Lessons in inquiry ... from a crocodile.

It was a simple sign that planted the seed, creating a frisson of curiosity:

 “Beware! Crocodiles inhabit these waters”.

 That’s all it takes for our conversation to turn naturally, to what we think we know (and how we feel) about these ancient, feared creatures.  We go back and forth, trading theories together with the occasional wondering. Of course, our antennae are up as we walk, scouring the distant riverbanks with nervous anticipation. It doesn’t take long for Steve to notice one languishing at water’s edge, basking in the early morning sun. We are (thankfully) high above it but have the perfect view. Keeping a very safe distance, we watch. In awe.

This is our encounter. It is as direct and authentic as it gets. At first, Steve and I whisper over each other in excitement but soon we fade to quiet.  This moment requires reverence, listening and observing.  The longer we observe, of course, the more we learn. Some of the theories shared as we set out on our walk are now being revised, affirmed or discarded. We are uncovering new information, slowly exchanging what we notice with each other and, of course, it is now that questions naturally start to emerge. Our questions are often accompanied by theories or tentative ‘answers’ … “How come …” followed by “maybe it’s because…”.  “Yes but it could also be that …”. In the space and time this moment has allowed us, we are co-constructing. Together, we are weaving our prior knowledge with new information, building and dismantling theories and gradually refining the things we are particularly curious about.  Like one side of ‘velcro’ , we are ensuring that any information we gather later is more likely to ‘stick’.

We were curious as we began this walk but this amazing, direct encounter has amplified our curiosity significantly.  We are so ready to find out more!  When we get back to camp, I am eager to learn. I want to find out– I am ready to receive information. I now have, what Susan Engel describes a “hungry mind.”  It is at this point that information shared with me directly would have maximum impact.  

Time spent in the natural environment has, yet again, help me think with greater clarity about the true nature of the pedagogy of inquiry and the conditions that help it flourish with authenticity and depth. ‘Sham inquiry’ is in abundance in classrooms and especially on social media- thank goodness that mother nature routinely re-connects me to the essence of this work!    So, here are a few lessons from a crocodile about which I have been reminded:

Inquiry doesn’t have to begin with a question – in fact, it often doesn’t.

 And questions merely for the sake of questions have limited value.  Obviously, generating questions can help us learn about how questions work, but unless learners also experience the power of following the path questions those questions can take them and unless they are born of genuine curiosity, inquiry risks losing integrity.  Questions emerge as we inquire – it is cyclical

Keep it real.  All it took was a simple sign – a small seed was planted to trigger our interest. Not a grand or forced activity to hook us in (and I’ve designed plenty of those in my time!).  The sign was authentic, contextual and relevant to where we were and what we were doing.  If it feels like an effort to activate an inquiry with children, it may well be because the relevance and authenticity are missing.  Considering the ways in which a journey of inquiry holds conceptual, cultural and contextual relevance to the lives of our children is an important part of planning conversations. And, by the way, another reason why generic, commercial programs can be so problematic.

 Unearthing and sharing prior knowledge and theories prepares the mind for growth and understansing. We needed time to ponder possibilities, to anticipate and to learn from each other’s perspectives.  Each of us had our own prior knowledge and theories - sharing those with each other helped ready our minds for the encounter to follow. In the same way, a journey of inquiry with children is made richer by opportunities to exchange theories, to share ‘first thinking’ with each other and to start to notice where genuine curiosity lies.  

 Direct, shared experiences are powerful opportunities for ‘finding out’ What better way to learn than through a direct encounter!  This one involved (almost) all our senses (definitely not touch or taste!) and the sheer, visceral thrill of seeing this magnificent creature in the wild and up close.  I maintain that direct, shared experiences are the bedrock of inquiry journeys and getting kids OUT into the environment (whether that be built or natural ) is key.  It does not need to be exotic.  I have watched master inquiry teachers make observations of pigeons in the playground as fascinating as our encounter with a crocodile.

Slow down and be quiet. Maybe that’s a sign I need to make and carry around with me when I am teaching.  Our discoveries were SO dependent on us having slowed down long enough to notice detail. The more we noticed, the more we noticed.  I was grateful NOT to have someone providing me with a running commentary. I was grateful that it was the crocodile teaching me at this point – not a tour guide. Expecting children to engage with information before they are ‘hungry’ to hear/read it seems so counterproductive. Genuine curiosity opens to the door to effective information gathering.

Questions may take their time to arrive. As already said, in our enthusiasm to teach children about questions, we run the risk of generating them for their own sake rather than in the service of actual inquiry.  Too often, the absence of questions being asked is nothing to do with inability to formulate a question but everything to do with a lack of investment in and curiosity about the content.  It can also be about timing. I had MANY more questions about crocodiles after having encountered one. I was invested - and given we were camping in the area, the information mattered to me!

Knowledge is cultural and each of us interprets and understands it through a personal lens. In my desire to learn more, I want to connect with ‘experts’ … but here in the far NW of Australia, the answers to my questions will depend on the cultural lens through which the knowledge provider views this animal.  One lens might be traditional, indigenous knowledge, another through a western, scientific lens, another through a moral or ethical lens, and so on. The knowledge becomes richer and richer as I draw on multiple perspectives – listening directly to locals who live in close proximity as well as reading history and science.  When we invite children to gather more information or seek answers to their questions and when we curate the resources we bring to the classroom, how deliberate are we about the perspectives being offered?

Inquiry is, ultimately, a way of being that is more than a collection of strategies and procedures. Over the years, I have included an abundance of strategies and processes in my books and use plenty in my workshops, but I recognise the inherent danger in doing so.  It is all too easy to think we are ‘doing’ inquiry when we involve children in thinking routines, question generation, self-assessments, etc. But nifty routines and strategies alone do not inquiry make.  Ultimately, learning through inquiry is what happens when we slow down enough to be open to complexity and uncertainty. Inquiry is about trusting that curiosity – a disposition we are all born with, will take root in our authentic encounters with the world.  It is nurtured through practice , through both silence and dialogue and the gradual cultivation of dispositions such as curiosity, persistence, flexibility, courage and a willingness to sit in the uncomfortable place of not knowing.   Inquiry is, of course, a stance. It is a way of seeing and being in the world and in the classroom.  Unlike the frantic and inauthentic pace of many classrooms, inquiry happens best, as Margaret Wheatley famously argued, at ‘the speed of life’ .

 As many of you begin a term or summer break, I encourage you to take a leaf out of Wheatley’s book. Slow down and experience the speed of life – you never know what magnificent encounter might be waiting for you and what it will teach you.

 

Rivers of curiosity: questions flowing into the year ahead.

“Rivers have life and sound and movement and infinity of variation, rivers are veins of the earth through which the lifeblood returns to the heart.”  - Roderick Haig-Brown

I am days away from re-entering the fray.  Back to airports, hotel rooms, workshop venues and, my favourite (less ‘fray’, and more fabulous) schools.   Like several other countries in the Southern Hemisphere, Australian schools are soon to begin a new year. Inevitably this time brings with it a strong sense of intention and the urge to improve, refresh or re-make ourselves in some way.  As another year of teaching and learning invites me in, I recognise the same yearning: to be heart-led. It is easy (and perhaps easier as I get older) to become cynical, frustrated and jaded over time but curiosity is the greatest antidote to cynicism or complacency. Curiosity is the ‘life blood’ of my work as an educator. It reminds me why I do what I do.

Over a decade ago, I wrote a post exploring the idea of choosing a word for the year.  As an alternative to ‘resolutions,’ nominating a single word has gained mainstream popularity and can be a useful exercise for teachers and students alike.  I revisited that concept two years later, this time suggesting some of the words that might power up an inquiry stance.  In 2015, I pondered some questions that could assist educators in building a culture of inquiry from day 1. Ten years later, at the beginning of 2025, I shared some of the questions I have found useful to keep my thinking ‘tight yet loose.’   

As I write my first post for 2026, I am again leaning into the essence of inquiry: curiosity and questioning.  I know I need to stay relentlessly curious and notice the beautiful questions that both energise and sustain me personally. Like rivers, some of these questions are permanent and propel my thinking each day -and others appear as a result of new conditions - personally  and globally.  Perhaps some of these questions will echo your own curiosities? Perhaps the “I” could become a ‘we’ as a shared question for a team.  Perhaps my own questions might prompt a similar exercise for you. As the year begins, I am curious about …

children … What “image of the child” do I hold at this time in my career? When I think about the children who will walk through the door in each classroom I work in, what comes to mind? How will I choose to ‘see’ them even before I meet them?

my role … What image of myself as an educator do I hold at this time in my career? What metaphors resonate with me? Am I a gardener? An artist? A conductor?  What metaphors am I most drawn to?  How might my metaphors be limiting me?  

growth … What might I try to let go of this year in order to be more of the educator I want to be? What no longer serves me (and my learners) well?   What would I abandon tomorrow if no one was watching or judging?  What habits or patterns do I want to break or make?

courage … How might I be ‘half a shade braver’ this year? How might I challenge myself to take a risk, try something new or stretch myself as a learner and as a teacher?  What would I do if I knew I couldn’t fail?  How can I effectively stand by my principles while remaining open to new insights and perspectives?

environments … If my classroom/staffroom/workshop space was a habitat, what kind of life would it sustain? How might both the indoor and outdoor spaces nurture the kind of learning I value? How might the spaces I curate better nurture thinking, wonder and collaboration?

time … How might I improve my relationship with time?  What might it mean to be less of a slave to the clock? What if I chose to be grateful for the time I have rather than frustrated by the lack of it?

play … What might a more playful approach look like for me this year?  How can I amplify the role of play as I work with educators and children?

joy … What brings me joy in my teaching and what can I do to connect with that source of joy more regularly?  How can I end my days energised rather than depleted?  How might I help myself notice and honour joy?

learning … What do I want to learn more about this year? How might I experience something as a beginner?  How will I widen and deepen my understanding of that which I am most curious?  How can I release myself from the shackles of shallow social media posts and engage in deep, sustained reading more often?

connection … What can I do to stay human in this work? How might I stay connected – to my passion and purpose and to the colleagues, children and families in my teaching and learning communities?  

nuance … In an era less tolerant of difference and driven by a need for certainty, how might I stay comfortable with uncertainty and even more willing to consider alternative perspectives?  How can I help myself hold questions rather than needing answers?

These questions feel like gentle rivers flowing into the ocean of the year – or perhaps the ocean of my expanding experience as an educator. They are designed to keep me reflective, mindful and curious. But they are my questions.  I wonder what yours might be?

Just wondering …

The Balance Trap

'We have a balanced approach.’ 

I keep hearing it – the word ‘balance’ being used to reassure me that an inquiry approach is still alive in a school, as tables are reorganised into rows and cookie-cutter slide decks are distributed.  While the concept of balance is meant to feel comforting and agreeable, it can quietly erode very foundations on which a culture of inquiry is built.  In this context, the last thing we are going for is balance.

 Hear me out.

To say we are experiencing turbulent and tense times in education right now would be an understatement. I witness this tension played out daily in staffrooms and planning meetings, over coffee with teacher friends and, of course, in online spaces where a degree of anonymity seems, at times to override the art of respectful discourse.  While I have found myself gradually retreating from social media commentary, my work does require me at least keep a foot in that door.  And when I do step in, there it is – the ‘Punch and Judy show’ as Claxton describes it, replete with endless arguments about ‘best practice’ and ‘evidence’ and ‘what works’.

 Those of us less enamoured with the current push (and in some cases a mandate) for a return to direct instruction across the curriculum often suggest we need a more ‘balanced’ approach – a kind of compromise or ‘sweet spot’ between what continues to be placed as opposing ends of the pedagogical continuum. I have noticed the way this idea of ‘balance’ is used by those who might argue for a more student- centred pedagogy as an attempt to reconcile the tension between what can be called “direct” teaching and inquiry-based teaching or between agency and compliance.

 But what if balance isn't the goal? What if inquiry isn't something to be balanced with direct instruction, but rather a fundamental stance that determines when and how we use all pedagogical tools?

 Balance. It is such a comforting word - and often for good reason.  A balanced diet, work-life balance, a balanced view – these all suggest that we’ve managed to get it right – we have found a more agreeable place between extremes. Balanced is neat, satisfying and neutral. When we are balanced, we are not at risk of falling or failing.  We get to have our cake and eat it too.  Balance doesn’t rock the boat (literally!)  - everybody gets a prize.

 I’ve been having a good, long think about it.  I think our platitudes about balance are little more than thinly veiled fence-sitting, people pleasing or perhaps worse, a failure to bravely stand by a set of principles and values that guide our work  – and an understandable but worrying avoidance of a discourse ridden with conflict.

When a school community chooses to intentionally grow a culture of inquiry, they do so based on principles defining the purpose of school, the image of the child, and the role of the educator and the role of the environment.  The ethos of inquiry sees the ‘pedagogical compass’ underpinned by the values of agency, equity, democracy, collaboration and curiosity, drawing on the rich and impressive bodies of research that support the cultivation of an inquiry stance to both teaching and learning.

 The pedagogy of inquiry is characterised by a thoughtful and varied repertoire. Being ‘explicit’ (directly explaining, modelling, breaking something down step by step ,etc.) has always been part of the repertoire but to suggest that it is somehow ‘in balance’ is misleading at best and problematic at worst.  When the pedagogy of inquiry is strong, the educator spends much more time questioning, listening, facilitating, pausing. observing, scaffolding, negotiating  - within learning engagements designed for high interactivity, active engagement, deliberate cultivation of competencies, deep understanding, problem finding and solving and sustained dialogue.  This is sophisticated and deep work – and requires educators to be creative, collaborate and design in response to learners’ needs.  Scripted programs and pre-determined, generic slide decks simply do not align with those values.  It is highly intentional work that honours learner agency and voice as well as acknowledging the ‘100 languages’ available to the child as means of investigation and expression.

 Of course, Incorporating some explicit teaching into inquiry-based pedagogy is, quite frankly, a given. Positioning inquiry pedagogy as ‘minimal guidance’ and a free-for-all is an old, tired argument. In four decades of working with children and educators on cultivating an inquiry stance, I have witnessed abandonment of guidance and support on very few occasions. I think we can all agree that providing guidance is a key role of the inquiry teacher.  That guidance takes many forms – questioning, listening, observing, suggesting, modelling.

 But here’s the thing. I am not intending to strike a balance. It’s not a 50/50 thing.  And when we do talk about ‘balance’ in this way, we run the risk of perpetuating the false dichotomy at the root of so many current arguments.

 If I truly see the child as a capable, competent, curious learner with the right to be an active participant in their learning journey, and if I bring an inquiry stance to my teaching, planning and assessment,  then the pedagogy of inquiry will drive my work: influencing the way I curate the classroom environment, the assessment practices, documentation, the language I use and the kind of relationships I nurture with children and their families.  

 I make no apologies for employing a pedagogy that is driven by a belief that children deserve time to think, to be in dialogue with educators and peers, to play, experiment and problem solve.  Explicit teaching (explaining, demonstrating, modelling, step by step processes) are in my repertoire but they are used at the point of need, and for children who require additional or earlier support.  Like a pinch of salt or a teaspoon of chilli, well timed, direct teaching can add significant value to the process. Of course, I am fully aware that there are many educators in furious agreement with this and yet they are currently hamstrung by mandates that leave them feeling helpless. I understand the significance of the moral injury incurred.  But at the very least, we can keep asking questions, we can think carefully about the language we use to talk about pedagogy, we can raise the question of ‘balance’ in our conversations – we can be ‘half a shade braver.’

 Inquiry is not a subject. Inquiry is not something we do on Tuesday  and Thursday afternoons to balance the pedagogy of transmission used the rest of the week. Inquiry does not need to be ‘balanced’ with direct teaching. Inquiry is a stance, a culture and a way of being. That way of being evolves from and feeds a way of seeing … the child, the educator, the purpose of school and the concept of learning itself.

So before we promote a ‘balanced’ approach – let’s ask ourselves what we mean. Are we avoiding the contradiction of slavishly following a scripted program in the morning by “doing inquiry” in the afternoon?  Are we letting ourselves off the hook when we set the classroom up in rows (strugglers at the front, flyers up the back) but claim to ‘do lots of turn and talk’ so it is ‘balanced?’Are we appeasing anxious parents who read the headlines rather than being clear about the principles that guide our pedagogy and the research that supports it? Are we in danger of seeking balance as a form of conflict avoidance and ultimately eroding the power of inquiry?

 Just wondering …

Lessons from lessons: reflections and reminders from the classroom

“Teaching, like any science or art, demands craftsmanship. The complexity of teaching requires time and space for continuous learning and reflection, both individually and collectively.” (OECD, 2025:8)

I recently had the privilege of returning to the beautiful International School of Uganda to spend another week with the staff – supporting their work in building a culture of inquiry and, in particular, examining the role of pedagogy in nurturing deep, conceptual understanding and learner competencies.  Once again, while we engaged in some teacher workshops and planning sessions, the bulk of our learning time was spent in classrooms.  We designed/choreographed lessons and then met afterwards to discuss  and reflect on what we noticed, what we learned and what got us more curious.  On the third day, as I walked out of a classroom the wonderful PYP coordinator (shout out to Sarah!) turned to me and simply said: “I just love teaching!”  Four simple words that went straight to my heart. ‘Same here!’ I said as we walked upstairs to the meeting room, our arms laden with baskets, markers, chart paper, books, loose parts, post its up the stairs, ‘Aren’t we lucky to do this?’  Not for the first time, I felt the enormous privilege of the career I have chosen and to which I have dedicated almost 42 years. For me, teaching has never simply been a job – it is a vocation and it is a choice to work in service of the community.   I am not sure whether it is my imagination, or whether it is fact that I hear less about the joy and satisfaction of teaching than I used to.  I certainly hear a great deal more about its difficulties and I absolutely acknowledge that conditions and expectations have changed significantly over the last 40 years. But, at the risk of attracting the ire of my readers, I think there are times when we can become so lost in what is challenging and so in need of a download about the difficulties of the job we have chosen, that we can forget the power of acknowledging the joy it can bring. We may feel it – but we forget to say it out loud.  Yes – I am all too aware that I am not in the classroom full time … but I am in them enough to be reminded of the gift that teaching can be and I, for one, never want to forget that.  So thank you, Sarah, for that moment when you chose to say it out loud!

The first few months of 2025 have seen me in many different countries and many different classrooms.  Back home, now, I have taken some time to think over the hours and hours of ‘learning labs’ conducted in many different schools and to consider some of the reminders and insights these lessons have given me. Not just about the nature of inquiry pedagogy but simply about teaching itself.  So, in no particular order, I offer some lessons from lessons …

1.    It’s all about making connections!

Year 4, ISU

Yes, I know this already … but the more I teach, the more I understand about  facilitating opportunities for learners to make connections – with each other, with their prior knowledge, across learning areas and between concepts.  This is not new, of course. – connection making is the foundation for conceptual understanding, but it has been so fascinating to design tasks and power up our questioning to support this cognitive process in learners.  Here, the grade 4 learners are using concept mapping to check in on their understanding of some of the concepts central to their inquiry. This strategy continues to be one of my favorites. It is so revealing to both the educator and to the learner.   

2.    Opportunities for exploring, theorising, experimenting and predicting prior to direct explanation can heighten curiosity and the desire to find out.

Year 2, ISU

In many (not all) lessons, we opted for an immediate rather than gradual release of responsibility.  Exploration prior to explanation can pay off big-time. Giving learners a chance to do some ‘figuring out’, to draw on their prior knowledge and share their theories and ideas naturally activates curiosity, reveals uncertainty, generates a hunger to find out and, most of all, cultivates intellectual humility.   The children in year 2 at ISU are not only theorising about which material might be the most waterproof but discussing how they would design a test to find out. All this before we find out more about the concept of fair testing.  The beauty of this is in the way it supports a willingness to change our minds.

Year 4, Immanuel Primary School, SA

3. The language of materials is powerful

The benefits of loose parts to help learners explore and express their thinking is well known. Each time we open up opportunities for learners to share their ideas using intelligent, non-specific materials, I am reminded of the importance of flexible forms of communication. The ephemeral nature of loose parts gives increased permission to the learner to take risks, to revise thinking and the concrete and visual supports other ‘languages of expression’ including speaking and writing.  It was so great to see loose parts available to children in the upper as well as junior classrooms at Immanuel Primary in SA.

4. The best ‘provocations’ are often on our doorstep, and first-hand, direct, shared experiences are gold.

Year 1, International School of Manila

I have written about this before but recent lessons have reminded me that we often do not need to look too far or spend hours carefully curating our classrooms to provoke thinking.  Keeping it real and staying awake to the environment around us offers so much.  At the International School of Manila, year 1 students were fascinated by the fact there were plants randomly growing in seemingly inhospitable environments in the school yard  - the perfect provocation to lead into theorising about seed dispersal.

5.  A brave, intellectually stimulating classroom environment is built on a foundation of trust and connection – and fun.

Class games played in year 4, UWCSEA

The year 4 students at United World College of Singapore were deeply engaged in a collaborative game when I walked into their classroom to teach. There was shared laughter, encouragement, risk and delight. Their teacher made a conscious, daily effort to build connection, have some fun and create community. I can feel this community atmosphere seconds into walking into a classroom. When kids have each other’s back – when there is a spirit of ‘we’ over ‘me’, the challenging work of inquiry is so much easier to cultivate.  

6. Learner competencies such as collaboration, creativity and curiosity are amplified when we are intentional about how we are cultivating them. 

Split screen learning intentions for year 4 students at BCIS

The metaphor of the ‘split screen’ classroom is one I learned from my colleague Guy Claxton. It is SO helpful when I am introducing a session. It reminds both the learners and me that we are always inquiring into learning itself as we engage with the content of the lesson.  Each lesson I have the privilege of facilitating reminds me how important both my language and the clarity of intention are in maintaining a strong focus on the WHY behind the learning engagement.

7. Active learning doesn’t mean fast and frantic.  Slow and deliberate helps us go deep.

Year 1 students at the International School of Belgrade

The temptation to teach at a fast past is real - and understandable!  We want to keep children’s attention and manage the many competing demands of the day.  But engagement can be achieved as, if not more, effectively by slowing the pace – by allowing pauses, by welcoming silence, by encouraging revisiting and refining rather than moving on, by allowing children time to think and by modelling a slower, more considered way of being.  We were fascinated to watch how focussed and thoughtful the year 1 children at the International School of Belgrade were when encouraged to slow down and notice the detail as they observed fascinating invertebrates. 

8.  Building children’s capacity to reflect on and manage their own learning can be part of every lesson.  

Year 4 learners at Jakarta Intercultural School

I wish I had understood this more in my early years of teaching. I am sure that many of the children I taught were motivated by the desire to please ME rather than to own the learning themselves.  The longer I teach, the more I realise how simple it can be to empower learners to take more ownership of their learning. It may be through a couple of strategic questions or, something more extended such as the way the year 4 children at the Intercultural School of Jakarta ranked their collaborative competencies during the creation of a Rube Golberg Machine.

9. Every lesson, every day can be an opportunity for professional learning.

Kindergarten at IS Manila

The teacher as researcher is a concept very familiar to early years teachers in particular.   For me, years of teaching in a ‘learning lab’ environment (with other teachers observing or perhaps being filmed) has helped me embrace this concept so much more authentically.  The power of having more than one educator in the room, of intentionally observing the dance between teaching and learning is brought home every time I gather with those educators to reflect on the lesson.  We notice more. We wonder more. We learn more.  I know I am a better teacher for it – for having cultivated a kind of intentionality and ability to observe what is happening while it is happening.  Learning labs help me sustain my ‘beginners mind’  - seeing the art of teaching as if for the first time and staying open to the unexpected. Watching each other at work can be hard to organise in a busy school – but it is so profoundly worth it.

10. Good teaching is complex, challenging and deeply satisfying. Quality teaching can’t be scripted although it can, of course, draw on resources and guidelines. While I have a deep commitment to inquiry-based pedagogy, regular teaching continually reminds me of the role that explicit and even direct instruction have within a broader culture of inquiry. There is no ‘BEST’ practice as such – what works depends on what the objectives are (what works for what purpose?) and, of course, on the myriad differences between learners, contexts, environments and cultures.  As the recent OECD report I have referenced states “There is not one single approach that is ‘better’ than the others.” (2025:15) One thing I notice repeatedly about learning labs is that they help educators return to, what for most is their north star. Teaching. Many schools would do well to elevate the sacredness of the time we spend working directly with our learners, to value and celebrate and inquire into the fascinating and complex choreography and skill that underpins each lesson across the day and to see the classroom as the best context for professional growth.

 

“Teaching is inherently complex. Teachers need to navigate the complexity of the often unpredictable and sometimes chaotic realities of classrooms, where students have diverse needs and abilities, resources are limited, time is constrained, and numerous day-to-day challenges arise. They need a deep understanding of both content and pedagogical strategies informed by research, but also adaptability, creativity, and responsiveness. Teaching is a science, but so too an art and craft.”

OECD (2025), Unlocking High-Quality Teaching, OECD Publishing, Paris, https://doi.org/10.1787/f5b82176-en.