In the aftermath of the 1994 Rwandan Genocide, Rwandan President Paul Kagame banned people from sharing their ethnic identity. While many Western leaders have praised Kagame for ushering in a new era of peace and prosperity after the genocide, activists have cautioned that Kagame’s approach has significant drawbacks for the civil liberties of Rwandans. After their own ethnic conflict, Ethiopia took an approach opposite to Rwanda’s, choosing to divide the country into ethnically federated states. Given that both sub-Saharan African states experienced ethnic conflict in the 1990s and developed starkly different approaches to conflict management, comparing the two makes for an interesting case study. This paper evaluates Rwanda’s and Ethiopia’s approaches to ethnic conflict management by examining how effective they were at curbing the resurgence of violence. In addition to direct violence, this paper will examine political rights and civil liberties to measure the mitigation of structural violence, or structural inequalities between groups. The Uppsala Conflict Data Programme (UCDP) database is used to measure the resurgence of direct violence, while Freedom House’s Freedom in the World reports on political rights and civil liberties are used to measure structural violence.
The Rwandan Genocide is one of the most infamous episodes of conflict in Africa in recent history. From April to July 1994, approximately one million Rwandans were massacred until the Tutsi-led Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) took military control of the country and ousted many of the Hutu genocidaires (United Nations 2019). As this paper will demonstrate, Rwandan President Paul Kagame, who rose to power on the back of his military success as a commander in the RPF, has gone to great lengths to ensure the official story of the genocide paints a clear-cut picture of the RPF as blameless saviors (Epstein 2017). According to Allan Stam and Christian Davenport, two researchers who conducted extensive field work in Rwanda in the late 1990s and worked for the prosecution and defense at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), the truth is much more complicated. Stam and Davenport’s field research indicates that approximately 500,000 to 700,000 Hutus were killed during this time period, meaning that the majority of the victims of the violence were Hutu, not Tutsi (Stam and Davenport 2017). While their findings support the narrative that there was in fact a genocidal campaign against the Tutsis “directed…by the Hutu government,” Stam and Davenport argue that many of the deaths during the 1994 genocide should be attributed to “wanton violence associated with the breakdown of order,” as well as “large-scale retribution killings. by Hutu of Tutsi, and vice versa” (Stam and Davenport 2017). These findings are supported by other studies that suggest the RPF’s actions were part of a calculated political plot to forcibly reintegrate the Tutsis living in exile back into Rwanda at any cost (including carrying out war crimes), and that the RPF played a critical role in sparking the genocide (Epstein 2017).
In order to better understand the roots of the conflict, we must look at the events leading up to the genocide. The Tutsis and Hutus coexisted in the Great Lakes region of Africa for hundreds of years, with the Tutsis arriving later and adopting the culture and language of the Hutus (PBS NewsHour 1999). As cattle-herders, Tutsis tended to be wealthier than the farming Hutus, giving the Tutsis a form of power over the Hutus despite the fact that Tutsis comprised the minority (PBS NewsHour 1999). Many scholars have argued, “the only difference[s] between the two groups were economic, rather than ethnic,” but they have come to be viewed as different ethnic groups, in part thanks to the policies of the Belgian colonial administration (PBS NewsHour 1999). The Belgians forced Hutus and Tutsis to carry ethnic identity cards, and prohibited access to education and political power for Hutus, which exacerbated existing tensions (PBS NewsHour 1999). In 1962, when the country formerly known as Ruanda-Urundi split into Rwanda and Burundi, hundreds of thousands of Tutsis fled to Uganda to escape violence from the Hutus (PBS NewsHour 1999). Uganda, led by Tutsi Yoweri Museveni, became the base for Tutsis to regroup (PBS NewsHour 1999). It was in Uganda where the Tutsis formed the RPF, the same group which eventually chased the Hutu genocidaires out of Rwanda and brought an end to the genocide (PBS NewsHour 1999). These factors help illuminate why some of the violence in 1994 can be attributed to civil war, not just genocide. In other words, Rwanda did experience genocide, but not all of the deaths during this time period were a result of the genocide.
Once the violence had ended, Rwanda pursued novel peacebuilding processes which attracted international acclaim. The peacebuilding process that Rwanda is most famous for is its use of gacaca courts to alleviate burdens on the conventional justice system such as overcrowded prisons (Human Rights Watch 2011). Gacaca courts had “government oversight but limited due process guarantees, [and] combined modern criminal law with more traditional informal community procedures” (Human Rights Watch 2011). According to Daniel Bekele, Africa Director at Human Rights Watch in 2011, “the courts…helped Rwandans better understand what happened in 1994, but in many cases flawed trials…led to miscarriages of justice" (Human Rights Watch 2011). Over 12,000 of these gacaca courts tried 1.2 million cases between 2005 and 2011 (Human Rights Watch 2011). Rwanda’s peacebuilding efforts also included demilitarization, demobilization, and reintegration (DDR), and bottom-up peacebuilding approaches sponsored by NGOs. However, the most relevant aspect for our purposes is the treatment of ethnicity post-conflict, as this is an area where Rwandan and Ethiopian approaches differ greatly. After the genocide, Rwanda banned two political parties, the Mouvement républicain national pour la démocratie et le développement (MRND) and the Hutu-extremist Coalition pour la Défense de la République (CDR) (Basedau & Moroff 2011, 216). In 2003, the government implemented an official policy of “ethnic nonrecognition,” removing ethnicity from identity cards and textbooks, and prohibiting people from disclosing their ethnic identities by criminalizing “genocide ideology,” “sectarianism” (Baldwin 2021), and “‘divisionism,’ a nebulous offense that includes speaking too provocatively about ethnicity” (Lacey 2004). The national motto became Ndi Umunyarwanda, or “we are all Rwandan” (Baldwin 2021). The only time discussion about ethnicity is allowed is during the 100 day Kwibuka, or remembrance period beginning on April 7 th each year (Baldwin 2021). During this period there are many signs commemorating “The 1994 Genocide Against the Tutsi” (Baldwin 2021), a renaming that Kagame championed and achieved on the international level through a United Nations General Assembly resolution in 2018 (Xinhua Net 2018). Many criticized this name change for erasing the Hutu and Twa (a minority ethnic group) victims of the genocide (Baldwin 2021).
Around the same time as the Rwandan Genocide, Ethiopia faced its own conflict, which has continued to flare up intermittently to this day. At first glance, it might seem strange to compare Ethiopia and Rwanda. Ethiopia is nearly 42 times the size of Rwanda geographically and is the second most populous country in Africa, with a population nearly nine times the size of Rwanda’s (CIA n.d.). However, as African Studies scholar Dr. Hilary Matfess succinctly writes, “both nations are characterized by high growth economies with significant state involvement and the formal institutions of democracy, but deeply troubling patterns of domestic governance” (Matfess 2015, 181). Though Rwanda has a long history of rule by European colonizers (United Nations 2019) and Ethiopia does not (CIA n.d.), both countries have complex relationships and violent histories with their neighbors due to the way colonial powers created arbitrary borders, leading to irredentist conflicts. Additionally, Rwanda and Ethiopia are key strategic allies for the United States, despite the recent political turmoil in both East African countries (Moody 2022).
Just as Rwanda’s history is deeply intertwined with that of Burundi and Uganda, so too is Ethiopia’s history intertwined with Eritrea’s. In 1991, a coalition of ethnic groups worked together to oust Ethiopia’s military Derg regime (Reid 2020). One of them, the Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front (TPLF), went on to play a prominent role in the governing Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) coalition, despite only representing a small minority of Ethiopia’s population (Reid 2020). Ethiopia’s political parties had been primarily based on ethnicity since 1991, but in 1995, the EPRDF further linked ethnic identity to politics by instituting a new Ethiopian constitution, which created ten ethnic states based on “settlement patterns, language, identity and consent” (Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia 1995). This ethnic conflict management approach of recognizing and reinforcing ethnic divisions could hardly be more different from Rwanda’s approach.
In 1993, Eritrea declared independence from Ethiopia, and the two countries managed to briefly maintain a cordial relationship. However, by May of 1998, a territorial dispute over Badme, a town in the Tigray province of Ethiopia, located along the Eritrean border, had escalated into a full-scale war (Reid 2020). A ceasefire in 2000 temporarily stopped the fighting, but Ethiopia refused to accept the U.N. boundary imposed in 2002 (Reid 2020). The two sides continued to clash periodically until 2018, when Ethiopian President Abiy Ahmed was elected and signed a peace treaty officially ending the war with Eritrea (Reid 2020). Ahmed had already angered Tigrayans by dismissing Tigrayan leaders from prominent government posts, so allowing the Eritreans to take Badme was like rubbing salt in an open wound (Al Jazeera 2020). Ahmed was elected amid a surge in anti-government sentiment, motivated in large part by frustration with the lack of government representation for non-Tigrayan populations, and Ahmed’s government reforms did not sit well with Tigrayans (Al Jazeera 2020).
Though Tigrayans only comprise roughly seven percent of Ethiopia’s population, they dominated the political scene in Ethiopia for nearly three decades, resulting in the under-representation of the Oromia and Amhara populations, which together account for over 60 percent of Ethiopia’s population (Walsh and Dahir 2022). According to an October 2020 report, “under Abiy, Tigrayan leaders…complained of being unfairly targeted in corruption prosecutions, removed from top positions and broadly scapegoated for the country’s woes” (Al Jazeera 2020). Ahmed, who promoted the idea of ethnic unity throughout his campaign, created a new multi-ethnic political party, The Prosperity Party, which Tigray refused to join (Gedamu 2019). Tensions between Ahmed and the Tigray province came to a head in 2020, when Ethiopian National Defense Forces (ENDF) and the TPLF clashed, with the ENDF blocking access in and out of Tigray, as well as neighboring regions Amhara and Afar (United States Department of State n.d.). This fighting resulted in “credible allegations of atrocity crimes,” including widespread sexual violence, and the displacement of hundreds of thousands of people (Freedom House n.d.). On November 4, 2022, however, almost exactly two years after the fighting began, Tigrayan forces signed a ceasefire with the Ethiopian government at negotiations led by the African Union in South Africa (Reuters 2022). Notably, one of the provisions was that both sides agree to end “hostile propaganda, rhetoric, and hate speech” (Reuters 2022). It is too early to tell whether this agreement will last, especially given that several other attempted ceasefires failed (Kaledzi 2022). While this is a promising start, the deal does not mention contested territory between Tigray and Amhara, who will comprise Tigray’s interim administration, or how certain provisions of the deal will be implemented (Kaledzi 2022). In any case, it is difficult to say what this means for the broader picture of ethnic conflict management in Ethiopia. Ahmed’s stated desire for ethnic unity has been undermined by his actions in Tigray, but even setting this aside, it is difficult to determine whether the shift in ethnic conflict management policy contributed to the ceasefire, or whether this commitment to national unity will last.
At first glance, it appears as though Rwanda’s approach to managing ethnic tensions has been stronger than Ethiopia’s, because Rwanda has experienced fewer deaths related to violent combat since their respective bouts of genocide/ethnic conflict in the 1990s. To provide a fuller picture of how ethnic conflict management policies have impacted Rwandans and Ethiopians, this section will analyze ethnic policies through the lens of both direct and structural violence. It begins with the definitions of direct and structural violence. Next, it will review the number of deaths due to conflict in Rwanda and Ethiopia since the conflicts in the 1990s, and describe the limitations of only using metrics related to direct violence to measure the success of peacebuilding efforts. Then, we will attempt to quantify the structural violence that Rwanda and Ethiopia’s ethnic conflict management policies have caused, using Freedom House’s Freedom in the World reports to examine the implications of these policies on political rights and civil liberties.
Direct violence is the type of violence that many people think of when they hear the word violence – individuals physically attacking one another. In the social sciences, there are many data sets that quantify this direct, or personal violence, as seen in war and ethnic cleansing. The number of deaths resulting from direct violence is an important metric. It is limited, however, as it does not take into account larger systems that foster or excuse violent acts. This is why peace studies pioneer Johan Galtung identified the social conditions that foster direct violence as structural violence.[1] Galtung’s conception of structural violence can be defined as “the systematic ways in which some groups are hindered from equal access to opportunities, goods, and services that enable the fulfillment of basic human needs” (Harvard Divinity School n.d.). Structural violence is much harder to quantify or even to identify than direct violence, but it is important to try, because direct and structural violence are often deeply intertwined. Furthermore, though direct violence manifests more visibly, Galtung wrote that the goals of alleviating both direct and structural violence “are significant, and it is…a disservice…to say that one is more important than the other” (Galtung 1969, 185). While there is no one clear way to measure levels of structural violence in any society, Galtung identified repression as the overarching category for the mechanisms through which structural violence operates (Galtung 1990, 291-305). Freedom House’s Freedom in the World Reports provide a broad range of indicators to measure repression in political rights and civil liberties, so we will use these metrics to gauge structural violence.
First, to compare the number of conflict-related deaths – or deaths due to direct violence – in Rwanda and Ethiopia, we will use the Uppsala Conflict Data Programme (UCDP) database. The UCDP is one of the oldest and most complete datasets that “has become the global standard of how conflicts are systematically defined and studied” (Schützer 2022). The UCDP tracks the number of deaths caused by state-based, non-state, and one-sided violence. UCDP’s casualty estimates are likely lower than the actual number of deaths due to the difficulty of collecting data in conflict zones, and UCDP’s attempts to “trace reports back to the primary source” to enhance the reliability of their data (Schützer 2022). Yet, because UCDP’s methodology is consistent across years and countries, this factor should not greatly influence the conclusions we draw from the data.
According to this database, Rwanda experienced 13,099 conflict-related deaths between 1995 and 2021, plummeting drastically from the 541,444 reported by UCPD in 1994 during the genocide (UCPD 2022). More importantly for our purposes, in the 19 years between 2002 (the year after the Rwandan government officially outlawed ethnicity) and 2021, the number of deaths was dramatically lower than the seven-year period from 1995 up to (and including) 2001 (Kamanzi 2021). The number dropped from 13,002 total deaths between 1995 and 2001 to only 97 between 2002 and 2021. In Ethiopia, however, splitting the country into regions based on ethnicity seemed only to exacerbate ethnic conflict. The number and variety of types of Ethiopia’s conflicts over the past three plus decades make it difficult for meaningful comparisons among each conflict period, but we can look at the number of casualties in two periods the same length of time immediately preceding the reshaping of Ethiopia’s regions by ethnicity and immediately following it. From 1989 to 1995 (the year the new constitution went into effect), there were 89,985 total conflict-related deaths. From 1996 to 2002, there were 81,757 conflict-related deaths. Although many of these deaths undoubtedly were caused by the conflict with Eritrea, which was by that point its own state, that conflict was the result of ethnic tensions that had long festered within Ethiopia. Furthermore, the UCPD does not distinguish between inter and intra-state conflicts, so there is no way to separate the data. In comparing the sheer number and relative persistence of deaths since the outbreak of violence in both countries, it is easy to see why Rwanda’s policy of ethnic nonrecognition is touted as a miraculous success, while Ethiopia’s policy of ethnic federalism seems to have failed spectacularly. But the methodological and practical limitations of such measures, highlighted by the UCPD database, paint a more complex picture.
On the surface, this data indicates that the Rwandan government’s policies on ethnicity were resoundingly successful, at least in terms of preventing the resurgence of direct violence within the state. Still, given that ethnic conflict has manifested quite differently in Rwanda and Ethiopia—an infamously rapid genocide that decimated the population as opposed to sporadic episodes of violence over the course of decades—simply comparing the number of deaths in each country since the legal reforms regarding ethnicity took place does not tell the whole story. Furthermore, we can only examine the number of deaths since a certain policy change took place, but the data examined in this paper does not account for how long each policy took to implement, how implementation varied by region, or how receptive citizens were to these policy changes before and after they happened. Perhaps most crucially, even if the data demonstrates a correlation between a state’s policies and the resurgence of conflict, the data does not explain why that may be the case.
Looking at direct violence through conflict deaths does not provide a very nuanced understanding of how ethnic conflict management policies have shaped the domestic political landscapes of Ethiopia and Rwanda today. Accordingly, we now turn to Freedom House’s Freedom in the World Reports to examine the repression of political rights and civil liberties. From Freedom House’s website, “Freedom in the World is an annual global report on political rights and civil liberties, composed of numerical ratings and descriptive texts for each country” (Freedom House n.d.b). The decisions are made by a coalition of independent researchers and human rights experts, who use news articles, academic research, NGO reports, and field research to ensure methodological consistency and to eliminate as much bias as possible (Freedom House n.d.b). Each country receives a score out of 100 points, with 60 possible points for civil liberties and 40 for political rights, weighted equally. Countries are labeled as free, partly free, or not free depending on their overall score. Both Rwanda and Ethiopia were labeled “not free,” and it is easy to see why upon breaking down the scores.
Rwanda scored a dismal 22 points out of a possible 100. They received 8 out of 40 points for political rights, and 14 out of 60 for civil liberties. First, let us look at political rights. One of the issues this section considers is whether ethnic groups have access to full political participation (Freedom House n.d.a). Freedom House found that “the prohibition on discussion of ethnicity makes it nearly impossible for disadvantaged groups—including the Twa…to organize independently and advocate for their interests.” Furthermore, “societal discrimination, as well as the regime’s general repression of dissent, prevents LGBT+ [and other] Rwandans from freely pursuing their communities’ political interests” (Freedom House n.d.a). They also found that “both voters and candidates face significant intimidation aimed at controlling their political choices…[and] Rwandans living outside the country have been threatened, attacked, forcibly disappeared, or killed, apparently in retaliation for their public or suspected opposition to the regime” (Freedom House n.d.a).
In fact, Rwanda made international headlines in 2020 when it abducted outspoken critic Paul Rusesabagina, whose story of saving hundreds of Rwandans during the genocide was chronicled in the movie Hotel Rwanda (United States Department of State n.d.a). In 2021, he was sentenced to 25 years in prison despite the widespread reports of an unfair trial that lacked due process (Freedom House n.d.a). Rusesabagina was released in March 2023, but only after he agreed to refrain from speaking out against the Rwandan government in a pardon request submitted in October, 2022 (Beloff 2023). In the pardon request, Rusesabagina writes, “If I am granted a pardon and released, I understand fully that I will spend the remainder of my days in the United States in quiet reflection. I can assure you…that I hold no personal or political ambitions otherwise. I will leave questions regarding Rwandan politics behind me” (Rusesabagina 2022). Some questions remain surrounding whether Rusesabagina’s actions during the genocide were profit-driven, and to what extent he was involved in fomenting violence in more recent years (Beloff 2022, 39-61). In any case, however, the methods that Kagame’s government took to silence Rusesabagina are worth noting for their extremity, their effectiveness, and for being emblematic of the government’s widespread attempts to create a culture of silence.
The government’s efforts to control the narrative and legacy of the genocide weigh heavily on the expression of civil liberties as well. The government stifles press and academic freedom “by enforcing official views on the genocide,” and heavily policing “any critical discussion of the RPF’s actions during the war or its politicization of memorialization projects” (Freedom House n.d.a). The government has been accused of using electronic surveillance and informants to infiltrate and police civil society. This has led to Rwandans being “forcibly disappeared, arrested, detained, and assassinated for expressing their views” (Freedom House n.d.a). Despite the public ban on ethnicity, as one Rwandan man stated, Rwandans “always know” or can find out someone’s ethnicity (The Economist n.d.). This means that the Hutu majority faces significant unofficial discrimination, resulting in them being severely underrepresented in government (Reyntjens 2021). Thus, despite Rwanda’s success at stifling ethnically-motivated direct violence, these policies have repressed fundamental rights and freedoms in Rwanda, thereby contributing to structural violence.
Ethiopia scored just one point higher than Rwanda, receiving 12 out of 40 points for political rights and 11 out of 60 for civil liberties for a total of 23. Freedom House noted that despite President Ahmed’s advocacy for national unity, polling data from 2020 “indicate that Ethiopians are evenly split between preference for ethnic and non-ethnic federation…[which has] fomented the ongoing conflict in Tigray and neighboring regions” (Freedom House n.d.). The conflict has in turn solidified these preferences, further dividing the country. These ethnic tensions have manifested on the civil liberties front too. In response to the question of whether all segments of the population are treated equality, Freedom House found:
The ongoing conflict in Tigray and political tensions throughout the country have inflamed ethnic divisions, contributing to discriminatory policies and actions against certain groups. The prime minister and prominent leaders aligned with him have referred to the TPLF with inflammatory language that may be interpreted as ethnic hate speech. Because of their perceived or actual support for regional Tigrayan forces, the broader Tigrayan population has become increasingly marginalized. Tigrayans have been purged from civil and military roles, forced to close businesses, and thousands have been detained arbitrarily. Amharas also decry growing targeted attacks, discrimination, and the failure of state actors to protect them, particularly in Oromia, Benishangul Gumuz, and in areas of Amhara. (Freedom House n.d.)
Naturally, Ethiopia faces many other challenges to political rights and civil liberties as well, but one need only read the above statements to see the undeniably negative impact of these lingering ethnic tensions on levels of both direct and structural violence in Ethiopia.
In comparing approaches to ethnic conflict management in Rwanda and Ethiopia, we find that Rwanda has managed to effectively prohibit the growth of ethnic conflict, while Ethiopia has not. However, basic political rights and civil liberties are severely threatened in both countries. This reveals that Rwanda’s policies have caused significant harm, despite how often Rwanda is praised as a model for effective post-conflict reconciliation.
Given the fact that the Rwandan and Ethiopian approaches to ethnic conflict management have had adverse consequences in different ways, any policy recommendations must be carefully tailored to each country’s current geopolitical situation. In Rwanda, it is difficult to see a path to improving the country while Paul Kagame maintains power, as Rwanda’s ethnic policies will continue to contribute to repression and silently foment ethnic resentment until the government allows for a the emergence of a more nuanced memorialization of the genocide. At the same time, any attempt by a foreign country to undermine Kagame, particularly one outside of Africa, would likely embolden Kagame and his supporters. This would strengthen arguments that Kagame’s detractors are not Rwandan and provide a pretext for further crackdowns on fundamental freedoms.
In Ethiopia, several foreign countries have been involved in attempts to negotiate ceasefires. However, it is noteworthy that the most recent deal, which both sides say is “a new and hopeful chapter in the history of the country,” was mediated by the African Union (Kaledzi 2022). In a region that has long been wary of Western interference due to the history of colonialism, perhaps letting the African Union take the lead in resolving African conflicts will prove to be a prudent approach. One way that Western countries might support the recent truce would be to provide resources necessary for implementing the deal transparently, which several analysts say is key to ensure a lasting peace (Kaledzi 2022). Still, there are no quick or easy fixes to this or other complex ethnic conflict.
It is clear that Rwanda’s efforts to prevent further conflict have come at a cost, while there is no indication that Ethiopia’s policies have had any success at all. Of course, no data set or NGO report can definitively capture a complete picture of the extent to which a government’s policies have affected the freedom of people living in Rwanda, Ethiopia, or any other country. Even so, it is striking that Freedom House’s reports positioned Rwanda’s political landscape as even slightly worse than already low-ranked Ethiopia, which has been engaged in a bloody war against its own people for most of the last two years. Though Rwanda has managed to avoid another bloody conflict for the time being, their repressive policies constitute a form of structural violence that may lead to civil unrest or other types of direct violence down the line. Despite not officially recognizing ethnicity, Rwandans still know who is who, and suppressing the political power and standing of minorities is one of the factors that contributed to the genocide in the first place.
The cases of Rwanda and Ethiopia highlight the importance of examining direct and structural violence in tandem with one another. In fact, Rwanda’s story demonstrates that attempts to prevent direct violence sometimes lead to structural violence–which in this case manifests as repression and exclusion. Yet, as Johan Galtung stated in his paper introducing the concept of structural violence “there is no reason to believe that the future will not bring us richer concepts and more forms of social action that combine absence of personal [direct] violence with fight against social injustice [structural violence] once sufficient activity is put into research and practice” (Galtung 1969, 190). Hopefully the research presented here will inspire political movements to seek creative approaches to ethnic conflict management that address both direct and structural violence.
Madeline “Maddie” Moreno just graduated with a Master of Arts in Ethics, Peace, and Human Rights from American University in Washington, DC. During graduate school she published “Media Coverage of Afghan and Uyghur Women Post 9/11: A Comparative Case Study” in the American University Journal of International Service. She presented at the International Studies Association’s Midwest Conference in St. Louis, MO and the East-West Center’s International Graduate Student Conference in Honolulu, HI. She is a Presidential Management Fellowship Finalist with expertise in mass atrocity prevention.
1. Due to length constraints this paper will not discuss Galtung’s related concept of cultural violence, but the relationship between cultural violence and peacebuilding efforts is an important avenue for further exploration. (Return to Note)
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