in D.C., this time camping outside the home of FDA Director Scott Gottlieb for over a week in cold and rain before targeting the FDA offices in a protest to stop aversive electroshock “treatments” at the Judge Rotenberg Center in Massachusetts. The ADAPTers were steadfast in their commitment to confront Gottlieb and convince him to take action to stop what they assert is not treatment but torture of disabled people. In press releases about this action, ADAPT emphasized the strength and perseverance of its members, who endured physical hardships and risked arrest to bring attention to injustice.20 They created an encampment near Gottlieb’s home, which they dubbed “ADAPT Freedom Park,” targeting a public figure who had the power to make positive change for institutionalized people and drawing attention more widely to the horror of aversive treatments. While the FDA protests generated less mainstream media coverage than the spectacle of disabled people being physically removed by police from the halls of Congress, ADAPT understands that the fight for the rights and needs of disabled people must operate in many registers at once. ADAPTers like Anita Cameron, who has been arrested more than 130 times in the fight for disability rights, are savvy activists, using the tactics of direct action to bring into the public domain the cruel and otherwise unseen “treatments” of highly vulnerable institutionalized people.21 The tactic of disability as spectacle is deployed to shame the nondisabled to contemplate the vulnerability of institutionalized people. #ADAPTandRESIST is democracy in action around the question of what kind of society we want—one that would enable the many to flourish and live valuable lives, or one that protects and enables the few.
As a campaign, #ADAPTandRESIST cultivated a heroic activist image of both individual commitment and collective solidarity through the spatio-temporal politics of direct action. They turned ableist assumptions about disabled people into an advantage. Indeed, I would argue that there is a performative vulnerability at work in these protests. To describe as performative the vulnerability of ADAPT’s direct action politics does not mean that I don’t think disabled activists are not actually vulnerable when they do this kind of activism. My work explores illness as performative, “performative” understood here through the lens of both social interactionist theories, which explore the constitution of the self in the practices of everyday life,22 and speech act theories of performative utterances, which explore how saying can be doing.23 We can see how diagnosis in particular is a performative utterance; doctors have the capacity to make someone ill or not, by declaring them so. As I will discuss further in chapters 5 and 6, as is often the case with emergent and not fully understood illnesses like ME/CFS and long Covid, a person may be deemed not ill or, sometimes, mentally rather than physically ill. Yet here I am also interested in how doing illness and disability politics performs illness in various ways. In the case of #ADAPTandRESIST, activists do illness and disability in public combining a rhetoric and politics of vulnerability and heroism while also making disability community visible to others, disabled and nondisabled. Being seen fighting for their rights, as well as for the rights of others, confers agency on a population often perceived as lacking agency. Put simply, this is an effective affective politics.
Postscripts to #ADAPTandRESIST
I want to close this chapter by offering two brief postscripts about ADAPT’s #ADAPTandRESIST campaign, which demonstrate what is at stake in illness and disability politics at individual and structural levels: the first is the tragic death of Carrie Ann Lucas in 2019, and the second, accusations of racism and xenophobia against one of ADAPT’s leaders, Bruce Darling, and statements disavowing Darling’s words and actions by the NCIL and ADAPT.
Less than two years after Carrie Ann Lucas was arrested in Denver, she tragically passed away, on February 24, 2019, at the age of only forty-seven. In a post on her Facebook page announcing her death, Lucas’s family and friends stated that she “died after an arbitrary denial from an insurance company caused a plethora of health problems, exacerbating her disabilities and eventually leading to her premature death.”24 In an obituary in Forbes with the headline, “You Probably Haven’t Heard of Her and That’s a Problem,” Sarah Kim quoted from the family’s assessment that terrible decisions led directly to Lucas’s premature death, and she asserted more generally that “discussions surrounding disability rights issues are still kept in secrecy.”25 Kim also addressed the problem of disability representation, noting that, “when disability is represented in the media, it is mostly through the lenses of pity or inspiration—never through a human rights perspective. Most of the featured stories are about someone overcoming the odds despite having a disability.”26 Kim goes on to chronicle and celebrate Lucas’s activist work, ending her tribute by quoting further from the Facebook post that calls on all of us to fight the inhumane and deadly decisions that deem some lives not worthy of the cost of care: “For all intents and purposes, a shero of our community was murdered in the name of cost containment. This is why we MUST fight those measures with all we have.”27
Even as Lucas’s loved ones and fellow activists honored her life work by calling for a continuation of the fight for justice by and for disabled people, there were some obituaries that fell into the trap of the overcoming narrative, even as they sought to acknowledge the gravity of the loss of such a powerful figure in the disability community. In a long obituary for the New York Times, for example, Katharine Q. Seelye lauds Lucas as a champion for people, and especially parents, with disabilities, and mentions her arrest on “charges of trespassing after a 58-hour sit-in at the Denver office of Senator Cory Gardner.”28 Seelye notes that Lucas and other activists were arrested “protesting the Republican plan to repeal the Affordable Care Act, which would have reduced Medicaid funding and eliminated services that make it possible for people with disabilities to live independently.”29 Yet, despite close attention to Lucas’s activism, Seelye’s obituary describes the cause of Lucas’s death simply as “complications of septic shock,” not mentioning the insurance company’s denial of a specific drug—an inhalable antibiotic—that was needed to treat her condition nor her family’s insistence that her death was preventable.30 Seelye’s obituary does precisely what Kim cautions against: focusing on Lucas’s activism as a form of individual overcoming rather than on the structural ableism of a failed health-care system that she protested against and that caused her death.
Finally, in another upsetting postscript to #ADAPTandRESIST, I want to briefly mention the controversy surrounding comments made in the summer of 2019 by Bruce Darling, a long-time leader of ADAPT and at that time President of the Board of the National Council on Independent Living (NCIL). Darling and other ADAPT activists were meeting with Anna Eshoo, a Democratic member of Congress from California. In a tweet thread on July 16, 2019, Cal Montgomery, a member of ADAPT who was at the meeting, calls out Darling, who he says made it clear he was representing both ADAPT and NCIL when he made negative comments about immigrants in the meeting.31 Montgomery links to a video posted on Facebook of the meeting and draws viewers’ attention to the point at about the 14-minute mark in the video where Darling expresses what he says is “our talking point.” Montgomery quotes Darling in full over three tweets in the thread saying the following:
“Our talking point is, ‘Democrats care more about people who are not legally in this country than their own citizens who are disabled.’ It really is what the message is here. That basically [pointing to different disabled activists] you and you and you and you, you are less than. You are not worthy. We are more concerned about immigrants who happened to come here in a non-legal manner than we are with our own citizens, and we will lock disabled people up. This is going to be the message from the dais at the [National Council on Independent Living] conference. This is not what Democrats want. It’s not what we want.”32
Montgomery’s next tweet in the thread emphatically distances himself from Darling’s remarks, noting that Darling does not speak for him: “Let me be clear. Nobody has my consent to use my name, my experience, my trauma, my commitment to disability rights or my work to suggest that disabled people with and without citizenship are in a competition for justice. He’s speaking on my behalf without my consent.”33 Montgomery’s tweet thread circulated widely, and other disability activists spoke out against what they saw as the racism and xenophobia behind Darling’s comments, as well as a casual assumption about the whiteness of the disability community. Disabled activist Alice Wong, one of the founders of #CripTheVote, which I will discuss in the next chapter, created a wakelet to document responses to Darling’s comments under the heading “Racism, immigration, and the disability community: A snapshot.”34 The next day, Darling offered an apology of sorts on Twitter, taking sole responsibility for his comments and clarifying that he was not speaking on behalf of ADAPT or NCIL, which he noted are both “working hard to advance intersectional justice.”35
Later the same day, the board of directors of the NCIL published a statement saying they had unanimously accepted Darling’s resignation and that they “unequivocally denounce” his statements.36 In their statement, the NCIL took the opportunity to show how immigration and detention are disability-justice issues for a variety of reasons, including because disabled people are among those detained at the border and seeking asylum and because the conditions in the camps “are resulting in detainees acquiring trauma-related disabilities.” They also condemned rhetoric that sought “to pit the disability community against those who are seeking asylum in the U.S.” and sent a strong message of solidarity with detainees and those seeking to immigrate to the United States.37 Finally, the NCIL board acknowledged that the Independent Living Movement could have better representation in its leadership of multiply marginalized people and promised to devote significant time at the upcoming conference mentioned by Darling in his comments on how to make the ILM more inclusive.
ADAPT, too, denounced Darling immediately, beginning with a statement of “REAL Values and Commitment” signed by several ADAPT chapters in the week following Darling’s comments.38 The statement began:
We take responsibility and apologize for the hurtful and damaging actions that have taken place under ADAPT’s name. There is no excuse. It is wholly unacceptable for ADAPT leaders to pit other groups fighting for freedom against one another—no one is free until we all are free. The ADAPT Chapters cosigning this statement are dedicated to changing the way ADAPT is currently operating on a National level, how we address racist, ableist, nationalist, homophobic, transphobic, sexist, classist, and all hate speech within our ADAPT community, and get back on the path of direct action grassroots community organizing to Free All People.39
Eventually, in a brief statement released on February 17, 2020, ADAPT disavowed Bruce Darling. Signed by the ADAPT Collective, the statement read in full: “It is clear that, for some time now, Bruce Darling has not been acting in the best interests of ADAPT. Bruce Darling no longer represents, or speaks for National ADAPT. Bruce Darling no longer is an organizer or leader for National ADAPT.”40 For me, this is not so much the story of one activist who was canceled but is an example of illness and disability politics in action in the form of reflection on the leadership and decision-making of the group, as well as on the overall framing of the issues and the tactics and strategies deployed by the group. As I will discuss in the next two chapters, the heroic image of protest in the form of direct-action civil disobedience in public spaces that ADAPT utilized to good effect in its #ADAPTandRESIST campaign is not the only model of disability and illness politics in action. With #CripTheVote, we move from the spaces of political power in the United States (the U.S. Capitol and senators’ offices in Washington, D.C., and at home) to virtual spaces of a becoming-disability-community.
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