Olivia: What's the first image that comes to mind when you hear the word 'terrorist'? Jackson: Something intense. A shadowy figure, bombs, political manifestos... definitely not a community organizer, an artist, or a daughter trying to save her brother. Olivia: Exactly. And that's the chasm we're diving into today. The space between that loaded, weaponized word and the human being it's aimed at. Jackson: It’s a huge gap. And it feels like the perfect entry point for the book we’re discussing. Olivia: It absolutely is. Today we are exploring When They Call You a Terrorist: A Black Lives Matter Memoir, co-authored by Patrisse Khan-Cullors and asha bandele. Jackson: And Patrisse Khan-Cullors isn't just any author; she's one of the three co-founders of the Black Lives Matter movement. That context is everything. Olivia: It is. This book was an instant New York Times bestseller and is widely considered a foundational text for anyone trying to understand the movement not as a headline, but as a story rooted in love, resilience, and profound loss. It’s a memoir, but it’s also a manifesto. Jackson: That title is such a punch. It’s a direct confrontation. How does someone get from being a person, a family member, to being called a terrorist? Where does her story even begin? Olivia: Well, it begins somewhere beautiful and almost cosmic. In the introduction, Patrisse introduces this powerful idea she gets from Neil deGrasse Tyson: that we are all, literally, made of stardust. The atoms in our bodies were forged in the hearts of stars. Jackson: I love that idea, 'we are stardust.' It's so poetic. It implies this inherent, universal value. We’re all connected to the cosmos. Olivia: Exactly. It’s a declaration of worth. She uses it to talk about the resilience of her ancestors, the strength of her mother who worked three jobs, the spirit of her father who struggled with addiction but never stopped trying. It’s this baseline belief: we are miraculous, we are worthy, we are stardust. Jackson: But how do you hold onto that feeling when the world is constantly telling you you're disposable? That seems to be the core tension right there. Olivia: That is the core tension. Because the book immediately throws that beautiful, cosmic idea against the brutal, grinding reality of the state. And the most powerful example of this, the story that runs like a painful current through the entire first half of the book, is what happened to her brother, Monte.

Jackson: Right, his story is central. What happened to him? Olivia: Monte is Patrisse’s older brother, and he suffers from schizoaffective disorder. He’s a gentle, sensitive person who, from a young age, is targeted by the police. The book details incident after incident, but the one that truly breaks everything open happens when Monte is an adult. He has a manic episode after a minor fender bender. He isn't violent, he isn't a threat, but he's clearly in distress. Jackson: Okay, so this is a mental health crisis. The proper response should be medical, right? Paramedics, a hospital. Olivia: You would think. Instead, the police show up. And their response to his mental health crisis is to shoot him with rubber bullets, tase him, and beat him. But it gets worse. They charge him with a crime. Jackson: What was the charge? Resisting arrest? Assault? Olivia: Terrorism. Jackson: Hold on. Terrorism? For a mental health episode during a traffic incident? How is that even possible? That feels like a bureaucratic weapon, not a legal charge. Olivia: It’s a weapon. As Angela Davis points out in the foreword, the label 'terrorist' is strategically used to discredit and dehumanize. The police report claimed he was a threat, and in the post-9/11 world, that word gives them immense power. Monte, a man in the throes of a mental health crisis, was suddenly framed as a domestic terrorist. He was thrown into the LA County Jail, a place the book describes as a torture chamber, and held in solitary confinement for 23 hours a day. Jackson: That’s just… unimaginable. Solitary confinement is known to break even the most mentally sound individuals. For someone with schizoaffective disorder, it’s a death sentence. Olivia: It was torture. And the book makes a powerful distinction here. It says this wasn't just abuse, which can be spontaneous. Torture is premeditated. It's a system designed to dismantle a person's identity. And Patrisse and her family had to fight this system, a system that saw her brother not as a person needing care, but as a threat to be neutralized. Jackson: And this personal horror story is happening against the backdrop of her everyday life. I remember that story from her childhood, the one about the white drug dealer in the wealthy neighborhood. Can you talk about that? The contrast is just staggering. Olivia: It’s one of the most telling anecdotes. When her family moves, she ends up at a middle school in the wealthy, white area of Sherman Oaks. She befriends a girl whose brother is a known, large-scale drug dealer. Patrisse, whose own brothers were constantly harassed and arrested for simply hanging out in an alleyway, is shocked to learn that this white drug dealer has never been arrested. He doesn't even fear being arrested. Jackson: It's like they're living in two completely different countries. For her brothers, Paul and Monte, just existing in public space was a criminal act. For this kid, dealing drugs was a business venture with zero consequences. Olivia: Exactly. And that’s the point she makes so powerfully. The law is not a neutral force. It’s a tool, and it’s applied with surgical precision against Black and Brown bodies, while often giving a pass to white ones. Her brother Monte wasn’t just unlucky; he was a target of a system that had been practicing on people like him for generations. John Ehrlichman, Nixon’s domestic policy chief, is quoted in the book admitting they knew they were lying when they associated Black people with heroin to justify criminalizing them. He said, "Did we know we were lying? Of course we did." Jackson: Wow. To see it laid out so explicitly is chilling. It’s not a bug in the system; it’s the feature. So this deep, personal pain from seeing her family brutalized by this system… that has to be the seed for everything that comes later. Olivia: It's the absolute core. The book argues that you can't understand the political movement of Black Lives Matter without understanding the personal, generational trauma of families like hers. The fight for her brother's dignity, for her father's humanity, for her own survival—that is the fight. It’s not an abstract political theory. Jackson: It’s a matter of life and death. Olivia: It is. And it's precisely that experience—seeing the system fail her family at every turn—that becomes the fuel. It's not just about surviving; it's about building something so others don't have to. This is where the story shifts from a personal tragedy to the birth of a global movement.

Jackson: So let's talk about that shift. How does this deeply personal story explode into a global phenomenon? We all know the hashtag, #BlackLivesMatter, but the book gives the origin story. Olivia: It does, and the origin is so telling. It didn't start in a boardroom or a political convention. It started as a Facebook post. In 2013, after George Zimmerman was acquitted for the murder of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin, Alicia Garza, another of the co-founders, wrote what she later called a "love letter to Black people." Jackson: A love letter. That’s not what you’d expect. Olivia: Right. She wrote, "Black people, I love you. I love us. Our lives matter." Patrisse saw this post, and Opal Tometi, the third co-founder, also saw its power. They took that sentiment—that declaration of love and worth in a moment of national grief and rage—and turned it into a hashtag. #BlackLivesMatter. Jackson: It’s amazing how that simple phrase became a global rallying cry. But how does a hashtag actually become a movement with chapters and real-world impact? What's the mechanism there? Olivia: That’s the journey the second half of the book chronicles. It wasn't just online. They immediately started organizing on the ground. One of the first major actions they organized in LA was a march, but they didn't march in a Black neighborhood where everyone already knew the pain. They marched on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. Jackson: To confront the people who are insulated from this reality. Olivia: Precisely. To disrupt the comfort of those who benefit from the system. But even then, the goal wasn't just to shout. Patrisse describes getting on a bullhorn and asking the wealthy, white diners to just hold a moment of silence for Trayvon. And they did. It was about forcing a moment of shared humanity. Jackson: That’s a powerful image. It’s not just anger; it’s a demand for empathy. Olivia: And that spirit of care and healing is central to how they built the movement. When Mike Brown was killed in Ferguson, Missouri, and the city erupted, they didn't just send tweets of support. They organized what they called a Freedom Ride. Jackson: Echoing the Freedom Rides of the Civil Rights Movement. Olivia: Exactly. They raised money and coordinated hundreds of organizers, lawyers, healers, and artists from across the country to go to Ferguson. They weren't there to take over, but to support the local organizers who were exhausted and traumatized. They set up healing justice spaces, offered legal support, and brought resources. It was an act of collective care. Jackson: This is probably why some critics find the movement so threatening, right? There's no single leader to target, no traditional hierarchy to co-opt. It's a different kind of power. The book talks about the backlash, about being called terrorists. Olivia: It does. And it argues that the label is a direct response to the effectiveness of their model. A decentralized, community-led, Black-woman-led movement is terrifying to a patriarchal, white supremacist power structure. It’s a model they can’t easily control or understand. The book also makes it clear that the movement is intentionally inclusive, creating space for Queer and Trans voices, and centering the stories of Black women through campaigns like #SayHerName, which was created to highlight the police violence against women like Sandra Bland. Jackson: Which often gets erased from the mainstream narrative. It’s usually the stories of Black men that get the most attention. Olivia: And the founders were very conscious of that. They saw how patriarchy operates even within liberation movements. A lot of the later chapters deal with the frustration of seeing the media and even allies try to erase the women who founded and built this movement, looking for a male figurehead to fit their preconceived notions of what a leader looks like. Jackson: So the movement itself is a constant act of resistance, not just against the state, but against erasure from within and without. It’s a fight on multiple fronts. Olivia: A fight on all fronts. And it’s a fight for a different kind of future. The book ends with Patrisse becoming a mother, and this deep reflection on what it means to bring a Black child into this world, into this fight. It’s not about just ending police brutality; it’s about building a world where her child, Shine, can have a long, vibrant, healthy life. A world where Black futures are possible.

Jackson: It really all comes back to that title, doesn't it? When They Call You a Terrorist. It’s not a question; it’s a statement of fact. This is what happens. Olivia: It is. It’s the inevitable outcome when you challenge a system at its foundation. Jackson: And after our conversation, it seems so clear. They call you a terrorist when you build a form of power they can't control. It's not about actual violence; it's about threatening a narrative. The most terrifying thing to an oppressive system isn't a bomb; it's a community that loves and protects itself. Olivia: That’s it exactly. The book is a powerful testament to that. It shows that the response to state-sanctioned terror—the terror of poverty, of police raids, of a justice system that cages your loved ones—is not to meet it with more terror, but to meet it with radical love, with community, with art, and with an unshakeable belief in your own worth. Jackson: The belief that you are stardust. Olivia: The belief that you are stardust. The book forces us to ask a really fundamental question: who gets to define 'safety' and 'threat' in our society? And what does it mean to build a future where Black lives are not just tolerated or protected, but are seen as the 'stardust' they are—precious, essential, and brilliant? Jackson: It’s a profound and necessary question. This memoir feels less like a history book and more like a field guide for the present, and a map for the future. Olivia: A map written with love and courage. It’s an essential read. We'd love to hear your thoughts on this. What part of Patrisse's story or the Black Lives Matter movement's origin resonated most with you? Find us on our socials and join the conversation. Jackson: This is Aibrary, signing off.