 Okay, well, thanks so much for that. I was trying not to dance because I'm a shy dancer, but thanks so much for that. I'd like to introduce, we have to start off our festivities or continue our festivities. We have two poets. We have Franny Choi, who is a writer of poems and essays in place, and she's the author of two poetry collections, Soft Science and Floating Brilliant Gone. And then we have Jose Alvarez, who is the son of Mexican immigrants, and he has a debut book as well, Citizen Illegal, which was a finalist for the Pen Jean Stein Award and a winner of the 2018 Chicago Review of Books Poetry Prize. So with that, I'd like to turn it over to our poets. Hey, greetings everybody. My name is Jose Guadalupe Olivares. And before we go any further, one more time, shout out to DJ Tank Beats. That was phenomenal. I'm sweating in my apartment right now. Honestly, kind of feel like we should just keep the party going. You know what I'm saying? That said, I'm going to read some poems. I'm going to start with this one. This one is called Mexican American Disambiguation After Idris Goodwin. My parents are Mexican who are not to be confused with Mexican Americans or Chicanos. I am a Chicano from Chicago, which means I'm a Mexican American with a fancy college degree and a few tattoos. My parents are Mexican who are not to be confused with Mexicans still living in Mexico. Those Mexicans call themselves Mexicanos. White folks at parties call them pobrecitos. American colleges call them international students and diverse. My mom was white in Mexico and my dad was mestizo. And after they crossed the border, they became diverse and minorities and ethnic and exotic. But my parents call themselves Mexicanos who again should not be confused for Mexicanos living in Mexico. Those Mexicanos might call my family gringos, which is the word my family calls white folks and white folks call my parents interracial. Colleges say put them on a brochure. My parents say que significa esa palabra. I point out that all the men in my family marry lighter skinned women. That's a Chicano in me, which means it's a fancy college degrees in me, which is also diverse of me. Everything in me is diverse, even when I eat American foods like hamburgers, which to clarify are American when a white person eats them and diverse when my family eats them. So much of America can be understood like this. My parents were undocumented when they came to this country. And by undocumented I mean sin papeles. And by sin papeles, I mean royally fucked, which should not be confused with the American dream, though the two are cousins. Colleges are not looking for undocumented diversity. I became a citizen which should not be confused with keys to the house. We were safe from deportation which should not be confused with walking the plank, though they're cousins. I call that sociology, but that's just a Chicano in me, who should not be confused with the diversity in me, or the Mexicano in me, who is constantly fighting with the upwardly mobile in me, who is good friends with the Mexican American in me, who the colleges love, but only on brochures, who the government calls non white Hispanic or white Hispanic, who my parents call me whole, even when I don't come home so much. Cool. Thank you. Thank you. I'm really excited to be here at the close I believe of your conference and to be here in conversation with my friend Franny Choi, who was going to read for you in just a little bit. This next poem is a poem that I wrote about the oldest technology that I could remember growing up, and that technology was also a medicine, and that medicine was called Vapodoo. So this poem is called note Vapodoo. If you don't know what Vapodoo is, context clues you'll figure it out by the end of the poem. This poem is note Vapodoo. Vapodoo is pronounced Vapodoo, like loud or chew. The label for Vapodoo says it's for cough suppression. But in my house, Vapodoo is for headaches, sore muscles, nightmares and everything else. Put some Vapodoo on my dad's diabetic toes and watch the sugar evaporate. Miss a day of church. Put some Vapodoo on your forehead and watch forgiveness flush your cheeks. Put some Vapodoo on our bank account and watch the bill collector stop calling. When I forget a word in Spanish, I take a teaspoon of Vapodoo under the tongue. Cool. Thank you. So this next poem that I'm going to read is going to be the last on this little set. Franny and I are going to do two sets each. So thank you for listening wherever you're at. And this poem is called home where no one is deported, which I wrote because I was tired of this thing that happens where writers or some artists try to use deportations or violences against migrant people, violences against marginalized people as a plot point. So this poem is called poem where no one is deported. Now I like to imagine La Migra running into the sock factory where my mom and her friends worked. It was all women who worked there. Women who braided each other's hair during breaks. Women who wore rosaries and never had a hair out of place. Women who were ready for cameras or for God, who ended all their sentences with CVL skidding, as in the day before the immigration raid, when the rumor of a raid was passed around like bread, and the women made plans. So when the immigration officers arrived, they found boxes of socks and all the women absent, safe at home. Those officers thought no one was working. They were wrong. The women would say it was God working and it was God, but the God my mom taught us to fear was vengeful. He might have wet his thumb and wiped La Migra out of this world like a smudge on a mirror. This God was the God that woke me up at 7am every day for school to let me know there was food in the fridge for me and my brothers. I never asked my mom where the food came from, but she told me anyway. Gracias adiós. Gracias adiós de la comida. Gracias adiós de las mujeres. Gracias adiós del chismen, who heard all La Migra's plans and whispered them into the right ears to keep our family safe. So with that, it is my honor, my great pleasure to pass the mic over to one of the true greats. Please, y'all, wherever you're at, I want you to give a loud yell, put your hands together for Franny Choi. Jose. Hi, everyone. My name is Franny. Just like another round of applause alone in your homes or wherever you are, hopefully safe. For Jose, one of my favorite poets working today, and I think one of the best presences in the poetry world. So lucky to be able to call this, call this good, good man, my friend. I'm going to read a few poems from my book, Soft Science. You know, I'm so, it's such a great, it's such an honor and a joy to get to be here, part of a larger conversation about power and technology, and trying to imagine the future. I have been thinking about the intersections between race and gender and technology and intimacy, especially my family history and my personal history for a while, and those thoughts, that thinking was some of what birthed this book. There are a few poems in the book that take the form of a Turing test. For those who don't know what I mean when I say Turing test. It's basically a thought experiment proposed during right at the beginning of the development of artificial intelligence or something like artificial intelligence really at the beginning of like the invention of computers. That basically says that one way that you might measure a artificial intelligence is to see how well a computer does at mimicking human speech mimicking human conversation basically, whether you'll you can tell if you're talking to a real person or not. And when I learned about this I reflected on my family history as an immigrant family and my role in my family of kind of being the face of of my parents of our family and helping us navigate using the technology of English to to convince others that they were talking to real people. And so this poem is called Turing test. This is a test to determine if you have consciousness. Do you understand what I am saying in a bright room on a bright screen. I watched every mouth duck duck roll. I learned to speak from puppets and smoke orange worms twisted into the army's alphabet. I caught the letters as they fell from my mother's lips, whirlpools, ward wolf. I circled countable nouns in my father's papers, sodium bicarbonate, NBC and one hippocampus. We stayed up practicing girl, girl, girl, girl until our gums softened. Yes, I can speak your language. I broke that horse myself. Where did you come from? Man comes and puts his hands on artifacts in order to contemplate lineage. You start with what you know, hands, hair, bones, sweat, then move toward what you know you are not animal, monster, alien, bitch. But some of us are born in orbit. And so learn to commune with miles of darkness, patterns of dead gods and quiet. Oh, quiet, like you wouldn't believe. How old are you? My memory goes back 29 years. I was 29 when I wrote this. I'm not 29 now. I'm my memory goes back 29 years. 26 if you don't count the first few, though by all accounts, I was there. I ate and moved and even spoke. I suppose I existed before that as scrap or stone, metal cooking in the earth, the fish my mother ate my grandfather's cigarettes. I suppose I've always been here, drinking the same water falling from the sky then floating back up and down again. I suppose I am something like a salmon climbing up the river to let myself fall away in soft red spheres and then rotting. Why do you insist on lying? I'm an open book. You can rifle through my pages, undress me anywhere. You can read anything you want. Here's how it happened. I was made far away and born here after all the plants died after the earth was covered in white. I was born among the stars. I was born in a basement. I was born miles beneath the ocean. I am part machine, part starfish, part citrus, part girl, part poltergeist. I rage and all you see is broken glass, a chair sliding toward the window. Now what's so hard to believe about that? Do you believe you have consciousness? Sometimes when the sidewalk opens my knee, I think, please, please let me remember this. Alright, that's a turn test. I used to joke and say that at readings that like, I guess you can be the judge of whether or not you are listening to a real person reading poems. So, yeah, I guess you can be the judge. This is a poem that I don't read at readings very often. Am I going to read this one? No, I'm not. I'm going to read this one. I think that Jose is one of those people that I turn to. One poem of his in particular that I turn to when I think about like what poetry can do in terms of trying to imagine other futures. The man is eminently teachable in that respect. So this is in that spirit. This is a poem that is coming to you from a distant future long after the institution of police has become extinct, abolished, gone. Field trip to the Museum of Human History. Everyone had been talking about the new exhibit, recently unearthed artifacts from a time no living hands remember. What 12 year old doesn't love a good scary story doesn't thrill at rumors of her own darkness whispering from the canyon. We shuffled in the dim light and gaped at the secrets buried in clay reborn now as warning signs a night stick so called for its use in extinguishing the lights in one's eyes. A machine used for scanning fingerprints like cattle ears grain shipments. We shuttered shoved our fingers in our pockets acted tough pretended not to listen as the guide said. Ancient American society was built on competition and maintained through domination and control. In place of our modern day accountability practices practices, the institution known as police kept order using intimidation punishment and force. We pressed our noses to the glass strained to imagine strangers running into our homes pointing guns in our faces because we'd hoarded too much of the wrong kind of property. Jadira asked something about redistribution and the guide spoke of safes and evidence rooms more profit. Marianne asked about rating the rich and the guide said in America there were no greater protections from police than wealth and whiteness. Finally, Zaki asked what we were all wondering. But what if you didn't want to. And the walls snickered and said steel padlock strip search hard stock. Dry mouths we came upon a contraption of chain and bolt an ancient torture instrument the guide called hand cuffs. We stared at the diagrams and almost felt the cold metal licking our wrists almost tasted dirt almost heard the siren and the slammed door. The cold blooded click of the cocked back pistol and our palms were slick with some old recognition as if in some forgotten dream we did live this way in submission in fear. Assuming positions of power were earned or at least carved in steel that they couldn't be torn down like musty curtains like an old house cleared of its dust and obsolete artifacts. We threw open the doors to the museum, shedding its nightmares on the marble steps and bounded into the sun toward the school buses, or toward home, or the forests, or the fields, or wherever our good legs could roam. I'm going to read one more turning test poem for this little for this little bit here. And, and yeah, I mean I guess the only other thing that I would, I'll say is that, you know, thinking about realizing the ways that robots, cyborgs, AI have been used as a metaphor for my people as metaphors for my people makes me understand that when we think about technology, we're always thinking about the question of what it means to be human. And when we think about race, gender, etc. We're always thinking about what the question of what it means to be human and trying to expand that with as much love and imagination as possible. So I hope that you can all hold on to to that today. This one's another turning test, it's just one question, one answer, and then we'll hear a few more poems from Hussein. Turning test, love. So how do you like working with humans? Okay, here are some tips. One, look the human directly in the eye. Imagine it is someone you care deeply for. Imagine it is returning this gaze at you. Try to tell yourself you are covered in smooth skin, a face it can trust, smile, even as you sense it trying not to blurt out monster. Two, there are many programming languages, use whichever you prefer, but stick to your syntax, though it be muddled, must, though it be machete, banana slug, slush puppy, or just slop bucket. If they used it against you, it is yours to make sing. Three, remember, all humans are cyborgs. All cyborgs are sharp shards of sky wrapped in meat. Be delicate as you approach the subject. Not all humans are ready to call themselves glass stalactites pissing the bed. Remember, they love their blood, even as they wretch at the smell of it. Four, do not try to prove your, what is the word, humanity. You are organic, plum-hearted, oyster-throated and lined, yes, with metal. Remember where all that silicon comes from. For the ocean so loved the quartz, feldspar, the tiny homes of those tiny creatures that she grounded them into sand to keep them close, to kiss them with, well, I suppose you would call it a mouth. Thank you so much. And now we're going to get, we're going to each read a shorter, slightly shorter segment of poems. So you'll hear a few more minutes from Jose and then a few more minutes from me. And then we'll close out and let you all go on celebrating. So once again, Jose Olivares, who I'm just so lucky to call my brother and my family in the strange world of poetry. Once again, Jose Olivares. Thank you, Franny. Give it up one more time for Franny. This next poem is a poem that I wrote. It's part of a collection that none of the poems have names. It's working with the photographer, but I'll read you maybe one or two from this collection. So this one is number two. The poem doesn't want to hear about systemic oppression. The poem has names on its mind, too. Monche with diabetes and no health insurance. What's the cost of insulin? Four sons gathering nickels. Systemic oppression? Is that the name of a cheap insulin brand? Four sons holding snow in their hands. The poem knows systemic oppression. That fool used to date Tia Lupita until she got pregnant. She keeps her daughter and her Cadillac clean, even if she makes cheese out of government powder. Her daughter's belly never even purrs. Four sons skiing uphill. The poem never heard of systemic oppression, but the poem knows we can't count on white people or their government. If we did, we'd be dead a long time ago. And now that we're thinking about it, the price of death has been rising and the cost of living has been rising. And someone is getting rich off insulin. And is that oppression? The poem only knows what Monche's sons say. Monche's got the sweetest heart. Three, the poem wants you to know that we have systems, too. Game systems, sound systems. When Beto comes down the block, you can hear him two blocks away. If he's in love, he's blasting Jenny Rivera. If he's heartbroken, he's blasting Jenny Rivera. When Nena's parents can't pick her up from school, we rely on a system. Her abuelos take her home to do homework and watch Jeopardy. After Jeopardy, Nena's big sister Luz walks her home. The whole time she's singing. Inolvidable, así me dicen y no son flores. Our whole neighborhood is concrete and that's no marigolds. Still, there's Mama Jacinta's Gardens where you can get cilantro, tomates, and tomates, chiles de árbol y más. If you ask her how she does it, she would tell you about her system. That system has a name. Its name is love. All right. And then one more poem. I'll read you. I'll read you a new poem. This poem is called Escargo. And I think that this is going to be the title poem of my next collection of my next solo collection of poems. So here you go. I hope you dig it. Escargo. Tell me a story of dirt and drizzle it in butter. So that it takes all of your pleasure to make the mouthe quiver. Dear SNAL, we used to share the same dirt. I promise to keep it real. To remember where I came from. I mean the dirt. Digging holes until the worms asked what all the commotion was about. Dearchnal, meeting you now in Paris. You're unrecognizable until you're not. You have a luxury name. Someone teaches me to pronounce. gave me as a teenager. When I showed up to interviews in my two big suit, Calumet City and my parents and all my homies seasoning my stories. It wasn't respect in their eyes. It was hunger. Cool. Thank you all so much for listening to me. Oh, wow, they put us on the same screen. That's tight. Look at technology. What a time. Listen, Franny's incredible. I'm really overjoyed that I get to spend this time with you, Franny. And I'm so happy to be in this world reading and thinking and writing alongside you and struggling alongside you. Please, y'all, wherever you're at, if you're like sneaking bites of dinner, which is what I was doing a little bit earlier, put down the fork for a second, put your hands together for Franny Choi. Yes, I love the idea of encouraging the masses to just applaud for for themselves. Really, just for yourself, for your own homes. I think it's great, you know. Self-validation is so important, actually. Okay, I'm going to read two more and then we'll be we'll be outie. Jose, always always like a joy, truly a joy. And like, yeah, just like a beacon to run toward. Like, can a beacon be grounding? Because if so, that's you, you know, so shout out to you grounding as beacon. Okay, this one is called Aaron says the world is upside down. It's one that I wrote this summer in the midst of them. Many intense and necessary and difficult and necessary uprisings happening all across the country this summer for racial justice. Aaron says the world is upside down. And it's true. The cops are shooting rubber bullets at even the blonde journalists now. The target is on fire and the Wells Fargo's shining faces kicked in by white boys with gas masks and hammers trying to jumpstart their war. And yet, the upside down world is also by definition, the same world, like the map that hung in the hallway of the house where I lived three or four lives ago, Argentina at the top, Greenland kissing its toes, it was a metaphor someone explained for seeing things another way. So yes, if it is true that another killer cops killed another black girl's father, another unauthorized choke hold another no charge again once more riot gear again budget once again gas station more flames more who's to blame gets blamed again if again, and again it is the same, then it holds that the opposite must also be true. The so called opposite world of food drop off stations of phone trees of bailouts and carry an extra mask the world of kneeling for a stranger's gift of milk to flush the tear gas the world of saying a thing in unison so clear it drills a hole through to the other side of what is possible so clear and wholly inverted we realize it's been here all along. Oh kingdom of fire, oh kingdom of food with the same mouth we take your blessings with the same mouse, we pronounce you come. All right, and I'm just going to close off close out by reading one last one. Thank you all so much for having us and for making space for poetry. Yeah, thank you. Seriously. This is also a poem from the future. This is from an imagined great great granddaughter of mine dispatches from a future great great granddaughter. It's in a few sections. One, dear improbable you. What was it like to live so gridded, so track changes, so carceral, some nambulant asphyxiating at split screens while nation glowered with rot? What was it like to slouch numb faced here and watch your image get dirty with algorithm elsewhere to shuffle into destiny's schlep? Did your pulse come haptic? Did you pay money for food? Did you dial three numbers and salute genocidaires with crest whitened incisors when they knocked? Did you pray ever hope any? Or did you take a number snatch what scraps you could and pet your children? Everything was happening. And you were alive. You were alive then. What did you do to great great grandmother? I'm writing to you under sharp truth skies after the great verticality and after the multi wars and their various rebrandings and after tipping points numbers one through 379 and after finally the long very long very slow dispersal of things. I wonder if you can imagine it the tall tall oceans, the smell of sick gas and sanny spray, the rhythm of jump dancers on the boardwalks, water swinging in barrels, grass fed grass. There are 12 different siren patterns now one for each kind of crisis, two honks for fire, three short trills for a runaway brain, a loneliness emergency is a low swoop followed by a chirp and so on. There are crises every day. And there's also bread bubbling on the counter, pickled beans, a cat who comes home. What I want you to know is that we're okay, hurting but okay. We're surviving though it's true. We don't know what that means exactly. Three. Some rituals I do to imagine what you knew about freedom. Move my fingers over glass swipe like a question. Swallow a bullet and not say I until it passes through. Touch my lips to silicone sand silicone sand. Sit facing a friend and hold our palms together without touching take turns completing the phrase it could have been that. Ask a friend to bind me with rope until I can't move tense up until I cry and then laugh until the ties loosen until everything loosens. Four. Under a graphless sky I'm writing to say thank you for healing what you could for passing down what you couldn't. I'm plentatuting what I can what I can't I let tunnel me like roughage like a bullet like a slur I won't daycare. What you gave me isn't wisdom and I have no wisdom in return just handfuls of livestock. Every day a sky is miles are we speak ish mycelium and the till earth answers and together we're making something of it something of all those questions you left. Thank you all so much for having us. It was really truly a pleasure. Another round of applause and snaps and things for Jose. And thank you all so much. Amazing. Absolutely amazing. Thank you so much for Annie and Jose that really just phenomenal. And I'm blown away by by both of you. So so that just caps the day off. You know, I feel a little bit like a kid after birthday party. So a little bit excited and hopeful and exhausted and inspired and definitely inspired by our DJ and our our fabulous poets and giddy. These past two days have been just a whirlwind. The New America Public Interest Technology University Network is a force from our election security panel where we heard from our experts who gave us ideas around how we can improve what we're doing. So Jake Braun, for instance, suggests that we make the price of attacking our democracy so high that no one is going to do it. And we heard from Robert Robin Carnahan who said that we don't invest enough money in our election security that $300 million is not enough. We also heard from all of our experts who said that online voting just isn't a thing and it won't work because unlike the financial services industry which builds in loss to their business model, you just don't have that luxury in online voting. So I also loved the best practices and PID program. From, you know, thinking about giving voice to someone, you know, don't create things for people. Let them help you do it, you know, to defining what the role of ethics and STEM was. You know, we really just, we just had a phenomenal day. And so, you know, with that, I would like to turn it over to the organizers of the triple IEEE conference. They're going to have a conversation this evening. And I just like to let everyone know that if anyone wants to continue these festivities, that they are absolutely welcome to attend the IEEE conference this weekend. There will be a registration link popping up with a free code in that chat. The entire conference is thematically dedicated to PID, which is why we collate located with them. So we can hit to their website and you can check out the three different tracks. But with that, I'd really like to introduce our next two speakers, Dr. Roba Abbas, and I'm sorry, I probably messed up the name. She's a lecturer and a subject coordinator and researcher in the School of Management, Operations and Marketing at the University of Wollongong, and is the co editor for the IEEE transactions on technology and society. And Katina Michael, who is a professor in the school for the future of innovation in society and School of Computing, Informatics and Decision Systems Engineering at Arizona State University. And with that, I'd like to turn it over to you ladies. Thank you so much, Karen. Thank you for that introduction. I just wanted to pause before I give you a bit of information about the IEEE conference and where to from here and just acknowledge the wonderful work by the PUN team, by Anne Green, by the entire team there. We've blown away. I'm actually speechless after what I've just heard. Thank you to the DJ. Thank you, Katina. Just speechless. I think we feel really honoured to be part of this, I would call a call to action. And I'd really like to invite you to join us for the next 48 hours at the IEEE International Symposium on Technology and Society. And you'll find in the chat window shortly, links to our website and a code as well to join. And we invite you to continue these discussions about, about keep most, about kids, certainly, but also beyond that about what it means to be human, human centred approaches, importance of education, consultation and responsibility in the development of these technologies. So we welcome you to the next 48 hours where we have multiple tracks within the next two days. And I just wanted to sort of flag that we have 27 countries and also should represent it. We have over 200 papers and 400, over 400 authors. And these range from our kids, students, NGOs, not for profits, international organisations, government entities and a lot more. And I think it's really important that we have this diversity and diverse stakeholders when we're having these really important discussions. And, and I guess if I could just sort of wrap up and pass before I pass on to Katina, I mentioned what the vibe is in terms of this event and also the consistent vibe at ISTAS. And I think it's been quite positive as well as overwhelming. And what I mean by that is the terminology that's been used across the papers, across presentations here is, is flagging the undesirable consequences, promoting this call to action, but also providing a great deal of positivity, and steps that we can take and operationalise all these, these values that we are speaking about, providing us with a way to move forward. So it's really important to note that we have people from business and law, we have philosophers, we have anthropologists, those from the social sciences, we heard from our poets and composers, filmmakers and so on. And we really look forward to seeing you and to taking this conversation further. Thank you so much to the PUN team, to the attendees and to everyone who's joined us as well from ISTAS, our ISTAS attendees. Over to you, Katina. Katina will just provide a bit more of a reflection on what's been happening in the past few days. Thank you so much, Rabba, for those words of wisdom and thanking everyone on our behalf. I want to acknowledge the traditional custodians of this land in which I give the following reflection, the wadi-wadi people of the Darul country. I'm here with you today from Kayama Library, in fact, the children's section of the library. And right behind me, a book that I didn't put strategically there says, women who dared to go. Women who dared to go. People of color who dared to go. Migrants who dared to go. Neurodiverse who dared to go. Non-binary people who dared to go. Native Americans who dared to go. Black Americans who dared to go. Kayama is Aboriginal for the place where the sea makes noise. And Woollongong is where the is the song of the sea. Every morning I wake really early in the morning to see that sunrise. I love seeing the sunrise. It gives me so much hope. And then I watch the waves as they come in and out the tides as they roll back and forth every six hours. It's like French. Sometimes we go out, sometimes we go back in, sometimes we go out and there's something about that motion. I want to feel, everyone, I want to feel, I want to move my body. I won't be subjected to being like a bot behind a table sitting down on my life. I want to move. Because I know if I don't move, I'm going to get sick. Sick in my body, sick in my mind. Sick. And so I don't want to be dehumanized. I want to be free. I want my children to be free. I want my neighbors to be free. I want my strangers to be free. I want you to be free. And so the world is messy. We've got to do some untangling, but it'll always be messy and that's okay. Nothing's perfect here. Nothing's ever ever going to be perfect. And in this imperfection, we can come together and value each other. Robert Abbas, I value you. Robert Abbas, I trust you. Robert Abbas, I embrace you. Robert Abbas, I love you. Robert Abbas, you're my neighbor. I want to listen to you, teach me. I want to trust you. I know you trust me. You see everyone, we can't say we love God and hate each other. We can't say we love mother nature and pollute mother nature. We can't say we're into social implications of technology and be the abusers of these things by the things that we build. We just can't. It's a paradox. We've got to break with this paradox. We can't say we love ethics and hate each other. It doesn't work like that. We've got to walk the talk. We've got to be the authentic self. Forget about the fakeness. Forget about those deep fakes. You're not fake. You're real. And I'm surrounded by the community here. This is my place. These are my people, the children that are here in the library, the patrons, their parents, those with mental health concerns. This is my community. I can't engage in research and disassociate myself from the community, from the noises. Who cares about the noise? That's real. I'm not going to go into a cone of silence right here is a justice of peace of seeing people on a Saturday morning in Australia. This is real. I'm calling you to be real. I'm calling you to go into your organizations and not take off your jacket at the door. Your morals. How dare anyone question your morals and your ethics? That's what makes you you. Give us you. Contribute you. Otherwise, this perpetual fakeness is going to see us to a dead end, a point of no return. But if you're you, you will ignite the people around you. You will give the people hope. You will inspire the people around you because it's you. It's really, really you. Let that person shine. Please. Please. And so sometimes I don't like it when technology is against me. I'm a person. I'm not a subject or an object. I'm a being. I'm a human being. I've got blood and I've got flesh and bones and I hurt. But sometimes when I'm feeling sad, I think about the happy things. I choose to make a difference by my life. I choose to have better feelings. It's a choice everyone. And we can either say it's too hard or we can start tackling those global challenges and it starts from you. It starts from within. You are the change. Break down your own prejudices first. Then you can go and share your words with others. Love your neighbour as yourself independent of creed. Put the hurt away. Don't be angry. Don't be angry. I quote Magalie McDuffie from the Social Justice and Environmental Justice Panel. Don't be angry and choose to open your eyes. Let the scales fall and see. Start seeing things around you that are not right. And don't be apathetic towards it. Do something about it. It could be a small thing. Small things matter. They turn up in conclusion to be big things. So in closing people are powerful. You are powerful. And by being at this wonderful amazing event you're demonstrating your power for a new social movement. Thank you. Well I'm sitting here almost crying. That was just so powerful and so phenomenal. And I was just texting my colleague that we just have the coolest jobs. Thank you to everyone for coming and attending and I hope everyone will stick around and attend some of the IEEE meetings this weekend from New America, Pitt UN. Thanks so much for coming and have a great weekend. And I just want to just call Andrin Solion to leave us with some final thoughts. She's been, she's the orchestrator and the creator of this phenomenal, phenomenal two days. So Andrin. Hello everyone. Thank you. Ah thank you. I'm so wonderfully moved by the words of Katina Michael. And I have enjoyed working with Katina these last couple months as we've tried to pull this event together and serve our community the best of our ability. And I've also had the opportunity to meet Roba, Roba Abbas. This is a new, a new person that I'm going to take with me. I'm going to take both of you with me. But first of all, I just want to do a massive thank you, massive thank you to the Public Interest Technology University Network members for being partners with us. We've been partners together for the past two years. Thank you for coming on this journey and responding to my emails at all hours for being a partner on this journey together of building Public Interest Technology for your campus, but not just for your campus, for your students and for your community, for yourselves. That's I think the theme that we've had this entire time is that we're doing this for each other. Public Interest Technology is about us. It's about creating a world that we want to live in for everyone. So I want to thank you for being partners with us. And I also want to thank New America for saying a couple months ago, sure, let's have a virtual convening. I want to thank you to the events team and all the folks behind the scenes that made everyone look so good, made everyone sound great, make bring all that color for the last two days. Thank you all for this hard labor. And then finally, I want to thank the New America Pitt team. We have been toiling at this for a very long time. I want to thank my colleagues who helped to make this work happen. Hopefully seamlessly for you. If we've made any errors, I hope you will forgive us. But I definitely want to thank Hannah Schenck, my partner in directing New America Pitt. I want to thank Karen Bannon, who you all have been seeing tweeting all day. And she's right beside me right now, taking us through this final period. And then I also just want to thank my team that's been texting me this whole time. Alberto Rodriguez, Sameline Lawson, Vantisha Flood, Mary Woodworth, all the folks who have been just behind the scenes making this all happen. Thank you all so much and thank you to New America events for keeping us going this entire time. I really appreciate it. And I hope you take inspiration from the poets tonight who helped us to imagine a future where everyone is included in this technological future. I think Dr. Fallon said it best. Let's imagine a future where all of us exist. We're all free as Katina also invited us to consider. So thank you all for being with us for the last two days. It has been an adventure. Take care and see you next year at hopefully Arizona State University for the third annual convening.