Pamela
LePage
Gretchen Givens-Generett, Ph.D.
LEPAGE,
GIVENS-GENERETT, FALL, 2003
The
idea of talking the talk and walking the walk is a nice idea,
but what do you do when walking the walk could mean walking the
walk right out the door and into oblivion?
Five
years ago the two us met during an academic job search and
found that despite our different backgrounds, we shared many
similar experiences. Most significantly, we both had written
our doctoral dissertations around the topic of women's development
and these studies had become an important part of our personal
identities. One of us (Pamela) is a White woman who conducted
a study on women who achieved highly in academics and who were
also disadvantaged as children. The other (Gretchen) is a Black
woman who interviewed an older African-American woman who spent
her life in the service of education in the South during the
years of segregation and then integration. The following stories
are told from a personal viewpoint. Pamela was disadvantaged
as a child and could have been a participant in her own research.
Gretchen described her older colleague's story as an intergenerational
discussion in which the narrator passes on traditions and values
that she associates with an African American schooling experience.
In this article, we both look back over the last five years
since we graduated from our respective institutions to reflect
on our decision to write dissertations that were considered
unusual at the time, and in the past would have been considered
unacceptable. We also talked about our continued experiences
writing material against the grain in academia, emphasizing
both the rewards and consequences.
Our Research and Our Stories-Pamela LePage
As a topic for my dissertation, I conducted a two-year study
to explore the experiences of women who achieved highly in
academics and who were also disadvantaged as children (LePage-Lees,
1997a). The women were considered high achievers since they
had earned advanced degrees or were currently enrolled as advanced
graduate students with at least two years of graduate work
completed. Women were considered disadvantaged if they were
raised in low-income homes, were first-generation college students,
and had faced stress as children (e.g., family dysfunction
or instability, illness, or death, etc.). From this definition,
the women's resources had been limited in three categories:
financial, informational, and emotional.
Although I did not include this information in my dissertation,
later when I adapted my dissertation as a book (LePage-Lees,
1997a), I explained that I was initially motivated to conduct
the study for reasons that related to my personal history.
I was poor when I was a child, but I was also disadvantaged
in other ways. For example, I went to 14 different schools
in four different states by the time I graduated from high
school. My mother was mentally ill and my stepfather was physically
abusive. As a very young child, one of my first memories involved
being placed in a "children's home." The guardians
of that fortress put children into toilets and told them they
would be flushed down if they cried or misbehaved. As a teenager,
I lived with my mother on welfare, and those years were vividly
marked by the death of my boyfriend who committed suicide in
jail after getting caught burglarizing a restaurant with my
brother.
Because of my history, I became interested in reading about
women and disadvantaged children in books and journals. In
most cases, I was disappointed with what I found. Although
many people had tried to explain why children from poor backgrounds
fail, when they succeeded, they were usually ignored. Those
people who did write about poor children rarely wrote about
their own experience with disadvantage. I still suspect that
most academics come from a traditional middle- or upper-class
childhood. Others hide their backgrounds, which perpetuates
the common belief that all academics grow up privileged.
For many years I tried staying away from educational issues
that were too personal. I now believe that certain groups have
been shut out of the academic process because people from the
traditional majority subtly communicate that it is inappropriate
for people from marginalized groups to reflect on their own
experiences. In many ways, they suggest that only the "objective
outsider" can truly conduct a scientific study. After
studying education for many years, it became clear to me that
there was no way to conduct a completely objective study in
social science and that it was important for me to adhere to
my beliefs and express my voice honestly.
Even so, as people include themselves in their own research,
they often run the risk of being criticized for being too self-absorbed.
This problem is often colorfully illustrated with the saying,
"Okay, enough about you, now let's talk about me."
Although my interpretations were influenced by my experiences,
I made an extraordinary effort to accurately represent the
women's voices. My research was appropriately qualitative.
I used three methods of data collection including interviews,
surveys, and documentation. In fact, for each of my participants,
I sent away for school records (including transcripts) from
high school all the way to graduate school. After I finished
writing my dissertation, I sent the volunteers my interpretations
of the interviews and asked them whether or not I represented
their voices accurately. This feedback was especially important
to me because often my explanations went beyond what any one
person actually said in her interview. None of the women claimed
her voice was misrepresented. In fact, all of the women who
responded were very positive as I demonstrate in the following
quotes (Lepage-Lees, 1997b, p. 4):
Maria:
I think that my voice was well represented in this study.
Toni:
I really enjoyed reading this study. It was interesting and
amusing to see myself quoted alongside, within, and among
others. Many of your interpretations hit the nail on the
head. For example, attitudes described on page... which motivate
children and families to hide dysfunction rang true for me.
Janet:
In sum, it was validating to read of other women's experiences
and to realize there's a whole closet community of us out
there. I hope your study can help others.
Helen:
Thank you for sending the results of your study. I appreciated
hearing what others said and how you interpreted our material.
In reading the quotes of the other participants, I found
that many things that others said, I could have said too.
I think you have done an excellent job of interpreting our
material, and I can't say how glad I am to see such a study
be done.
anonymous
feedback: I was very impressed with how similar my experiences
and attitudes were to the other participants in the study,
both in terms of the interpretation and the quoted passages.
Sara:
I'm really impressed by the study-as I said when you interviewed
me, this seems like a really important area of research,
and you've done an excellent job!
Reactions
from the Academic Community
The research participants' responses to my book were very positive.
The work also had a positive reception in other contexts. In
most feminist organizations, I was celebrated. I won an award
from the AERA Women Educators. I also received many e-mails
and letters from women who had read my work and told me they
were moved by my work shown in this quote:
Your
book made much more than a small impact on my life. You made
me realize that my past is not some terrible secret and I don't
have to spend so much time letting it eat away at me.
I
chose this quote because in almost every e-mail that I received,
the women in some way talked about feeling as though they no
longer had to "keep secrets" about their lives.
On the other hand I also got some odd reactions, even from
the feminist community. For example, I once submitted an article
related to my dissertation to a feminist journal. The article
was about the women's relationship with the term "disadvantage,"
how they defined disadvantage, when they disclosed information,
and when and how they connected their education to personal
experience (LePage-Lees, 1997b). It was ironic that although
the journal wanted the article, ultimately the article came
back three times for revisions, and each time the reviewers
gave me different instructions about whether I should include
my personal history in order to give the reader a view of my
perspective. They would ask me to put it in and then take it
out and then put it in and then take it out. Finally, I had
to speak to the editor personally and explain my dilemma. It
seemed ironic to me since in the article itself (LePage-Lees,
1997b) I wrote:
Why
do people have complicated relationships with disadvantage?
The research suggests that sometimes associating with certain
groups and disclosing information is helpful and sometimes
it is detrimental; sometimes it is a sign of neurosis, while
at other times it is a sign of mental health; sometimes it
can help a student get into a graduate program and sometimes
it causes them to be rejected. It seems an appropriate time
to reflect on issues of disclosure, especially as they pertain
to disclosure of "negative" experiences in educational
settings. (p. 367)
Ultimately,
it was very schizophrenic. On one hand, I was celebrated for
my work in many ways, and on the other hand, I often felt the
need to "hide" my own background and personal connection
with the work. It became very clear to me that just because
I was successful at exposing unhealthy norms and revealing
injustices, these discoveries did not necessarily result in
change, even in my own behavior. I often bowed to the norms
that pressured me toward conformity. The idea of talking the
talk and walking the walk is a nice idea, but what do you do
when walking the walk could mean walking the walk right out
the door and into oblivion?
Our
Research and Our Stories-Gretchen Givens-Generett
My research emerged out of the need to make sense of multiple
schooling experiences. Born in the early 70s, my primary and
secondary schooling took place in predominantly white schools.
I was the beneficiary of integration. My mother worked hard
and saved long in order to offer us a home in the suburbs where
the best schools were in walking distance. I worked hard to
prove myself in this environment and ultimately left with many
options and opportunities available to me. Upon graduation
from high school, I decided to attend a historically Black
female institution. Moving from a schooling situation where
I was one of a handful of African Americans to where the entire
class (including most of the professors) were African American
forced me to question the real differences that existed between
my previous schooling experience and that of my college years.
I decided to attend graduate school and study education in
an attempt to make sense of the two lived experiences. After
months in graduate school where I felt marginalized and invisible
I found myself in the office of an African American female
principal. Mrs. Lacewell, as I eventually began to call her,
helped me come to a better understanding of why I was interested
in making sense of these multiple experiences. In reality,
she modeled why it was necessary for me to do so.
On the surface, my dissertation is an intergenerational discussion
between African American women. I think it is more than that.
It is an example of how an older member of the Black community
mentors and nurtures a member of a younger generation. In the
end, Mrs. Lacewell helped me to embark upon a career in education.
During our conversations, Mrs. Lacewell constructed a story
ripe with the traditions and values she associated with African
American education. By agreeing to tell me the story of her
lived experiences as a Black female student and educator, Mrs.
Lacewell initiated conversations about schooling, how they
changed and how they remained the same for Black women despite
our generational differences. Her story was the beginning of
a series of conversations that, for me, went full circle touching
on the complexity of issues facing African American women educators.
It was important to me that I write a dissertation that represented
this journey in its presentation. Letters to a friend begin
and end each chapter. These letters serve as a window, if you
will, to the conversations I had with friends my own age about
my conversations with Mrs. Lacewell. Questions such as, "Have
you ever thought about your school experiences? Have you ever
thought about what our generation thinks about segregated Black
schools? Have you ever thought about what was lost?" are
discussed. These very personal letters are followed by theory
and an historical context to understanding segregation and
integration in the American South.
I decided to present Mrs. Lacewell's voice without the theory,
uninterrupted. Her words are presented on the paper without
my questions or comments sprinkled throughout. Instead her
words are presented as the story that they represent. It was
a deliberate decision on my part to present Mrs. Lacewell's
voice in this form. I felt that her words did not need to be
interpreted. They speak for themselves. The format of the dissertation
is as important as the research and the story that is told.
It was very important to me that my work be accessible. I was
at the point in my journey where I needed to feel connected
to a larger Black community. Fortunately, I worked with a group
of intellectuals who understood the significance and need for
that type of work.
I met Mrs. Lacewell during a collaborative qualitative research
project overseen by my academic advisor. My initial interest
in her teaching philosophy lead me to keep in touch with her
after the project was complete. Our conversations ended up
being my dissertation. Ultimately, she chose me to tell her
story to, to interview her about her experiences in the educational
system as a student, teacher, and administrator.
My conversations with Mrs. Lacewell are best described as qualitative
research. Qualitative research methodology is used as an umbrella
to discuss several research strategies that share particular
characteristics (Bogdan & Biklen, 1982). Data in a qualitative
research project is descriptive, offering rich, full detail
of people, places, and conversation. Metaphorically, some qualitative
research has been compared to jazz. The dialogue that Mrs.
Lacewell and I had was analogous to jazz and the improvisation
of jazz musicians. Oldfather and West (1994) wrote:
Jazz
is adaptive and shared by the participants. Their improvisations
are collaborative and interdependent; the quality of the music
depends on each musicians hearing, responding to, and appreciating
the performances of the other players (p. 22).
Together
we composed a story complete with values, traditions, and daily
acts which helped me better understand how she views African
American educators. Like jazz, Mrs. Lacewell and I used our
dialogical encounters, our conversations, like instruments
to negotiate and improvise our multiple identities.
Qualitative research allowed us to shape our project in a collaborative
and independent manner, according to our understanding, needs,
and desires (Oldfather & West, 1994). Like musicians, we
let the rhythm of the project lead the way.
Reactions
from the Academic Community
For the most part, my work was met with enthusiasm. As I gave
job talk after job talk, I could see people nodding their heads.
I was happy that people were getting it, that they understood
how I had constructed this research. Invariably, however, there
was the person in the audience who questioned my methodology
and the way I had constructed the research. "How do you
address issues of validity? Is your interpretation of this
work valid? Do you believe that you were being objective in
this investigation?" I found myself having to defend the
construction of the dissertation and my relationship with Mrs.
Lacewell. Unlike job talks that I had witnessed where people
discussed the ideas as presented, I felt as if I were in a
dissertation defense trying to get permission to write a non-traditional
dissertation. While academia acknowledged that there was a
need for the type of research issues that I discussed and wrote
about, they were uncomfortable (some even seemed troubled)
by my presentation of the information. The questions of validity
seemed to say that yes, we agree with what you say, just not
the way you are saying it.
I was confused. In one case in particular, I interviewed for
a non-traditional program that seemed to promote the very type
of experimental writing that I had chosen. Unfortunately, I
could not explain to those on the committee how I was making
a conscious decision to blur the boundaries of traditional
academic research and how it was normally presented. In telling
Mrs. Lacewell's story, I also told my own, ripe with the doubt
and complexities that shape and propel my life. I wondered,
how do I position myself as the knower and teller? Who am I
as a writer? Who is going to read my work? These were just
a few of the questions I was happy to espouse upon; instead
they focused on whether or not my work was valid. The people
who interviewed me seemed more concerned with whether or not
the conclusions I drew were true. Whether or not it was true
was not paramount to me. Sociologist Laurel Richardson (1997)
wrote:
Postmodernism claims that representation is always partial,
local, and situational and that our self is always present,
no matter how much we try to suppress it- but only partially
present, for in our writing we repress parts of ourselves,
too. Working from that premise, we are freed to write material
in a variety of ways: to tell and retell. There is no such
thing as "getting it right"; only "getting it"
differently contoured and nuanced. When experimenting with
form, ethnographers learn about the topic and about themselves
that which was unknowable, unimaginable, using prescribed writing
formats. So, even if one chooses to write a final paper in
a conventional form, experimenting with format is a practical
and powerful way to expand interpretative skills. (p. 91)
Unfortunately,
my analysis was not seen as powerful. I was so surprised by
some of the questioning that I must have sounded naïve
or defensive. At the very least, I must have sounded like I
did not know what I was doing and that my research really had
no content but was merely fluff. In the end, this non-traditional
program, dedicated to feminist values, hired a person with
a traditional research orientation. Two years later I was asked
to apply for the same position that I was denied a few years
earlier. I gave a similar talk for the interview. This time,
there were no questions about validity, and this time I got
the job.
Continuing
our Work Against the Grain
Since our dissertations, both of us have worked in a non-traditional
master's program for practicing teachers that is dedicated
to transformational change in education. Because of this program
and our own personal styles, we continue to conduct research
and engage in teaching that rubs against the grain. And, we
try to stay enthusiastic and energized in a context where we
still receive conflicting messages about our scholarship. For
example, as part of her work in this non-traditional program,
Pamela wrote a chapter for a book on the program that was meant
to expose some of the internal problems of the program (LePage,
2001). The faculty members involved in writing and editing
of the book agreed that in order to show that they had the
capacity for self-reflection and critique, they needed to not
only talk about what they did right, but also what they did
wrong. They also agreed that collaboration should be the focus
of an internal critique. Still, many faculty members were upset
when the chapter was first disseminated, feeling that the chapter
pressed too hard against academic norms that prohibit academics
from exposing dirty little secrets. At that time Pamela had
to endure some personal and professional attacks. Later, however,
she was celebrated for her honesty. Most of the faculty came
back to her at some time and admitted that she had "named"
some difficult problems that needed to be addressed. At that
time the document was used as a centerpiece for faculty discussions
about how to improve the program.
After teaching English as a second language in Japan, Gretchen
returned to teach in the same nontraditional program. One week
after returning to the United States, Gretchen found herself
in front of a cohort of teachers where the topic of the day
centered on race. After giving a short talk on research and
how it has been used to define race, she looked into the audience
at the sea of white faces staring wide-eyed at her. She had
forgotten how it felt to be an African-American female and
talk about race in front of a group of white people. Later
during the day, she came back to a large group discussion where
the day's discussions were readdressed. She began the dialogue
by reading the class a letter she had written them during break.
It began, "I had forgotten how difficult this work can
be and how vulnerable I sometimes feel." After reading
the letter, the teachers opened up and began sharing their
own feelings about the morning discussion. In the end, people
commented that it was the first real dialogue they had about
race since starting the program.
Discussion
As academics we have worked to integrate a personal perspective
into the research process. Our cases provide an example of
the confusion, inconsistency, and ambiguity that is often experienced
by many feminist scholars, especially during and after graduate
school when they are searching for an identity and seeking
acceptance in the academic community. Pamela was confused about
whether and when to integrate personal experiences into her
work and when and how she might press against academic norms
to create change. Gretchen, whose research was conducted a
few years later, was able to integrate herself in her work,
but she found that many still focused on questioning her methods
rather than probing her insights. Over the years, many women
have fought to develop a personal voice in educational scholarship
(see for example, Richardson, 1997). In the late 80's and early
90's, investigators emphasized the need for women to connect
new knowledge with personal experience (Clinchy, Belenky, Goldberger,
& Tarule, 1985; Bartolome´, 1994; Terenzini, Rendon,
Upcraft, Millar, Allison, Gregg & Jalomo, 1993). For example,
Tarule (1988) described the problems associated with women
bringing their experiences into the learning process:
In
classroom discussions, women often join the dialog starting
with long stories that detail what seems relevant from their
lives. They ground their learning and understanding in their
experience, while the listeners, students and instructors alike,
squirm, unable to hear the logic of connection, and therefore
the essence of the idea. The listeners are simply mortified
by an apparently inappropriate sharing of life experience.
They roll their eyes, the instructor tries to figure out how
to break in, and the speaker begins to perceive that her presentation
of the ideas, as well as the way she thinks about them, are
wrong. (p. 26)
In
many ways, our stories raise questions about academic norms
surrounding disclosure. Our dissertation work forced us to
consider when it is appropriate to incorporate the personal
into our research. How much autobiography is too much? How
much is not enough? Disclosing ourselves in our research is
risky, and, at the same time, frightening. When the research
is rejected as not valid, there is a way in which our lived
experiences are simultaneously devalued.
The difficulty incorporating personal experience can be interpreted
through the lens of critical theory. According to Foucault
(1979), the normalization of society produces attacks upon
the bodies and souls of individuals who, for whatever reason,
reject society's norms. The attacks come not only from the
state, in the form of legal authority; but also in manifestations
of social control through a system of constraints and punishments
evident throughout the entire social structure. Foucault (1979)
argued that each of us have become "our brother's keeper,"
watching over one another, making sure that norms are not violated
and that dominant beliefs and values are upheld.
Educators interested in critical theory tell us that discursive
practices refer to the rules by which discourses are formed
(McLaren, 1994), rules that govern what can be said and what
must remain unsaid, and who can speak with authority and who
must listen. They are "not purely and simply ways of producing
discourse. They are embodied in the technical processes, in
institutions, in patterns for general behavior, in forms of
transmission and diffusion, and pedagogical forms which, at
once, impose and maintain them" (Foucault, 1926, p. 200).
Insights offered by critical theorists are helpful, but the
difficulty comes not when you analyze the norms or discursive
practices in a traditional way, but when you choose to reject
the norms and live up (sometimes) to your own rhetoric. Other
researchers have been working to redefine research and inquiry.
In fact, many people in academics over the last 20 years have
written about personal experiences including bell hooks (1996),
Mike Rose (1989), Jane Tompkins (1996), Richard Rodriquez (1990),
and Lisa Delpit (1995). These people, however, could be described
as people who "made it" in academia in traditional
ways which then gave them permission to be personal. But still,
these pioneers paved the way for others to be open about who
they are, integrate their personal stories, and question academic
norms.
In addition, beyond these few successful people, we were pleased
to find such recent publications as those written by Laurel
Richardson (1997) who made a powerful argument for including
personal experience. We have also discovered edited volumes
such as that organized by Carl Grant (1999) called Multicultural
research: A reflective engagement with race, class, gender
and sexual orientation. In that book, the editor invited people
to write chapters about what guided them during their research
in the area of equity, social justice, power and/or the interrelationship
between their life experiences and the theoretical underpinnings
of their scholarship. In each chapter, the authors describe
their personal relationship with their research and, although
the book includes well-known voices such as Michael Apple and
Peter McClaren, it also includes less experienced academics,
such as Jennifer Obidah (1999), who described her experiences
in graduate school. And, what makes her chapter even more unique
is that her comments about a well-known graduate school are
fairly critical, which is unusual since norms in academia often
discourage people from talking about negative experiences and
criticizing their institutions. This book is one of the first
books to explore the motivations of researchers and how that
impacts their work.
Conclusion
In our dissertation studies (early to mid 90's), we took risks
and we pressed against the norms. So, the question is where
do we stand now? In this paper, we not only talk about our
experience with our dissertations, we talk about how our nontraditional
research has affected our lives and our careers since our research
was completed.
In conclusion, we offer four suggestions for change. First
and foremost, we believe that it is important for academics
to live up to their rhetoric. In countless situations in academia,
we find people who argue for change, and yet they perpetuate
entrenched norms in their own environment. For example, this
often happens when academics suggest that K-12 teachers should
do X (such as collaborate), yet in their own environments,
academics have difficulty engaging in those practices themselves.
This is also true of reflective practice. Being a reflective
practitioner demands that we examine and critique the internal
and external forces that motivate us. In the end, we also have
to examine what it is that sustains us. We believe that there
has to be spaces available in academia for scholars to make
sense of the world through the examination of their own lived
experiences. The norms surrounding personal disclosures need
to be re-evaluated in the light of reflective practice which
demands that people not only look openly at their motivations,
but also at their mistakes.
Second, educators need to continue to engage in serious discussions
about philosophical questions surrounding educational research:
How do we define and describe educational research? What is
it for? How can we make it more useful? When and how should
we imitate research norms and traditions already established
and entrenched, and when and how should we forge our own path?
We argue that knowledge is constantly evolving, rather than
a fixed concept. While some people would argue that researchers
should strive to be objective, we advocate a critical and constructivist
epistemology (Belenky, Clinchy, Goldberger & Tarule, 1986;
Kegan, 1982, Minnich, 1990; Vygotsky, 1978) to guide our understanding
of interpretive research. As Diane Wood (2001) stated, "knowledge
is perspectival, relational, contingent, partial, and situated"
(p. 36). We argue that researchers must acknowledge, not only
their personal connection to research, but also the underlying
threads of power and privilege that exist between research
stakeholders as we conduct and interpret women's lives. We
argue that it is not only useful to include (and weave) a personal
experience throughout a research project, but that it presents
a more "honest" presentation of the material. Ultimately,
being inclusive of the personal experiences provides a much
wider range of narratives from which everyone can learn. If
research fails to be inclusive of a variety of ways of knowing
and being, then the written pool of experiences is limited,
thereby silencing many of the voices that could help us come
to richer understandings. Whether or not something is valid
has traditionally been based upon how the research is constructed,
more specifically, the methods used. Traditional thought suggests
that research that has been triangulated offers one of the
best options for validating qualitative data (Richardson, 1997).
Research that has been triangulated presumes that however you
put the pieces of the puzzle together, you still produce the
same picture. Like our research, issues of validity take a
more personal approach. Validity can be defined very differently
by people who may not understand, for example, cultural differences
such as the importance of the intergenerational responsibility
to pass on important historical knowledge in the African American
community. An argument can be made that one reason our research
is valid is because the individuals and community members whose
lives we discuss say it is so.
Finally, it seems obvious that we must continue to work toward
change, but we also need to be realistic and cautious. Graduate
students need more training in developing a voice and facing
the current confusion surrounding disclosure in educational
scholarship. They must be prepared for mixed responses and
ambiguity, even when they write insightful and useful prose.
Right now feminist researchers and critical theorists, to name
a few groups, are trying to change the current paradigm, while
functioning within an old paradigm. They are trying to do it
differently with very little guidance, support, and time. Working
within a system that operates with different conventions means
oscillating between two sets of epistemological norms and moral
practices. Finding a balance is hard because there is often
tension between being politically suave and being honest, being
diplomatic and being straightforward, standing up for your
principles and being open to reconciliation, protecting yourself
and being selfish. There are no clear boundaries. Graduate
students must be prepared to constantly negotiate these distinctions.
They must learn to live with ambiguity and contradiction.
Our love for the work with teachers makes us intensely aware
of how the bureaucracy of the university hinders our ability
to achieve the aims we have listed. At the root of this very
complicated problem, we believe, is a fear that plagues teacher
educators. Our eagerness to be seen as "hard scientists"
often prevents us from doing the type of experimental work
that sheds light on possibilities and prevents constraints
on thinking. This path needs to be negotiated with a great
deal of care for others, understanding of differences (including
in our case, conservative voices), understanding of politics,
persistence, and most important, -- a managed heart (Hochschild,
1983).
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Authors
Dr.
Pamela LePage is an Acadmic Research and Program Officer, Stanford
University.
Dr.
Gretchen Givens-Generett is an Assistant Professor in the Graduate
School of Education's Intiatives in Educational Trasformation (IFT)
Program, George Mason University.
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