Education Identifying your problem of practice assignment

amygayle02

BPLI_Afterward.pdf

Home >Education homework help >Education Identifying your problem of practice assignment

AFTERWORD

Teaching Literacy in the Dystopia of Now A Call to Action

Cornelius Minor

A DEATH-AND A RENAISSANCE

In the winter of 2006, when the writer and musician Nas declared that "Hip hop is dead" (Jones, 2006), my world stopped spinning. The same was true for so many folks in the culture. We paused to consider his asser tion.

That winter, it was not the cold that slowed our heartbeats. It was Nas's truth that froze us. We stood still, looked around, and collectively asked ourselves, "Why would one of our sharpest luminaries announce the culture 'dead' just as our marginalized movement was taking center stage?" We had gone from street corner to boardroom. We were legitimate now, right? How could this be dead? We were Top 40. We were fashion. Our vernacular had become the American lexicon. Suburban moms know who we are ....

And after all the consternation, the train of thought arrived at the sta tion.

Boardroom was never the point. Because it articulated our lives, chal lenges, and aspirations, the culture had always been legitimate to us and to those who stood in solidarity with us. Nas and his contemporaries were forcing a look in the mirror. The culture was dead or dying because aspects of our collective work had shifted.

To some, the culture was no longer about the conditions of our commu nities; it was about positions on the Top 40 charts. It was no longer about the potential for social mobility and communal wealth building-rather, it

466

Best Practices in Literacy Instruction, edited by Lesley Mandel Morrow, et al., Guilford Publications, 2023. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/gasouthern/detail.action?docID=7240801. Created from gasouthern on 2025-06-10 23:19:53.

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

Afterword 467

was about the symbolic appearance of riches. In some instances, our words were no longer truth to power—rather, they were trendy slang to suburban- ites. Fo’ shizzle.

Our revolutionary sound had become minivan music. Hip-hop as a movement was dead, and it was survived by its shady

sibling: hip-hop as an industry. Nas and others wanted us to contend with that. I heard them, and the intellectual labor that I did in response still catalyzes much of my work now. Nas’s “Hip hop is dead” is a critical part of my epistemology.

What if we looked at everything in literacy education the way that Nas and his collaborators looked at hip-hop in 2006? What if we forced ourselves to contend with the toxic shifts in our being, in our discourse, in our methodology, and in our practice? What aspects of our collective work have shifted? To what extent are those shifts good for children? And to what extent are they good for testing, for curriculum publishing, or for any of the parasitic industries that have germinated around us?

Many of the nuanced movements in literacy education have been reduced to buzzwords and ideological binaries. Terms like equity or pho- nics are symbols now—avatars that carry a political weight that has very little to do with children and their literate lives. And in response to all this, literacy educators are silenced and ignored. There are few spaces where our words can safely convey the complexity of the truths that we see in our classrooms every day. There are even fewer spaces where our actions can be responsive to that truth.

Education used to be a language spoken in tones of liberation and opportunity. In too many contexts, today’s parlance is spoken in the dialect of compliance. Literacy as a democratic movement is dead. It is survived by its shady siblings: literacy as “testocracy,” literacy as culture-war lightning rod, and literacy as mandated compliance. Who’s going to resurrect our proletarian movement?

WHAT CAN I DO ABOUT IT? I’M JUST ME

It’s going to have to be us. This is not just a movement for children and communities. It is a move-

ment for our own self-efficacy. Fortunately, there is a historical blueprint for this.

There have always been resistance movements. Always. In his 2021 book Fugitive Pedagogy: Carter G. Woodson and the Art of Black Teach- ing, Jarvis R. Givens tells the story of Carter G. Woodson through the moves that he made as a teacher and as a member of a larger community of Black teachers who kept the needs of Black students at the center of

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

468 Afterword

their work. Givens, inspired by the fugitive slave archetype, notes that the fugitive slave was a folk hero and a cultural symbol. Carter G. Woodson himself marveled at the beauty of the multiple lives that made this symbol such an enduring part of Black identity: “How some of those slaves learned in spite of opposition makes a beautiful story. Knowing the value of learn- ing as a means of escape . . . ” (p. 11)

Givens’s (2021) central idea is that “when it came to the pursuit of freedom through education, Black people consistently deployed fugitive tactics” (p. 15). He observes that “Black educators wore a mask of compli- ance in order to appease the white power structure, while simultaneously working to subvert it” (p. 15). Woodson was masterful at this. He taught powerfully and truthfully while shielding children, teachers, and communi- ties from forces that consistently sought to undermine their humanity and, in many cases, sought to end their lives.

We cannot have a discussion about best practices in literacy without a discussion of the kind of fugitive practices that keep all children, their communities, and their futures safe from the violence of mis-education. In this Afterword, I:

• Start with a quick examination of how classroom practices not rooted in an understanding of a child’s humanity can be harmful.

• Present a protocol for using what we know about powerful literacy instruction to construct experiences that can be good for the chil- dren we serve.

• Connect our work in literacy classrooms to broader movements for justice.

WHERE DOES IT HURT?

Though it has been carefully researched for generations, curricular vio- lence is not a term that many in literacy education have had to grapple with. Scholars like Bettina Love (2019) have helped us to understand how school can be a site of hurt and suffering. Yet there are still those among us who ask; “How can expectations, content, methods, and rules be violent?” or “How can a classroom or school policy harm someone?”

These are important questions to consider, as they connect directly to our belief in a literate society. One cannot teach a child to read absent of caring (Muhammad, 2020). We know that reading is not just a discrete set of processes or skills. Reading, as an endeavor, is highly social. Readers are motivated by things that are personal and communal. The kinds of learn- ing activities that catalyze and support its development must be similarly personal, similarly communal.

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

Afterword 469

When kids are separated from this, their reading suffers. When these kinds of experiences are centered, kids and their reading thrive. Why, then, isn’t seeking to keep the personal, communal, and academic connected a more universal literacy practice?

Routine. Tradition. Standardization. Children are not standardized but many of the practices that we use

to support them are. There’s a prevailing belief that “If it works for ‘most’ kids, it can’t be that bad, right?” This belief works if our primary value is predictability. In this paradigm, “most” kids can succeed. But what hap- pens to the “other” kids—literally, the ones who are othered by our insti- tutional worship of what works for “most”? I think about this all the time because we see it so often.

In an era of mass shootings, we understand the violence of hurtful language or physical attacks. Unlike those very visible forms of violence, curricular violence is comparatively invisible because it often hides in tra- dition—the way we do school—and it can even be committed by “nice” people with “good” intentions and “kind” hearts.

Logic teaches us that there is no such thing as something that works for “everyone.” We have seen that some approaches, methodologies, and cur- ricula do not work for some learners. That does not mean that these things are unilaterally “bad,” it just means that some children learn in different ways. A thing that works one way in my context might work in a slightly different way in your context. Or it might not work at all. Sometimes, this is not a problem with the approach itself—this can simply be attributed to learners or groups of learners needing approaches to reading, thinking, writing, speaking, or listening that are as unique as they are.

As ironic as this sounds, doing literacy “by the book”—this is the one single way that we are using—leads to a school ecosystem where many kids will be unseen, underserved, or left out. If we know this, why, in so many school contexts, is there such a dramatic emphasis on “sticking to the script,” especially for our most vulnerable learners? In many places, the answer is “because this is how it is supposed to be done” or “because this is how we have always done it” or “because they said so.”

Even while movements like “personalized learning” and “equity” are the educational discourse, demanding that students conform to us or to the boxes that we purchase is still the widespread literacy mandate.

This is not okay. Many of us know that this is not okay. And the children know this, too. No kid is ever going to write me a well-worded email that says, “Dear

Mr. Minor, the learning experience that you curated does not meet my unique needs as a person or as a learner. . . . ” Rather, they communicate this in other ways.

We see it in some of their behaviors.

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

470 Afterword

We see it in their engagement with learning. Or the lack thereof. . . . In her book Troublemakers, Carla Shalaby (2017) helps us to under-

stand that this is not children being difficult or unmanageable. This is chil- dren communicating—naming, in visible ways, that some of the instruc- tional choices that we make do not work for them. These are some of the most valuable data that we can collect.

And here is the thing that matters most about data in literacy instruc- tion. We can’t just collect data. We have to act on the data. When we do not, children suffer. Sadly, in too many school contexts, the response to this kind of communication from children is harmful to them. Institutions choose violence when—instead of asking, “How might we research and reimagine this practice so that it works better for the children in this com- munity?”—they stick to what has always been done or to what has been purchased.

Instead of reflecting inward and asking, “How are our practices impacting the children here?”, blame gets shifted to children, families, and sometimes even whole communities: “They are lazy . . . ” or “They don’t support their learner . . . ” or “They don’t value education.”

This educational stance has poisoned communities by killing the lit- eracy potential in children before it even emergers and has a chance to mature. This is the worst kind of violence because it does not reside in the moment. It is not an “observable event” like an insult or a smack. This violence has a residual impact. It denies whole futures.

This historical moment has been defined by a deadly pandemic. It has been awakened by political movements that have demanded that we see the whole humanity of Black folks, queer folks, and all humans who have been socially marginalized. It has been besieged by the backlash to that awakening that is happening on our school boards and to our curricu- lar sovereignty. This historical moment has been terrorized by extremist thought, gun violence, and a widespread political unwillingness to do any- thing. Today’s headlines are eerily dystopian. They could have been written by Octavia Butler or Ray Bradbury.

Given this social context, we cannot ignore the reality that the kind of curricular violence described here happens disproportionately to multilin- gual children, to children with learning disabilities, to queer children, and to Black children.

Ultimately, this leads to less learning, and to fewer opportunities. This is what we mean when we name systemic classism, ableism, homophobia, or racism. This is not simply a matter of interpersonal kindness. Systemic oppression is when institutional decision making leads to negative outcomes for specific groups of people. Our teachers’ lounges are full of fiercely dedi- cated people, and there are still systems and structures at school that create institutional harm.

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

Afterword 471

So, what can the way forward look like for a single teacher, grade team, or school when the challenges ahead feel so nuanced and institution- ally insurmountable?

One approach: imagination. If the way that school has historically operated has harmed people, we

are allowed to use what we have learned from various kinds of research to reimagine how we do school.

HOW DO WE DO EQUITY IN THE LITERACY CLASSROOM?

So many people approach solving the challenges associated with wide- spread communal, educational, and institutional inequity with technical fixes: ”Here is the book we are going to read, the program that we are going to buy, or the event we are going to host.” The way forward is not simply about choosing the right technical fix. These approaches often cre- ate feel-good results that make for compelling story but the question that feels most important to pursue in this moment is Do these things yield dif- ferent institutional outcomes—especially for the groups of people who have been historically marginalized in institutions like school?

A community book club might bring local stakeholders to the table for honest conversation but how does the honest conversation lead directly to practices that support girls and women? A purchased program can do wonders to get people to have “difficult conversations” or to “see differ- ent perspectives” but after the feelings have been felt, are things better for our multilingual students? A well-attended event can “raise awareness” but is school better for queer children and their families the next day? I’m interested in streamlining the process from awareness to change. We all are.

In every context where good people have made impactful positive change, the work has not been about a technical fix alone. This is what scares me about this moment in literacy. Most of the things in our discourse and in our practice are technical fixes.

I am so encouraged by the conversations on universal design. They are essential. I am thrilled by the research being done on talk and on student engagement. It is exciting. I think that what’s happening in the discourse on reading development has the potential to be powerfully transformative for how kids learn. This is such an exciting time to be a literacy educator!

And all of these things are technical fixes. What happens when we change the curriculum but we do not change how we do school itself so that kids can access that curriculum? What happens when we change the experience but we do not consider evolving the mindsets that facilitate the experience?

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

472 Afterword

In the places where we have seen dramatic social change, imagina- tion has been at the center of the work. The ability to see possibility that does not exist yet is what toppled slavery and ended social apartheid in the United States. The ability to see injustice in “the rules” and to rewrite those rules is what guaranteed the right to vote for women. The ability to understand how another person’s suffering is tied to our own freedom is what draws us to empathize with the people of Ukraine or Haiti, or with the many Indigenous peoples whose legacies have been erased around the world. All of this is imagination, and all of this can help us to pave the road that we need to travel in literacy education.

We cannot raise a literate nation in the dystopia of now if we cannot envision tomorrows that are profoundly better than our todays or if we cannot imagine practices flexible, inclusive, and welcoming enough to see all students.

When I think about how we make our way through the myriad chal- lenges that complicate our literacy practice, I think about all of the impor- tant technical fixes that are emerging in our work but I start with imagina- tion. And I am inviting you to do the same. The experiences we have shared over the last few years have made the nuanced challenges of our work visible. Ensuring that all children read and communicate powerfully is complicated. Doing so in a social, political, and economic ecosystem that does not value all children and families feels overwhelming and beyond our reach. What do we do when what we do every day reveals truths that feel impossible? What happens when there is no recipe for what must come next?

A PROTOCOL FOR IMAGINATION

For me this is a process that starts with the passionate conversations that we have in meetings and in vacant hallways after school. We often talk about innovation and commitment to students but it takes considerable institutional might to walk away from practices that harm kids in the ways that I have discussed here. People say, all the time, that the system must change. But how—especially when I’m not the department chair or princi- pal or superintendent?

Developing that institutional might—that self-efficacy—is the founda- tion of all powerful literacy work.

1. Name the pain. What is the thing that is causing young people or teachers to feel difficulty at school? The pain points are usually behaviors or outcomes.

2. Avoid blaming the children. 3. Avoid blaming the children.

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

Afterword 473

4. Consider: How might those pain points be connected to academic proficiency/emotional well-being? What is/are the academic or emotional need(s) that is/are leading to the observed outcomes or behaviors?

5. We can’t focus on everything. We shouldn’t. Ask yourself: What is one focal area that could help to alleviate the institutional pain that we see?

6. Recruit people to help you plan: a. Show them how the academic needs possibly connect to the

“pain” that they are experiencing. b. Consider some of the best practices shared throughout this book

and in your other professional development circles. After doing so, share your thoughts on the way forward, and have them help you to refine them. Be specific about time and outcomes. (This step is at the heart of what it means to teach right now. We can imagine better things. And we can work toward them.)

c. Set a goal that can be measured. 7. Try your plan for a few days with a small group of students. Gather

your results. 8. Use the data that you collected to propose the plan to the team or

to the school. a. Here is what we are experiencing . . . b. Here is the issue at the root of that experience . . . c. Here is what we can do about it . . . d. Here are the outcomes that we can expect . . . e. So here is what can happen next . . . f. Here is how we can support one another . . .

HOW IT ALL PLAYS OUT

I developed this process with a team of teachers who were all concerned with the general behavior of seventh-grade boys as we made our way back into the classroom after the COVID shutdown. So much had changed for us, and we were feeling it. In so many ways, this was true everywhere.

Step 1. For us it was easy to name our pain. It was classroom behavior across the board but this seemed to be an especially dramatic truth for our Black boys. When we took time to reflect on the kids who were always out of their seats or “in trouble,” many of them were Black. This was a disturb- ing reality to observe and a difficult one to articulate.

Step 2. In far too many schools, the adults in the building blame the children. “They are not focused enough.” “They don’t apply themselves.”

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

474 Afterword

“They don’t know how to behave.” Many of us are familiar with these statements as they are used to describe the kids who don’t fit into our, often narrow, view of what it means to be a “good student.” It would have been far too easy for us to do the same. This kind of institutional behavior is violent not only because it assumes that some kids are broken but because it stigmatizes and marginalizes children. Many children never recover from the labels that adults assign to them.

Step 3. I’m training my mind to ask the question “What if the thing that I need to adjust is not the kids? What if the thing that I change is my approach to the kids?”

Step 4. We thought about what could be causing the “pain” that we were feeling in the classroom. “Why are these kids out of their seats so often?” Even after lots of classroom rules and protocols, the problem per- sisted. We were having to stop learning activities about six times per period to address the fact that someone was out of their seat and talking to a friend in some other part of the classroom.

Most of the time, the conversations were innocuous and cute but they were profoundly distracting. For practitioners and for students. Having to speak to the most social kids over and over began to erode the sense of classroom community across the grade. So, what was initially just a “talk- ing” problem became a full-on cold war between some adults and whole groups of Black boys. This had a significant impact on learning, and that impact was clearly racialized.

We asked ourselves the questions “Could this ‘talking’ problem be because kids generally missed their friends?” “Could it be that rebuilding connections with friends was worth whatever consequence that teachers could concoct?”

Step 5. While there were so many challenging parts of the seventh- grade experience, it became clear that the focus on classroom chatter could have the biggest impact on how we felt as a team and how students learned.

Step 6. When we finally came together to plan, people were fatigued by the errant postlockdown chatter. We were ready for a change. We thought about the kids’ developmental need to socialize and we asked our- selves, “Could we reimagine the experience of reading class to include more structured opportunities to talk?” “Would kids engage in fewer side con- versations if we made conversation part of the actual day?” In our profes- sional learning teams, we had learned about the power of talk as a process- ing tool. We know that it’s important for language development, and if we could get kids to read to one another, maybe we could have a more regular

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

Afterword 475

window into kids’ fluency. Would reading class be more on-task and pur- poseful if we did this?

These questions and this reimagining is the heart of the work right now. Literacy moving forward cannot be a game of “Wait. Let’s see what the principal or superintendent tells us to do about this challenge that we are facing.”

Step 7. We decided to try this with the two classes in the afternoon. This is where the side conversations were the liveliest. And where teachers experienced the most frustration. We wanted to see whether we could reduce the amount of off-task conversation, and increase engagement and produc- tivity across the grade, but starting with just two classes—49 preteens—felt manageable.

We introduced discussion groups that would convene quickly two to three times per class period as students read. These groups were allowed to co-construct their talk agendas from a list of talk topics that we curated. In addition to books, we made sure that we added choices that allowed kids to make meaning of what they were experiencing in books by discussing family, community, current events, popular culture, and school life.

Additionally, we built time for a “reading lounge” where kids could share their favorite excerpts or quotes from books and other media twice weekly. Kids could choose to share their discoveries in small groups or with the whole class. Whatever they chose, this gave the adults in the room several small opportunities to hear kids reading each week. This was an opportunity that we did not have before.

When we tried this with the afternoon classes, we wanted to keep an eye on our data. Is this actually working? Lots of time when we use the word data in education, people assume it to mean test scores but we know that there are so many things to pay attention to that can tell us the story of how and what kids are learning (Dugan & Safir, 2021).

We decided to pay attention to several things:

• We stop class on average six times a day to address “talking out of turn.” Can this number go down?

• We typically lose an average of 12 minutes of instructional time to errant chatter. Can we get some of that time back?

• We studied that robust talk can be great as rehearsal for meaningful writing. Would introducing talk have any impact on student writing?

• Talk could be useful to monitor critical thinking. What will we notice?

• Would kids even enjoy this experience?

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

476 Afterword

Across the 2 weeks of our initial run, here is what we discovered:

• By introducing talk as part of our in-class ritual, “talking out of turn” went from six instances per period down to two. Classes were not “perfect” but this was significant for us.

• We went from 12 minutes of responding to classroom behaviors per period to 4 minutes but curating periodic in-class talk activities took 10 minutes of class time, so what we saved in time managing the class, we paid back in time facilitating talk activities. This felt like a fair trade to us.

• We studied kid notebooks across this period. The quality of their writing about reading shifted slightly but we noticed a measurable differ- ence in the volume of writing about reading. We counted this as a win and were eager to do more.

• We did notice that the quality of talk was observably better each day. The more kids talked, the more likely they were to elaborate, make claims, and support those claims with evidence drawn from texts and from life. This did not make the leap to their writing in the initial 2-week obser- vation period but we had high hopes for a longer trial.

• In quick exit surveys, 41 of the 49 preteens professed to enjoy class more with organized talk opportunities that allowed them to caucus with friends during class.

But here are the data that made me smile. In our initial 2-week run, of the cohort of Black boys who were the “regular talkers,” there was only one instance of off-task behavior in 10 academic days. This was an important data point to ponder with the team.

There was a group that, in some institutions, would get stuck with the label “bad”—a label that we should never apply to children. Instead of applying the label, we imagined a different way for kids. And in this small instance it worked. Instead of labeling kids, we reimagined an experience that allowed children to be more successful.

This justice-oriented work did not require us to attend a march or sign a petition or wear a T-shirt. Paying attention to what does not work for kids in classroom spaces, and being willing to imagine what can, made a school-based ecosystem where kids were more successful.

Step 8. Our next step was to simply share our findings with the rest of the school. The share was a simple one that followed the above protocol.

At the very next department meeting we were able to share examples of student work and recordings of student reflections to help us articulate our story.

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

Afterword 477

Here is what we are experiencing: “Things are hard during classes because there are so many kids who talk out of turn.”

Here is the issue at the root of that experience: “We think that the kids might need more opportunities to socialize. So they are taking them.”

Here is what we can do about it: “We believe that if we make more opportunities to talk about content in class, it will reduce the number of off-task conversations that are happening during class.”

Here are the outcomes that we can expect:

When we tried this in two sample classes, kids were engaged. We know this because their writing volume and the quality of talk went up. Their surveys corroborated this. Also, we observed off-task behavior—especially talk—and it was down significantly. Fewer kids were “in trouble” because more of them were talking in constructive ways. This was especially salient among our pop- ulation of Black boys, who often get assigned labels that negatively shape their experiences in the school.

So here is what can happen next: “We can all try this because we have evidence enough to believe that this approach can work across an entire school.”

A NEW WAY TO THINK ABOUT CHANGE

This kind of communal approach is leadership. And it does not require a principal’s approval or a district policy shift. This approach centers students and teachers by asking simply, “What is the thing that makes our existence in this community difficult, and how do we work together to change it?”

When we talk about “changing the system,” this is what it looks like. We don’t have to start by looking for policies at the state and federal levels that we want to change. We can also start by looking at the very policies that govern our classrooms and departments. Systemic oppression can live there, too. Even if we are “nice” people. A practice that makes it the case that the social kids have to remain quiet and deprived of the sensory expe- riences that energize them is a practice that excludes. A rule that makes it easier for those same social kids to answer questions, while the kids who aren’t as social battle their fears of speaking in front of the class, is a prac- tice that excludes. An experience that rewards those who study quietly but not those who can act or draw or translanguage, is a practice that excludes.

We don’t have to accept these things while waiting on people outside of our classrooms to change them for us. We can be the architects of the inclusive future that we envision.

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed

478 Afterword

REFERENCES

Dugan, J., & Safir, S. (2021). Street data: A next-generation model for equity, pedagogy, and school transformation. SAGE.

Givens, J. R. (2021). Fugitive pedagogy: Carter G. Woodson and the art of Black teaching. Harvard University Press.

Jones, N. (2006). “Hip hop is dead.” Hip Hop Is Dead [album]. Def Jam Music Group.

Love, B. L. (2019). We want to do more than survive: Abolitionist teaching and the pursuit of educational freedom. Beacon Press.

Muhammad, G. (2020). Cultivating genius: An equity framework for culturally and historically responsive literacy. Scholastic.

Shalaby, C. (2017). Troublemakers: Lessons in freedom from young children at school. New Press.

C op

yr ig

ht ©

2 02

3. G

ui lfo

rd P

ub lic

at io

ns . A

ll rig

ht s

re se

rv ed