FOREWORD
I’ve been called a “street kid” or variations of that term all my life. Each time, it has seemed like a proxy for something more sinister than the words themselves. Somehow I knew that those who hurled those words intended them to harm. The context around their use, the tone with which they were said, the look in the eyes of those who said them all told me that the words meant not smart, not valuable, not educated/learned. The association between the street and what is wrong or bad has always existed. The streets as inherently bad or low-brow lingers in the imagination of the public. We have been taught to stay as far away from the streets as possible, only to look down upon them with a gaze of judgment and distance.
This perception replicates itself inside schools and school systems. Instead of listening to the families and young people we should be designing schools to serve, we listen to numbers and test scores and choose to believe anything but the most valuable source of data in our buildings: human experience. This is why the concept of Street Data is so radical and rife with possibility. It is in the embracing of what is perceived as negative and highlighting the possibility within it that transformation begins. The work then is the embracing of the street. The sitting in and with it until you become aware enough to see it for what it truly is. Most importantly, for those whose relationship to the street(s) has been used as a mechanism for their dispossession—the robbery of their self-worth and devaluing of their genius, embracing and elevating the street, the hood, el barrio becomes an act of restitution for the goal of restoration. That MUST be the goal of education—restitution and restoration.
One of my favorite hip-hop groups is the LOX. They are a trio of emcees from Yonkers, New York, who went from a group of talented high school friends to one of the most well-known groups in hip-hop. They got introduced to the world through hip-hop producer Sean (Diddy) Combs. Combs is, in many ways, the prototypical hip-hop record executive from the 1990’s. He was wealthy, flashy, visible, and had a backing from a larger corporation that had invested millions of dollars in ensuring he was successful. He signed the LOX to a record contract, and they wrote songs for him and also released an album entitled Money, Power and Respect. The album, which contained elements of what made the LOX special, also featured a song they wrote and an accompanying video that was the epitome of materialism, lights and flash. While this song made the group a household name, it was not who they were. They also came to recognize that they were locked into an unfair record contract. After some dissatisfaction with the label over their finances and representation in the public, the group decided they had enough with the record label. They were writing songs they were not getting compensated for, and their talents were being squandered for a corporation that did not truly see value in them. Most importantly, they were being asked to be something they were not. They did not feel true to self in the shiny suits that had become the uniform for Puffy’s Bad Boy Records and the caricatures they were becoming as they took on the personas he was constructing for them. They asked to be taken off the label. They were not let out of their contract. They decided to bring their case to the streets and have the community advocate for them in a campaign called “Let the Lox Go.” They eventually got out of their contract and released a second album named We Are the Streets. This album was an opportunity to embrace all the things they had to leave behind in signing a contract with Diddy. It was a return to an unapologetically raw and truthful perspective that had been washed away when they were under contract with the record label.
In many ways, the current system of education is run no differently than any other corporation like a record company or tech firm. Its chief purpose appears to be generating income at the expense of workers whose talents and labor are used to maintain an existing structure. The students and their families are “under contract” to attend the school, and they become cogs in a machine that presents itself like it is benefiting them, but actually functions to rob them of their individuality. Schools in this corporate climate privilege numbers over people, looking at quantitative outcomes without recognizing the deep insight that comes from stories, anecdotes, experience, and emotion. Just as major companies shred artists from where they come from or only highlight thin slices of who they are in the pursuit of constructing a narrative of violence and dysfunction, schools present numbers and obtuse quantitative data without context that is used to tell tales of underperformance and inability that do not reflect the truth. Street data, like street science and street knowledge, provides street insight—a more robust picture: one that values experience, emotion, perspective, vision, embeddedness, and community over anything else.
Many identify street data, or a street perspective, as being lower or lesser than established ones. I and the authors of this book argue that it is more complex, more layered, and more nuanced. In Part I of the book, Safir and Dugan unpack why street data is a transformative, game-changing model that we should embrace now. In Part II, they break down and explore what street data is and how to leverage it in pursuit of equity, pedagogy, and school transformation. In Part III, they get down on the street level to unpack how this type of data can catapult student and adult learning to new levels. Finally, in Part IV, they argue that street data, not traditional metrics, will help us transform our school cultures into antiracist spaces of deep, meaningful learning.
Street data is more Wakanda like. In the movie Black Panther, Wakanda was a land that had extensive resources and advanced technological assets that were hidden in plain sight beneath a surface that didn’t indicate all that lay beneath. It operated on a street level that much of the world could not see. When they saw what Wakanda really was, it was beyond their comprehension. Street knowledge and street data exist in much the same way. They operate at a level not discernable to the untrained and uninformed eye. In this work, we get a primer on how and why we can embark on that different vision. We are offered a lens with which we can see anew.
In my work, I am often asked about why certain young people from urban settings in America have such a hard time in traditional classrooms. As a science educator, the question is often posed in a way that frames the academic challenges young folks may be having in the classroom as a function of the rigors of the subject and the student’s inability to engage in rigorous content. What these educators do not recognize, and the perspective that street science offers, is that there are considerations beyond the rigors of the subject matter that lead to what many term as underperformance. It may not be that the academic content is too rigorous. It may mean that the manner of delivery is too simplistic and therefore, disengaging. The challenge is not in understanding the content. Many young people underperform in classes not because the content is out of reach, but because it is challenging to bend yourself to an approach to instruction that is ordinary when your life beyond the classroom is extraordinary.
Street data privileges narrative and lived experience and engages in what Sandra Harding has called a strong objectivity that is reached with an eschewing of objectivity as we currently have come to know it and rather, a deep subjectivity. Street data is about embeddedness. Sitting in and with people and places until one shifts both philosophy and methodology. It is the pursuit of liberation in both theory and practice by recognizing that if the body and soul are colonized by institutional norms, it is impossible for the mind to function at its highest level. Most importantly, it is about operating with a belief in the infinite potential of those who have been told they are less than and radical honesty about the deep flaws in the system as it currently stands. Street data is about radical new beginnings and having the sense of self and purpose to detach from a broken model and embark on building a new one.
—Christopher Emdin
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SHANE
I am indebted to Jal Mehta and John Watkins for inviting me to participate in the Deeper Learning Dozen project. In that beloved community, I met brilliant people from my own country and Canada whose work helped to inspire this book. I honor Tousilum and Rob Qwiyahwultuhw George, Michelle Staples, and all of the elders who led the learning experience I describe at the outset of Chapter 1. Your work is life changing and healing. I honor my dear friends Denise Augustine and Bonnie Johnson-Aten as well as Victor Prussack, Rod Allen, Kevin Godden, Gino Bondi, Nathan Ngieng, Perry Smith, Carla Danielsson, Christine Perkins, Gail Higginbottom, Tamara Mallof, Ben Eaton, Suzanne Hoffman, David Nelson, Pedro da Silva, and my growing community of BC colleagues who continue to push their own practice toward truth, reconciliation, and healing. Please visit them, learn from them, and elevate their work.
To Shawn Ginwright who read early drafts of the opening chapter and pushed me to dig deeper into questions of epistemology and later to locate myself as a white woman educator in the narrative. Your work inspires, and I wish I could go back and get a PhD under your mentorship!
To all the educators, students, and caregivers whose street-level stories animate these pages, I give thanks: Dr. Matt Wayne; Kellie McNair and Jason Juszczak; the real Alyssa and Jackie who bravely shared their story in Chapter 4 for our learning and their own healing; Ailed Paningbatan, Damien Padilla, Krishtine deLeon, and Taina Gomez, among my first students whose legacy helped to shape a pedagogy of voice; Rex de Guia and Lisa Arrastia for copiloting a bold and crazy pedagogical experiment in 1999 that changed our lives; Danielle “Dani” Martin, whose voice sings in Chapter 6; Han Phung, Emma Dunbar, and Chris Maldonado, whose middle school transformation work energized my writing; Matt Alexander, a leader and friend of the highest integrity; and the real Jason R. whose powerful leadership shaped Chapter 9.
To all the scholars of color whose brilliant work is woven into these pages and whose scholarship made this book possible, among them: Ronald Sentwali Bakari, Dr. Serie McDougal III, Claude Steele, Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw, Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Cindy Blackstock, Terry Cross, Paolo Freire, Linda Darling-Hammond, Geneva Gay, Zaretta Hammond, Gloria Ladson-Billings, Bettina Love, Ibram X. Kendi, and Lisa Delpit. To Christopher Emdin, whose work and presence emanate love and the possibility of transformation: for supporting my first book and then writing a beautiful foreword for this book.
To Deborah Meier, my dear friend, who was the first educational leader who believed in me and made me feel worthy of mentorship. Your brilliance and decades-long call to center the power of student ideas has its mark all over this book. I love you dearly.
Alcine Mumby and Joe Truss, thank you for walking through fire with me and staying committed to our mutual liberation. Your ability to dismantle white supremacy while modeling Black joy and brilliance is pure magic. Abby Benedetto: you are one of the most innovative, humble, and pedagogically genius educators I know. Thank you for giving your career to this work and for teaching me how to model cultural humility and ownership of privilege as a white woman.
Dan Alpert, I don’t know how I got so lucky as to have you in my corner! I could not have dreamed up an editor like you. You have believed in this project and kept me on course even when circumstances made it extremely challenging. You give the best feedback of any editor I have met: never too much or too little. Thank you for shepherding this book to the finish line.
Carrie, thank you for walking this path with me and integrating your powerful model of public learning into the street data framework. Readers will benefit greatly!
Jamila, it has been a privilege to write this book with you and to watch you blossom as a writer. You are brilliant, passionate, focused, and able to hold a vision of a world that doesn’t exist while pounding the pavement daily in service to your own children and the educators you support. We are all so lucky to learn from you through this book.
Finally, to my precious family: We are perfect in our imperfection. We have walked the globe together finding ourselves and each other, from Jordan to Costa Rica to Spain, Morocco, and México. Manny, listening to you teach your newcomer students with infinite love, patience, and creativity inspires me daily. Maximo, your natural curiosity helped me imagine a pedagogy of voice. Mona, I wrote this book for you: that we might imagine a system that serves and holds and loves and cherishes and cultivates the brilliance of students like you. You deserve that, and I will continue to fight for it.
JAMILA
First, I would like to express my deepest appreciation to my family. To my husband, Fredrick Pugh II; children, Gia Milan, Kingston James, Kendrick Samuel—you are my everything. To my father, Kevin Dugan; mothers, Michelle Wright, Dede Dugan, Scheryl Dugan, and Sheree Wright-Cox; brothers, Jelane Dugan, Devin Dugan, Marquez Wright, and Kenneth Preston; aunties; uncles; and extended family, thank you for guiding me across this journey we call life.
To my ancestors … thank you for your breath, your spirit, and your constant reminders of what it means to be unapologetically Black. Your lives remind me that I am but one more person standing on the strength of your shoulders. Maya Angelou, Ida B. Wells, Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, and so many more, you are the resistance I hope to be.
To my sisters … there is no way I could do this work without you: Safia Quinn, Isabelle Mussard, Stesha Andrews, Jasmine Carr-Edmond, Elyse Calloway, Alyssa Hernandez, and Dr. Kathy Black. There is no me without your phone calls, straight talk, and the shelter you provide me. To the women of D3 and Sisters in Education Circle, you have brought new light into my life. Dr. Akosua Lesesne, thank you for founding SIEC and holding space for brilliant Black women. To the elders in our circle, you keep my fire lit. Special acknowledgement to Dr. Lisa Delpit—I keep your note close. I am so thankful for it.
To the educators I have worked with across the years and who have inspired my work, this book is truly dedicated to you. Baba Woods and Baba Ustadi, thank you for centering my learning in Our story. Onome Pela-Emore and Megan Monroe, I am so glad to have started my teaching journey with you as my guides. My deepest thanks to every school leader from the Bay Area to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and Camden, New Jersey, for allowing me to work alongside you as a coach, colleague, and friend. Your stories enrich my perspective and color my lense on educating our children.
And finally, Shane, thank you so much for trusting me to be your partner in writing this book. It is you who said I need to write, and it is because of that push that I write here and now. So proud of this piece of work!
CARRIE
Listening deeply is central to creating cultures of learning for adults, and it is nearly impossible to listen if you haven’t been heard. I am forever grateful to Claire Bove for her infinitely generous listening that encouraged seeds of passion to take shape in the world.
My first experience of public learning was Dr. Anna Richert’s graduate seminar at Mills College. Her brilliant work in collaborative inquiry is the foundation of Lead by Learning’s (formerly Mills Teacher Scholars) practice of public learning.
To the incredibly compassionate and wise Lead by Learning team and advisors who were instrumental in developing the practice of public learning across a variety of contexts in pursuit of a more equitable future: Jen Ahn, Elizabeth Shafer, Sarah Sugarman, Daniela Mantilla, Aija Simmons, Mary Hurley, Malia Tayabas-Kim, Nina Portugal, Pilar Beccar-Valera, and Julia Moss Beers. The inspirational energy from the amazing Judy Halbert, Linda Kaser, and the fabulous work of NOII cannot be overstated.
I am grateful for the caring and visionary leadership of our teacher and leader partners who courageously support their colleagues’ learning, and who question their own and each other’s assumptions.
Finally, I am grateful to Shane Safir for her enthusiasm around a better way to envision and to nurture the learning of students and their educators and for her generous invitation to share our approach more broadly.
PUBLISHER’S ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Corwin gratefully acknowledges the contributions of the following reviewers:
· Gary Anderson
· Professor
· New York University
· New York, NY
· Sydney Chaffee
· Humanities Teacher and Instructional Coach
· Codman Academy Charter Public School
· Boston, MA
· Mirko Chardin
· Founding Head
· The Putnam Avenue Upper School
· Boston, MA
· Becki Cohn-Vargas
· Consultant and Author
· Identity Safe Classrooms, K–5 and 6–12
· El Sobrante, CA
· Amy Colton
· Professional Learning Consultant
· Learning Forward
· Ann Arbor, MI
· Vanessa Peterson
· Vice President—Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, and Accessibility
· Northwest Evaluation Association
· Portland, OR
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Shane Safir (lead author)
has worked at every level of the education system for the past twenty-five years, with an unwavering commitment to racial justice and deep learning. After teaching in San Francisco and Oakland, California, and engaging in community organizing to launch a new public high school, Shane became the founding principal of June Jordan School for Equity (JJSE), an innovative national model identified by scholar and policy leader Linda Darling-Hammond as having “beaten the odds in supporting the success of low-income students of color” (Darling-Hammond, 2002). For over a decade, Shane has provided equity-centered leadership coaching, systems transformation support, and professional learning for schools, districts, and organizations across the United States and Canada. She writes for Edutopia, Ed Week, Educational Leadership magazine and is the author of The Listening Leader: Creating the Conditions for Equitable School Transformation (Jossey-Bass, 2017). Shane is thrilled to coauthor this book with Dr. Jamila Dugan, a long-time collaborator who conducted foundational research for The Listening Leader and who facilitates equity workshops with Shane, as well as Carrie Wilson, a colleague whose groundbreaking program for teacher-driven inquiry centers street data in the pursuit of equity. Shane is the mother of Mona Luz and Maximo Oisin and married to Emmanuel, a veteran math and science teacher in Oakland, California.
Jamila Dugan (co-author)
is a leadership coach, learning facilitator, and researcher. She began her career as a teacher in Washington, D.C., successfully supporting her school to implement an International Baccalaureate program. After being nominated for Teacher of the Year, she later served as a coach for new teachers in Oakland, California. As a school administrator, Jamila championed equity-centered student services, parent empowerment, and co-led the development of the first public Mandarin immersion middle school in the Bay Area. Jamila and Shane began their work together seven years ago during the development of The Listening Leader, for which Jamila acted as the primary researcher. Jamila currently serves as an equity-centered leadership development coach across all sectors including nonprofits, public school districts, charter networks, and parochial and private schools. She is an avid supporter of dual-language learning, serving on the boards of Independence Charter Spanish Immersion School in Philadelphia and Parents of African American Students Studying Chinese (PAASSC) in the Bay Area. She holds a bachelor’s degree in psychology from Fresno State University, a master’s degree in early childhood education from George Mason University, and a doctorate in education leadership for equity from University of California, Berkeley. Jamila is also a loving wife and the mother of three amazing children who remain her constant inspiration for her work.
Carrie Wilson (contributing writer)
Carrie Wilson’s work focuses on the central role of practitioner knowledge and insight in educational transformation. The guiding principle of her work is the role of learning cultures in promoting individual learning for students, teachers, principals, and district leaders. Carrie’s experience as a teacher, teacher supervisor, cooperating teacher, facilitator of professional learning, leader of a nonprofit organization, and a leadership coach has informed and inspired her vision of practitioner-driven educational transformation. In her graduate research, Carrie identified the importance of creating a “thinking space” for novice teachers during post-observation discussions. This led her to develop the practice of public learning, featured in Chapter 7, as a key tool in shifting cultures of compliance to cultures of curiosity. As executive director of Lead by Learning (formerly Mills Teacher Scholars) at Mills College, Carrie oversees all aspects of development, including programs that help districts create adult learning cultures through the practice of public learning. She is passionate about supporting educators to challenge each other’s assumptions as they become agents for change with a moral imperative to dismantle oppressive and racist systems.
NOTE TO READERS
With the exception of Chapters 2 and 7, the “I” pronoun in this book signals Shane’s voice.
As I write this book, we are steeped in a quadruple pandemic: COVID-19, systemic racism, near economic collapse, and shattering climate change. COVID-19 has exploded onto the international stage, forever transforming our educational systems. Teachers are “ramping up” to digital or hybrid learning models. Administrators have repurposed school buildings into food banks and materials distribution centers. States have canceled standardized testing for the academic year, and many universities have canceled entrance testing requirements for current applicants. As we go to press, Yale University announced that all classes will be held as pass/fail this semester, and K–12 schools across the United States have begun to follow suit. Parents with means are hiring teachers to facilitate home schooling pandemic “pods” for their children, further exacerbating longstanding gaps.
At the same time, the unemployment rate is at a historic high. Police brutality and white supremacy reveal themselves daily as Black Americans fight for the right to breathe, live, and thrive in a country built on systemic racism. Activists in the growing movement for racial justice are tearing down monuments to Confederate soldiers, architects of Native American genocide and Canadian residential schools, and other symbols of oppression. And the globe reverberates with the invocation that Black Lives Matter in a country where, according to 1619 project director and journalist Nikole Hannah-Jones, “Black Americans have also been, and continue to be, foundational to the idea of American freedom. More than any other group in this country’s history, we have served, generation after generation, in an overlooked but vital role: It is we who have been the perfecters of this democracy” (Hannah-Jones, 2019).
All of this is laying bare the broken promises at the roots of the education system: Education for all looks increasingly like education for the economically stable and digitally possessed, survival of the secure. Current testing practices continue to dehumanize young people and teachers while leading us further and further from educational equity. In this book, we posit that not only can we pursue equity right now, but we have a moral imperative to reimagine what that means. The end (increasing test scores and closing an achievement gap, which we will argue in this book is a racialized fiction) no longer justifies the means of packet-driven, teacher-centered pedagogy that preexisted but was roundly reinforced by the No Child Left Behind era. We have a chance to imagine a radically different paradigm for equity. We need a new kind of dashboard.
What’s beautiful about this moment is that many of the traditional “givens” around the architecture of schooling—lesson plans, gradebooks, subject-matter exams, even classrooms—are being reframed daily, forcing us to rethink what really matters when people are dying from a global threat never before seen in most of our lifetimes. Everywhere, everyone is trying to figure out what education looks like, and our usual beacons of success—test scores, grades, seat time—have evaporated like water off a turbulent pot. While many clamor for a “return to normal,” the voices of educators across the globe are converging around a demand for a new normal: What would it look like to let go of all of our assumptions and rebuild the system from the bottom up, from the student up?
The purpose of this book is to offer a next-generation model of equity and deep learning, emerging from a simple concept: street data. Street data is the qualitative and experiential data that emerges at eye level and on lower frequencies when we train our brains to discern it. Street data is asset based, building on the tenets of culturally responsive education by helping educators look for what’s right in our students, schools, and communities instead of seeking out what’s wrong. Street data embodies both an ethos and a change methodology that will transform how we analyze, diagnose, and assess everything from student learning to district improvement to policy. It offers us a new way to think about, gather, and make meaning of data. It calls for what Paolo Freire deemed a pedagogy of liberation (Freire, 1970).
Even as the system seems to fall apart around us, street-level data are ubiquitous, offering deep insight into student and educator experience. These data fill our hearts and keep us up at night as we witness children’s resilience and struggle to stay engaged, socially connected, and emotionally well. These data fill our social media feeds and virtual meetings as we see relevant, just-in-time professional learning, teachers calling their students one-by-one to ask, “How are you? What do you need?” and pedagogical thought leaders pushing us to move beyond the “packet” and engage students in deep learning. All of this manifests the creativity, care, and connection that exist and persist inside the system.
If we listen to policy wavelengths, the system is falling apart without its usual architecture. But if we listen to educators on the ground, the system is self-correcting and humanizing itself in a yearning for reinvention. Somehow, even though we are physically and socially distant, we are emerging into new webs of interdependence like never before. It is 2021. The world order is reorganizing itself, and along with it, our education systems are as well. All of this takes me back over twenty years to when I began my teaching career.
I entered the classroom in fall 1997 with a vision of teaching and learning that burst at the seams of my classroom. I took students outside of the classroom as often as I could. My U.S. history students visited Angel Island to study the history of Chinese immigration to California. My American democracy students conducted a mock Congress in which they wrote and debated bills on pressing social issues. (My friend Javier was the president down the hall with veto power. A student named Jorge wrote an LGBTQ rights bill and then came out as gay to the class with a trembling voice when his legislation was mocked—a moment I’ll never forget.) My pre-law students developed a project investigating equity in education, visiting five radically different Bay Area public schools to report on the access and opportunity gaps they witnessed. The next year, this project evolved into a partnership with a nearby private school that became the subject of an Emmy-nominated PBS documentary, Making the Grade (1999).
Just a few years after I entered the classroom, No Child Left Behind became federal law. With this sweeping policy shift came an eroding sense of possibility—a focus on narrow metrics of success and compliance-driven forms of pedagogy. Drill and kill your students so they succeed on the tests. Adopt pacing guides to ensure teachers stay “on track.” If you can’t trust your teachers, script the curriculum!
By the time I became a principal in 2003, the tide had turned, and our little public school, June Jordan School for Equity (JJSE), became a counter-cultural symbol and, in many ways, a pariah in the district. (It is ironic to me that JJSE has since been profiled by leading scholars like Linda Darling-Hammond as a model of equity and deep learning.) We were developing discussion-based seminar courses and project exhibitions while school districts began to compete for the best pacing guides, packaged curricula, and “turnaround” strategies. We were shaping a performance-based assessment system while principals across the district monitored teachers for compliance with the Blackboard Configuration, or BBC: a teacher-proof lesson structure meant to be an equity panacea. We lost what one of my first students, the brilliant Ms. Alondra Jones, who got her BA and MSW at Howard University, called the “human element of education.”
Yet for the nearly twenty-five years since I first entered a classroom in southeast San Francisco, many of us have held onto an image of what is possible when we reject the rules of a rigged system designed to trap children in poverty and Black and Brown children in a deficit narrative. We have retained a vision of what is possible when we build classrooms and schools and systems around students’ brilliance, cultural wealth, and intellectual potential rather than self-serving savior narratives that have us “fixing” and “filling” academic gaps.
My early teaching experiences left me with indelible lessons that I hope will bloom in this book:
· There are many ways of knowing and “succeeding” beyond those that dominate American and much of Western education.
· Learning does not require a school building or even a classroom.
· Equity work is first and foremost pedagogical. We must democratize knowledge and rebuild a pedagogy of student voice.
· Student agency is the goal, not test scores.
· Data live everywhere—on the streets, in students’ homes, in the hallways, in virtual meetings, in phone calls, and in the micro-interactions among teachers and students.
What is the purpose of education anyway? Do we teach and lead to simply reproduce reality, or will we teach and lead to transform it? In the chapters that follow, we probe these questions in greater depth.
We hope to offer you a vision of an educational system that doesn’t yet exist—one rooted in human experience and decolonized ways of being, knowing, and learning. We will explore questions of knowledge and epistemology, digging up the roots of the obsession with quantitative data. We will explore questions of teaching and learning, giving you concrete tools to shape an equity-centered instructional vision and a pedagogy of student voice. We will explore questions of adult culture, offering a framework for the types of daily courageous conversations that make antiracist rhetoric real. And we will unpack the principles, processes, and practices of the next-generation paradigm we call street data.
We look forward to taking this journey with you and invite you to step forward with clear eyes, a full heart, and a spirit of inquiry and curiosity.