Chapter 6 The new syllabus: an analysis
I suggested (at the end of Chapter 2) that I had concerns about both the motives for seeking a new agreed syllabus and the educational/philosophical integrity of the content of that syllabus. I pointed out that it seemed to me that the issues discussed were to a large extent concerned with complying with the law. The religious education provisions of the 1988 Act thus dominated the debates of the Statutory Conference and, later, the deliberations of the working parties.
Issues which I consider of fundamental importance for any valid educational enterprise - the nature of the curriculum; models of curriculum design; the importance of children's needs and interests; the involvement of teachers in curriculum development - have, in my view, taken second place to concerns about whether the new syllabus meets the legal requirements. One could argue that this was because what we were writing was a syllabus and not a curriculum and that, assuming a syllabus is merely a framework within which a curriculum can be developed, then these issues were not relevant in this undertaking.
In this chapter I shall argue, however, that without a sound educational/philosophical underpinning, we have created a framework which might, at best, not facilitate the development of an appropriate curriculum and, at worst, might make it impossible.
First, however, it is important to recognise that what we have produced is a syllabus, which I would define as a framework within which a curriculum can be developed. What types of curriculum, then, might it be possible to create from this framework? Let us look first at possible definitions of 'curriculum'.
Curriculum definitions
Definitions of 'curriculum' abound. The 1958 Kansas Curriculum Guide for Elementary Schools suggested that it encompasses 'all of the experiences of children for which the school should accept responsibility' (Stenhouse 1975:2). This suggests that unplanned as well as planned experiences are part of the school curriculum. Others limit the curriculum to the planned learning experiences: 'all the learning which is planned and guided by the school, whether it is carried out in groups or individually, inside or outside the school' (Kerr 1968:16).
An essential feature of a curriculum must be its potential for translation into practice. It must be 'an attempt to communicate the essential principles and features of an educational proposal in such a form that it is open to critical scrutiny and capable of effective translation into practice' (Stenhouse 1975:4). The curriculum must therefore indicate 'the learning experiences of students, in so far as they are expressed or anticipated in educational goals and objectives, plans and designs for learning and the implementation of these plans and designs in school environments' (Skilbeck 1984:21).
Denis Lawton (1986:5) approached curriculum definition from another angle when he described it as 'a selection from the culture'.
It is, then, in my view, doubtful that a single definition is enough. The curriculum can be seen in formal terms as a learning structure with programmes and courses in a sequenced, argued, methodical scheme. But there are also the informal aspects of the curriculum - the intended informal curriculum (social learning and the ethos of the school) and the unintended 'hidden' curriculum (which might, but hopefully will not, be such things as education for boredom, white European culture is best, the male is dominant etc).
For the purposes of this paper, then, I suggest the definition offered by the Taylor Report: 'Our preferred concept of the school curriculum effectively comprehends the sum of experiences to which a child is exposed at school' (Taylor 1977:52).
How does the new agreed syllabus relate to these definitions? I suggest it offers opportunities for a curriculum which fulfils them in respect of the formal, and also, hopefully, supports the informal curriculum of the school in its attention to questions of value, purpose and meaning in life and in its concern for positive attitudes to others, their beliefs and practices.
It is not the whole, of course: it forms one part of the multi-faceted curriculum of a school.
Models of curriculum design
Secondly, is there a recognisable model of curriculum design underpinning the syllabus? Three models of curriculum design are generally acknowledged: the content model, the aims and objectives model and the process model.
The content model
The content model is the simplest of the three: here the curriculum is presented simply as a list of things to be taught and learned. Is this the model of curriculum design on which the syllabus is based?
The programmes of study may look at first glance like a content-based curriculum and concerns have been expressed about them for this reason. Certainly, many pages of the programmes do consist of lists of things to be taught or learned, and I have my own reservations about this: I should like to have seen more emphasis on a child-centred approach which acknowledged the central importance of the learner, rather than the apparent dominance of the content. However, there are exceptions: 'Pupils should be encouraged to ask questions and listen to answers' (Key Stage 1) for example, permits the pupils themselves to direct the content. In addition, two of the three aims and some of the attainment statements make it clear that the syllabus is not to be thought of purely as content.
The objectives model
Perhaps the most common curriculum model is the objectives model. In this context, an objective is seen as an intended outcome expressed in terms of learner behaviour. It may be a product (a piece of artwork or an essay) or an achievement, performance or skill.
Could the syllabus be used as the basis of an objectives model curriculum? Certainly the aims and the attainment targets and statements would support such a view. 'To describe the main characteristics of religious practices and to give an outline description of the beliefs' (Key Stage 2), for example, could be regarded as a straightforward objective, the outcome of which could be measured by a simple paper-and-pencil test. However, some of the other attainment statements do not lend themselves so easily to this model: 'To compare the answers different people give to religious questions and relate these to their own views' (Key Stage 2) for example. It would be more difficult (though not impossible) to measure the outcome of this type of objective.
I believe the syllabus avoids the worst pitfalls of the objectives model. It does not, for example, avoid value issues, nor would its implementation result in reductionism: the programmes of study are not directly related to any single objective. Its insistence that assessment must be broadly based and must not concentrate on the purely measurable should avoid the temptation to trivialise. This is particularly important in religious education: 'Although it is a major concern of RE to help pupils develop their own beliefs, values, attitudes, and behaviour, it is not appropriate to make these matters for assessment' (Westhill 1991b:17). Finally, its open-ended approach should ensure that the creative and the unpredictable are not undervalued.
The process model
The process model of the curriculum shifts the focus of planning the curriculum from the nature of knowledge and skills to developing the experience of the learner. It was promoted by the Hadow and Plowden Reports and whilst it has been popular - especially in primary education - it has not been adopted as widely as had been hoped. (See, for example, HMI 1978; Galton, Simon and Croll 1980).
The fundamental problem of the process model is whether or not it is actually possible to construct a curriculum in this way. Stenhouse (1975:84) asked 'Can curriculum pedagogy be organised satisfactorily by a logic other than the means-end model? Can the demands of a curriculum specification be met without using the concepts of objectives?' He was convinced that it ought to be possible to see the curriculum other than in a means-end way. For Stenhouse the means-end model was immoral - he saw it as involving indoctrination. For him, objectives were an attempt to control the teacher whereas the process model necessitated trusting the teacher. The curriculum should be more for teachers than for pupils: there should be a reliance on judgement rather than on standards, an unwillingness to rely on measurement.
The main features of the process model are:
- an emphasis on the subject rather than the subject matter;
- the central importance of the teacher: involvement in curriculum design and development; a high level of professionalism, judgement rather than standards in assessment;
- its rejection of the instrumental approach - the focus should be on the child now not on the child as a future adult;
- its association with 'progressive' education and, in particular, with Rousseau, Froebel and Dewey;
- its rejection of means-end rationality as the sole model of curriculum design.
To what extent, then, could the agreed syllabus be used as the basis of a process model curriculum? The fact that the syllabus is based on the National Curriculum structure, with attainment targets and statements, would suggest that to develop a process-model curriculum from it would be difficult if not impossible. However, there are aspects of the syllabus which lend themselves more to this model.
There is little doubt, for example, of the central importance of the teacher: the syllabus is not a curriculum, and the design and development of the curriculum is therefore very much in the teacher's hands. This will require a high level of professionalism, a point which has been underlined at various times during the writing of the syllabus. Furthermore, the working party was clear in its view that the teacher's judgement rather than pre-specified standards must be paramount in assessment.
Does the syllabus reject an instrumental approach - is its focus on the child now, not on the child as a future adult? To a greater or lesser extent, all school curricula have an eye to the future and can be seen in terms of 'preparing' pupils for their lives as adults. However, many aspects of the syllabus do acknowledge the integrity of the child now: 'Pupils should be encouraged to reflect on the meaning of religious beliefs and practice in their own lives ... think about people, books, events that have influenced them' (Key Stage 3), for example.
The syllabus does offer principles for the selection of content and for the making of decisions about sequence through the attainment targets and statements, and principles for the development of a teaching strategy through the programmes of study. Its assessment procedures offer principles on which to study and evaluate the progress of students and teachers. To this extent, then, a process model curriculum could be based on the syllabus.
However, I do not believe that it is possible to create an effective curriculum using any one of these models.
The fundamental problem of the simple content model is that it is based on a rationalist view of knowledge and only has validity if we accept the view that 'the central concerns of the curriculum are to transmit certain kinds of valuable knowledge and to do this in such a way as to make clear to pupils that they are divided up into certain timeless and discrete forms of rationality' (Blenkin and Kelly 1987:151).
The rationalist view regards knowledge as 'having a status that is largely independent of human experience, as 'Godgiven', and thus as absolute and, for the most part, unchanging' (Blenkin and Kelly 1987:13). In relation to the school curriculum, supporters of this view contend that certain forms or areas of knowledge are superior to others, and that it is possible to say, therefore, which forms or areas should be taught. There is no room in this view for the child other than as the recipient of this unarguably valid truth. This attitude is deeply ingrained in our society: 'Belief in the superiority of certain activities and experiences over others is too deep within our way of thinking to be dismissed lightly' (Pring 1976:55).
But what is to be the content? Who is to decide? What is the nature of knowledge? What makes this knowledge more valuable than that? Even if one were to be able to answer all these questions satisfactorily, one is still left asking about the purpose of such a curriculum. If a purpose is intended, then one is surely moving towards the objectives model; if no purpose is intended, what is the point of the curriculum?
The objectives model does not suffer from quite the same deficiency, but, on its own, it still lacks wholeness. As we have seen, education is a much broader matter than the simple achievement of outcomes which can be assessed and measured.
The process model cannot survive in isolation, either. It must have content of some sort, and will usually have some form of aims or objectives, though these may be specified rather differently from those of the objectives model.
I suggest, therefore, that an adequate curriculum will include elements of all three models and I believe that the new agreed syllabus does offer opportunities for the development of a curriculum which fulfils this requirement.
New views of religious education
If the syllabus offers the possibility of creating a teaching programme based on sound curriculum theory, does it also present opportunities for developing a programme which is in line with contemporary thinking in religious education? To what extent have the elements of that thinking (which I outlined at the end of Chapter 1) informed the new syllabus?
First, it should take a post-phenomenological standpoint. As I suggested in Chapter 1, the phenomenological approach is now largely discredited. Michael Grimmitt has, for example, pointed out that 'no method of study can be without some propositions ... value-free methods are, in fact, value-laden' (Grimmitt 1987:42). And Newbigin supports this argument: 'If ... I try to study Hinduism and all the other religions from - so to speak - an equal distance ... then I must also undertake the study of the ideology which underlies [this approach]' (Newbigin 1977:100). Grimmitt (1987:45) goes so far as to suggest that 'the use of phenomenological method effectively invalidates the educational process'.
What of the new syllabus in this context? Certainly, there are plenty of examples of phenomenology: 'Pupils should be taught about symbolic meanings ... rites of passage ... how religious people express their beliefs' (Key Stage 3). But, as I have already indicated, it does go further than this and encourages pupils to think and question, particularly in relation to their own lives and experiences. To this extent, then, the syllabus could be described as taking a post-phenomenological stance.
Secondly, religious education today is viewed not simply as the imparting of facts (and certainly not as indoctrination or confessionalism) but as part of the process of the development of pupils' spirituality, their beliefs, values and attitudes. The developmental needs of the learner are therefore paramount and must inform our attitude to knowledge and understanding and our approach to curriculum design.
The work of Piaget and Bruner showed that the gap between philosophy and psychology in the discussion of education is not as wide or as clearly recognisable as some seem to believe. This is 'a point which may in itself tell us something about the integration of knowledge' (Blenkin and Kelly 1987:146). An appreciation of the theories of learning posited by Piaget, Bruner and others suggests that we should be planning education 'in terms of developmental process', trying to develop 'a unity of understanding in the mind of the individual pupil' (Blenkin and Kelly 1987). Dewey felt it important that the child should organise his/her own knowledge, not have it done for him/her, and Kelly (1982:80) suggests that motivation, interest and relevance are all essential features of an adequate curriculum.
I am not sure to what extent the new syllabus lives up to these expectations. Certainly there are elements within it which acknowledge the primacy of the child, but there are also areas which suggest that the demands of legislation have triumphed over children's needs. What I can only describe as the fear surrounding the need for specificity (generated by the 1988 Act and, in particular, the Secretary of State's letter to Chief Education Officers) has had an insidious and distorting effect.
Thirdly, evaluation of religions has, to a large extent, been rehabilitated, so that, for example, Brenda Watson notes that recent agreed syllabuses have abandoned 'preoccupation with content in favour of concepts, skills and attitudes' and she promotes the concept of 'critical affirmation' - 'to all people in principle, to oneself, and to truth so far as it is discerned' (Watson 1987:55).
I believe the new syllabus is sound on this point. Despite the emphasis on content in the programmes of study, the syllabus implicitly - and often explicitly - acknowledges the importance of concepts, skills and attitudes: 'Pupils should be encouraged to develop sensitivity and respect for those who hold views and commitments different from their own' (Key Stage 4) is but one example of many.
Finally, there is the calling into question of radical empiricism itself, on which so much western thinking has been based and which has been taken so much for granted. 'Radical empiricism ... brings about an implicit identification of the real and worthwhile with the purely observable, and collapses into materialism ... it divorces the knower from what is known, and in positivism it explicitly relegates theology and ethics to the status of "non-sense"' (Thatcher 1990:79).
Schwab underlines this point by pointing out the changing nature of knowledge: 'The revisionary character of scientific knowledge accrues from the continuing assessment and modification of substantive structures' (Schwab 1964:266). The danger of a purely dogmatic, inculcative curriculum, Schwab suggests, is that unless pupils appreciate the limitations of the enquiry that produced the knowledge, they will be bewildered by revisions. On the other hand, if they are given freedom to speculate on the possible changes in structures, they will 'not only be prepared to meet future revisions with intelligence but will better understand the knowledge they are currently being taught' (Schwab 1964:267).
The syllabus acknowledges this debate about the changing nature of knowledge: it does not seek to inculcate any particular view and invites students to consider, for example, the difference between religious and scientific explanations, including such key concepts as 'belief', 'proof', the nature of evidence, 'miracle', 'coincidence' and 'natural law'.
Other educational concerns
Assessment, recording and reporting
One of the main concerns of educationalists about the National Curriculum and its attendant assessment procedures is that it reduces education to a process of imparting information or teaching skills which can be conveniently tested. Recent changes to the standard assessment tasks for seven year olds, for example, so that they become paper and pencil tests, are indicative of this process. There are two dangers here: first, that the testing becomes more important than the teaching and learning, and second - following on from that - the testing begins to control or direct what is taught or learned.
The central flaw in this model of education is that it assumes that only what is easily measurable is of value. I would suggest that the reverse is actually true, and that what is measurable and what is of value are at opposite ends of a spectrum. It is particularly important to recognise this in relation to religious education.
The rationale behind this flawed attitude to the curriculum and testing is undoubtedly the call for greater accountability of teachers and schools. 'Demands that teachers be more directly accountable to outside agencies can only encourage an emphasis on those aspects of their work that these agencies can best understand' (Blenkin and Kelly 1987:212).
Fortunately, the advice of the working parties on assessment, recording and reporting is firmly based on Westhill's 'Assessing, recording and reporting RE' which is based on sound educational theory.
Children's needs and interests
Should a curriculum be based on children's needs and interests and if so, to what extent does the syllabus provide a framework for such a curriculum? I believe that this is an important consideration, for, in my view, a curriculum based on something other than children's needs and interests will be one of two kinds: it will either be based on a rationalist view of knowledge or it will be utilitarian.
In his article The Project Method (1918) William Heard Kilpatrick, an American pedagogue who became a major figure in the progressive education movement of the early twentieth century, agued that:
There is no necessary conflict in kind between the social demands and the child's interests. Our whole fabric of institutional life grew out of human interests. The path of the race is here a possible path for the individual. There is no normal boy but has already many socially desirable interests and is capable of many more. It is the special duty and opportunity of the teacher to guide the pupil through his present interests and achievement into the wider interests and achievement demanded by the wider social life of the older world (Kilpatrick 1918:12).
Richard Pring regards Kilpatrick's work as of special importance because of the popularity of interest-based curriculum ideas, the good ethical reasons behind them, and because of what he regards as the inappropriateness of the alternatives. He identifies the ethical argument for such a curriculum as being the 'underlying theory of value reflected in the concern for the interests of the child' (Pring 1976:52), but he rejects the idea that it is possible to do away with a heirarchy of values. 'The child must come to see their value if they are to be valuable to him' (Pring 1976:55). His cognitive argument embraces an empiricist view of knowledge: 'The meaning (and thus the truth) of what is offered is proportionate to its meaningfulness for each pupil (and to its "working") for him' (Pring 1976:56). He rejects the critics' view that 'knowledge does ... somehow exist independently of individual knowers' (Pring 1976:56).
My concern is that there are aspects of the new syllabus which do not accord with these views. The programmes of study seem to begin appropriately enough with some reasonably child-centred statements such as 'pupils should have opportunities to show their appreciation of people important to them and to talk about occasions special to them' (Key Stage 1) but in the later stages we find statements such as 'pupils should be taught about the symbolic meanings present in, for example, religious rituals/actions, places of worship, festivals and dress.' (Key Stage 3) Now of course children may be interested in such things, but then again they may not. My concern is that there is a lack of choice here: the programmes of study will have statutory force, so there will be great pressure on teachers to make sure they 'cover' everything. Perhaps the best that can be said is that it will be the teacher's task to motivate children to find an interest in such things.
And what of children's needs? Do children 'need' to learn about religious dress? Superficially it would appear not, though I would argue that, in a multi-cultural and multifaith society this is indeed one small aspect of the needs of children if they are to become knowledgeable and thus sensitive members of that society. However, we must avoid falling into the trap of educating tomorrow's adults rather than today's children: 'A school ... is a community in which children learn to live first and foremost as children and not as future adults' (Plowden 1967:187).
A fundamental aspect of a curriculum based on children's needs and interests is that it acknowledges that children already have active minds. 'Don't forget that the child is a living thing, with thoughts and beliefs, hopes and choices, feelings and wishes; helping him with these must be what education is about, for there is nothing else to educate' (Pring 1976:51). Children bring much to school with them - their experiences, attitudes and aptitudes. To treat them as though they were slates on which to be written is not only an insult but is to do them, and the education we seek to provide, a grave disservice. 'Learning is, after all, an individual matter, in which essential idiosyncratic elements must be supplied by the learner himself' (Gagné 1971:page unknown, quoted in Beswick 1987:19). Compare these attitudes with that of Roger Scruton: 'They come to the teacher unformed, ignorant and distracted; their existence as citizens, and the rights and immunities which confer equality... lie at the end of the educational process and not at the beginning' (Scruton 1987:44).
Having worked with colleagues on the new syllabus for eighteen months now, there is no doubt in my mind that none of us had any intention of writing a syllabus which would accord with Scruton's view of children. The syllabus does acknowledge that they bring much that is their own to the learning process including their attitudes, beliefs and values: the purpose of the syllabus is to develop what already exists. However, there is much which does not make any such acknowledgement. The main headings of the programmes of study for Key Stage 2, for example, suggest that pupils should have the opportunity to study 'the main features and underlying themes of customs and festivals in Christianity and two other religions ... the main features of places of worship ... how people worship and celebrate ... the key beliefs of Christianity and at least two other religions ... the main events in the lives of key religious figures.'
There is not much here by way of overt acknowledgement of anything the pupils might bring to the subject. This is not to say that able teachers will not use the material in appropriate ways, drawing out from their pupils what is already there and seeking to build on it. It is just that a reading of the bald text gives no indication of such an approach and may therefore, unintentionally, lead teachers almost unaware into a type of phenomenology of which Roger Scruton might approve. I do not.
Another feature of child-centred curricula is their emphasis on discovery. The child starts from his/her own interest and extends his/her field of enquiry outwards. Plowden suggested that this method had proved to be more successful than being told and many teachers would argue that the experience of the past thirty years or so would back up Plowden's claim. In this respect it will again be for teachers to develop appropriate strategies: it should be quite possible to teach much of the syllabus using discovery methods, though the text lends itself equally to a transmission-style pedagogy.
Margaret Donaldson notes that children in the early years of school 'seem eager, lively, happy', whereas 'large numbers leave school with the bitter taste of defeat in them, not having mastered even moderately well those basic skills which society demands' (Donaldson 1978:13-14). Her view (and mine) is that the problem lies in the fact that, whereas primary schools base their work, to some extent at least, on children's needs and interests, in the high schools these receive less attention, while the needs of business and industry become predominant. Does this mean that we should investigate the possibilities for secondary education learning from the primary sector? Apparently not. 'There is pressure now for change at the lower end of the system. And there is a real danger that this pressure might lead to change that would be gravely retrogressive' (Donaldson 1978:14).
If those words were true in 1978, how much truer they are today! The Secretary of State (supported, regrettably, by the General Secretary of the National Association of Head Teachers) wants to promote a return to streaming and setting, to the 'three Rs' and, of course, to testing and the publication of test results. I hope we have produced a syllabus which could not be used to support such policies in relation to religious education.
Teacher control of the curriculum
My final concern is over the part teachers play in curriculum design and development. As the Plowden Report noted, teachers had had an increasing measure of control over the curriculum since the ending of the payment-byresults system in 1898 and the abandonment of the Elementary Code in 1926. This is not to suggest, however, that teachers made great use of this new freedom: 'The force of tradition and the inherent conservatism of all teaching professions made for a slow rate of change' (Plowden 1967:189). However, it is clear that teachers did have greater control over what was taught and how it was taught by the middle years of this century. Indeed, it came to be generally recognised that this was rightly their concern, so that the curriculum became known as 'the secret garden' into which others - even those directly concerned with educational provision - were not expected to stray.
There are four main reasons, I suggest, why this situation generally met with approval.
Firstly, education was increasingly seen as being concerned with the needs and interests of the individual child, and it is clearly only the teacher who is in a position to understand the needs of the individual: 'The curriculum consists of experiences [which] should be developed from learners' needs and characteristics ... a large measure of freedom for both teacher and learner is a necessary condition for education of this kind' (Kelly 1982:140).
Secondly, teachers have the classroom experience necessary for appropriate curriculum development. 'Curriculum research and development ought to belong to the teacher' (Stenhouse 1975:142).
Thirdly, schools must take their full share of responsibility for curriculum development if they are to be lively educational institutions. 'We cannot expect a school to be a vital centre of education if it is denied a role of self-determination and self-direction' (Skilbeck 1984:14).
And fourthly, schools have been shown to be the most stable institutions to undertake this important function. Many other bodies which over the years have been involved in curriculum initiatives no longer exist or have lost their independence: the Schools Council in the UK, regional laboratories and university research and development centres in the USA and the Australian Curriculum Development Centre are examples.
None of this is to suggest, however, that it was only teachers who had a say in curriculum development. There are many constraints and influences on schools - Skilbeck (1984:9) cites 'the views and preferences of parents, students, the employment market, the state's interest in responsible citizenship and those in higher and further education', to which I would add the examination system, local education authorities and, increasingly now, school governing bodies. I would agree, too, that teachers should not have total control: it would be quite unreasonable to expect either an individual teacher or a single school's staff to have the necessary breadth of expertise and experience to exercise such an awesome responsibility effectively.
Some writers have suggested that the teacher's control was never as powerful as has been widely believed. Lawton, for example, asserts that 'one of the myths about secondary education in England is that there is a long tradition of teacher control over the curriculum' (Lawton 1980:13). It does seem reasonable to suggest, however, that from the midforties to the mid-seventies, teachers collectively and individually had an increasingly powerful say in the curriculum and its development. In primary schools this was especially so with the demise of the eleven-plus. My own experience, as a primary teacher entering the profession just as this selection exam was being abolished, was of a feeling of enormous freedom and encouragement to experiment and innovate. Much of the Plowden Committee's Report seemed to legitimate this experimentation.
Does the new syllabus offer teachers this sort of freedom to devise an innovative, even experimental, religious education programme? I am concerned that it does not. As we have already seen, the 1988 Act's requirements and the Secretary of State's letter to Chief Education Officers have conspired to frighten syllabus writers into greater specificity. Of course there is scope for teachers to choose the methods and strategies they will employ in implementing the syllabus, but with the aims, attainment targets and statements - and an enormous bulk of content - pre-specified, I am anxious that there is little left for teachers other than to 'deliver' the curriculum: a concept I find worrying - and insulting. 'The curriculum ... is internal and organic to the institution, not an extrinsic imposition' (Skilbeck 1984:2).
The word 'delivery' seems to me to sum up the role of the teacher in the age of the National Curriculum, but, as Anne Sofer pointed out in The Times Educational Supplement (1 January 1988), 'Mr Baker should remember that the actual delivery of his curriculum will depend on a complex alchemy over which he has relatively little control.'
That complex alchemy may yet result in religious education which meets the needs of our children.
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