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For the past seven and a half months of work in St. Petersburg, I have been wrestling with the following question: what was and is the nature of the relationship between "alternative" youth cultural practices and the society in which they arise?1 A related question immediately presents itself: whether and how such previously "unsanctioned" youth cultural groupings have evolved or transformed in postSoviet Russia. Central to the inquiry in both its forms has been an exploration of the types of values young people express through participation in such groups.
In order to provide some preliminary answers to these questions in a short space, I will focus on one group which has lived unto itself since 1980 to the present. Indeed its durability and longevity may prove to be a distinctive feature of this youth formation. The group calls itself "Indianists" (Indeanisty). Their unifying passion is the study of North American Indians. In the following sections I will describe the history of the Indianists to the present, their central values and practices, and the personal narratives of the two Indianists whom I have interviewed to date. An analysis of this material will comprise the final section.
History of the Indianists in the Soviet Union
Individual fascination with American Indians has "relatively deep roots in Russia; Pushkin, Chekhov, Lenin and many others passed through that stage."2 But how did the Indianists become a movement? It began with information provided by the Soviet mass media, in books, films, and the press. Books about North American Indians by authors such as FenimoreCooper and Maine Reed were translated into Russian and widely available to Soviet schoolchildren in the 1970s and 1980s. Films about American Indians flooded the Soviet Union in the early 1970s, with titles like "Osceola, Chief of the Seminoles."3 Mostly the films came from East Germany (GDR), but there were also productions from Italy/Yugoslavia/West Germany (FRG) based on the novels by Karl May. Newspapers publicized the events at Wounded Knee in 1973; children's journals published information about Indians. To this influx of films and output of publications, the Indianist "Evil Eye" attributes the transformation of interest in Indians from an individual or smallgroup, episodic phenomenon to one of a larger scale at the beginning of the 1980s.
Why did the Soviet mass media discuss Indians at all? As one young woman Ol'ga put it: "In our newspapers, there was all sorts of propaganda against America, saying that Indians were starving and dying. We all read it and thought that Indians in America had a really bad life, that [Americans] tried to fight them, shoot them." Soviet antiAmerican propaganda aggressively proclaimed native Americans (and AfricanAmericans) as oppressed peoples whose cultures had been destroyed by the unstoppable and ruthless march of capital/ism. This sort of propaganda of cultural martyrdom ultimately proved a disservice to these ethnic groups, but that is another story. Should any question linger about why Indians, and not some other tribal group, Ol'ga pointed out that "in films, we all saw Indians, and only a few years ago I saw [native] Australians for the first time." That remarkable statement reflects the impoverished state of mass information in the Soviet era.
Oleg, whose Indianist name is Brodiachii Dukh (Roaming Ghost), now lives in St. Petersburg with his wife Ol'ga (quoted above), who is not an Indianist. He describes the qualities that attracted him to Indians: "In these [books and films], Indians were portrayed as fair, powerful, respected people, children of nature. These created quite an impression. Probably children seek some sort of purity, and here were good examples of such people." The childhood origins of the interest in Indians, for Oleg at least, provide a central orientation point. When I asked him more generally who are Indianists, he replied, "Those who are interested in Indian culture, many from childhood. Not a superficial interest, a deeper study of Indians of North America, translation, artifacts, etc. ." In response to a question as to why namely North American Indians, Oleg responded, "There's something from childhood, maybe of a previous life. Many from childhood were interested in Indians, but only a few have preserved this interest into adulthood, so I think that it is a preset interest of some sort." I might put it a bit differently: young people from an early age identified with the values embodied by Indians. Later on, some of these young people chose to embody these values themselves. For those such as Oleg, "Indianism" became a way of life.
From those particularly drawn to such books and films about Indians, a need arose for more information. But beyond the level of mass entertainment, very little material was available about North American Indians (and what was available at libraries began to disappear!). Oleg explained: "When I began, there were only films and books. I would dig at the library, on my own. Then by chance, I discovered others in other cities: I wrote a letter to a journal asking for more to read on Indians... The journal responded by saying there were others with the same interest and gave me their addresses. First we wrote each other, then we met." Another Indianist, Valentin or Velikii Rysenok (Great Baby Lynx), gave a very similar account: "Everything began when I was around 12, in 1973. The American Indian Movement occupied Wounded Knee. Films from GDR, about Indians. I got interested. There was an article in some Pioneer journal for children and there was a letter from a girl who wrote of her interest in Indians. I wrote to the journal saying I wanted to get to know a person who thought like me. Every day I came home and the mailbox was full of letters. This correspondence went on for around 10 years." The Pioneer journal was called Castyor Campfire following the theme of Pioneers (like Cub Scouts), not Indians.
Others who shared Oleg's and Valentin's fascination lived in various corners of the Soviet Union. Oleg lived in Kharkhov then, Valentin in another Ukrainian city, two others in Moscow, two in Novosibirsk, one in Bashkir, one in Kiev. As Oleg explains about their early efforts to organize: "When we were in the 10th class [age 1516], we decided to create our own group, "The Voice of Solidarity with the Indian People." Of course it didn't go any farther because we all lived in different cities .... We couldn't organize anything, but we just wanted to help the Indians. It was very sincere." Their efforts to help Indians involved collecting signatures for a petition in support of Leonard Pelletier, an Indian jailed for the killing of two U.S. government agents. They also had plans for a meeting in defense of Indians, and for lectures. By 1980, there were 4050 Indianists who all knew of each other but had never met. "There was an organizing group here in Petersburg," relates Oleg. "One family had a big apartment, and one of their sons was interested, so they gave one room to the Indianists. We met then, in 1980. Twelve people met, "Big Council." I was still in school, and couldn't come." Valentin recalls that "In Peter[sburg = Leningrad], it turned out there were many people with the same interest more than ten. An idea was born, among people older than us. From Novosibirsk, two guys proposed this idea [to meet]; they were more mobile, had money to travel from Novosibirsk to Peter. I was 17 or 18 then. They came to Peter, decided that people needed to meet. In 1980, people came to the "Bol'shoi Soviet" or "Great Council" as it was called then. There were 12 people, 2 or 3 tepees, near Peter. I ... didn't know about it, only found out about it later."4
This gathering in 1980 established the precedent of gathering annually outside of Leningrad for a "PowWow." But as Valentin says, "the next year nothing happened. People had to sit around and figure out what happened!" Oleg's narrative continues with the first "Powwow," since after 1980 the name "Bol'shoi Soviet" was dropped: "In 1982, there was a big meeting, of around 70 people, near Leningrad. People communicated, called each other "brothers," and everyone was happy at last to be together. Each brought their own [Indian] clothes. [The idea was to] Organize a club." This time there were seven tepees,5 sheep, bought some of them, a horse, some goats. I pulled out my stock, and set up my own household, as it were.
*
No one else seriously lived like I did. Maybe because of my stubbornness, I am the only one who succeeded. I lived four years total [as an Indian].
VALENTIN, VELIKII RYSENOK (Great Baby Lynx)
In 1984, another stage [developed]. [We] Sat at home and read about Indians, but remained urban people. Nothing changed. The Powwow appeared, but it was still not enough. It was like a game. A new stage should be that we will go to where it was more like "original" [Indians].
*
We did not want to live in some deep backwoods without electricity. We lived near Altai, in Siberia. Why Altai? He [the leader] knew this region, traveled all the time to Altai, so it was natural to go there. Many horses, everywhere. Almost wild, though they belong to someone. Altaitsy love horses. They raise them for meat. Cows too. We did not have our own horses. We worked with cattle, and they gave us horses. We worked in a typical socialist Sovkhoz [State farm], Altai Experimental Farm. They were working in connection with the Academy of Science all very serious and legitimate.
The problem when we arrived was that we had no place to live. The new director [of the farm], a young guy, wanted people to return to the villages. They proposed to us to be the first settlers in a village, to help it be reborn. Typical village life, with constant drunkenness, did not welcome longhaired Indianists. So we agreed to go to this place with literally a few houses. No one would hit us over the head here! We moved into one house, the size of this room. One family, and three guys. Every year more people came. Then we fixed up one other house. Others came in the summer.
Food was a problem. An automagazin [mobile store] came twice a week with things like macaroni, sunflower oil, margarine. We often did not have enough money. There were 5 people, but there was not enough work for everyone. We hunted for food too. It was a preserve, but we had permission to hunt. We were not too lucky with hunting. But after a year or so, we started to work with cattle, and that worked out better. Then we raised chickens, eggs.
I lived there for 5 years. I left the last year when internal problems
arose. Ol'ga and I would meet there... She came every summer. We met at
the Powwow. Ol'ga didn't like the [commune] rules. She came and saw
that something was not right, but could not say what. We didn't want to
live there. Everything that we earned we put into the collective pot. We
had a musical group; we used the money to buy instruments, equipment and
then record an album. There was never enough money... Masha [their daughter]
was born there. First we moved out and lived separately. Then we left.
To summarize the preceding narratives, Oleg lived the life of a nomadic, cattleherding Indian in the Crimea, from 1986 to 1990. From his schooldays, he had dreamt of living as a 19thcentury North American Indian, returning to nature, withdrawing from "white" society and rejecting its comforts in favor of a closer bond with nature and a greater reliance on himself. In particular, he admired the Prairie Indians, as he says, "...perhaps because of their sharp sense of freedom, especially with respect to whites. The Prairie philosophy, world view, warrior spirit, are closest to me." In 1986, after returning from two years of obligatory Army service with his dream intact, he left for the Crimea. Since he was an urban dweller without any experience, he first "apprenticed" himself as a shepherd on a collective sheep farm. This lasted for less than a year. As Oleg became more experienced, he gradually adopted Indian ways and minimized his needs, abandoning as much as possible everything "white." While remaining realistic about his location in this world and the expectations of Soviet society, he strove to live in nature and in harmony with nature as much as possible.
Valentin chose the life of reservation Indians, sedentary, communal,
and agricultural. He moved to Altai (Siberia) with one family and three
Indianists in 1984. He lived there for 5 years, until 1989. During that
time, they lived by cooperating with an Experimental State Farm (Sovkhoz),
raising cattle, chickens, and horses. They played and recorded their own
rock music. Living by communist principles established by the leader (Valentin's
words), they pooled their (minimal) money in a collective pot. Schisms
arose over such practices, and ultimately the Indianist commune in Altai
broke up. Now only the leader lives there with his wife and two children.
The Annual PowWow
Oleg and Valentin represent exceptional Indianists who, during the Soviet period, lived the life of North American Indians, as they imagined it. There were others, such as Victor "Poyushchii iz Kornei" (Singing from roots), who pursue Indian ways "only internally," through spirituality, reading books, watching films, writing to each other and to American Indians. Yet others sewed their own Indian clothes, moccasins and tepees. These Indianists, also a small number (several hundred at the movement's height see footnote 4), acted on their interest collectively once a year, when they gathered, traditionally outside of Petersburg, for the annual Powwow. That is, Soviet Indianists held an annual powwow as they imagined it. No strict tribal identities were observed. Costumes and ornamentation, as with Oleg's all handmade and cured goatskin leggings and shirt, were painstakingly produced with the images from films and children's books in mind. Designs and symbols tended to be individually authored works and not slavish copies of traditional tribal designs. Many wore feather headdresses despite the fact that they had not "earned" their feathers.
Since I have not yet attended a Powwow but will this July (1995) I must rely on the reportage of Evil Eye as to what actually takes place at this already 15yearold tradition. "The PowWow encampment lives in harmony according to tradition. It is usually held over the first 10 days of July. The first twothree days the participants are assembling, setting up tepees, settling in. After that follows an official opening ceremony everyone comes out in their best clothes on the central field of the encampment, prayers are spoken and the dancing begins, continuing until dark. ...
"Dances are conducted daily over the course of 34 days, when in camp a large enough quantity of participants assembles. Besides that several ceremonies are performed, requiring small groups of people for example the ritual of the Sacred Pipe or the Sweat Lodge, into which passersby and onlookers are not permitted" (Ishta Shitcha, 8891). As with individual Indianists, the participants in the PowWow represent a bricolage of many tribes; if they do identify themselves with a particular tribe, then they set up camp near each other at the Powwow, in the tradition of 19thcentury intertribal Powwows. The primary "event" of the Powwow is communication and exchange of information about a subject of mutual interest, even fascination. Equally important, it is a social event the social event of the Indianist's calendar at which to see and be seen. As Valentin put it, once one Powwow was over, Indianists begin preparing for the next one. In particular, for those who sew their own leather clothes and moccasins, string their beaded necklaces, or feather their headdresses, it is an opportunity to display accomplishments and compare craftsmanship.
Not a single participant in the annual Indianist Powwow outside
of St. Petersburg is ethnically Indian. Aside from this, the Indianists
argue that their Powwow has achieved a level of "professionalism,"
to the point that it differs from American Indian Powwows in only
one crucial respect. American Powwows are held on a commercial basis,
as much shows for tourists as ritual and dance for the Indians themselves;
Indianist Powwows have almost no commercial aspect, except for the
occasional individual Indianist who brings books, records, journals or
beads to sell (Ishta Shitcha, p. 88). Primarily, the event is for the participants,
without an orientation toward a larger, ticketand souvenirbuying
audience. In other words, the Russian Powwow is not a commodity.
Indianists in PostSoviet Russia
In the previous sections, the history, lifehistories, and practices of Indianists in the Soviet era (through 1991) have been laid out. What, if anything, has fundamentally changed for the Indianists since the Soviet page in Russian history has been turned? There are several areas in which change can be identified. One area is group cohesion as reflected by changes in the Powwow. Another is a wider sphere of activity, which makes the Indianists a more public presence. Finally, the attitude of Indianists to their own interest has changed.
According to the chronicler Evil Eye, the Petersburg Powwows in the years 1992 and 1993 were modest compared to those of the final years of the Soviet Union. The reasons for this reflect the larger political changes in the region: Indianists from other former Soviet republics held their own Pow wows in their own republics at least five others occurred in Russia and Ukraine in 1993. The reasons for this splintering off from the Petersburg Powwow are twofold. First the cost of traintickets rose significantly, especially for those coming from other republics. Second, according to Evil Eye, many Indianist groups, in Moscow and Kharkov for example, feel strong enough to hold their own Powwows, independent of the central, traditional one (ibid., 88). Thus the Indianists as a group have decentralized and fragmented regionally analogous to their country.
The Indianists' activity has broadened in the sphere of information sharing. A group of Moscow Indianists have begun publishing Indianist materials. They have already published several books in their series, "Indians of North America," their own translations into Russian of classic Indian narratives. In 1994, the first issue of their almanac came out. Titled Iktomi, the name of a mythological Indian hero, half manhalf spider, the almanac provides a spectrum of information. The introductory message from the editors states: "The almanac contains information about the life, history, ceremonies, cults and spiritual heritage of various Indian tribes. In it we will communicate about visits of Indians to our country, about new films, books, various events in the life of the Indianists, the Powwow, and so on. A separate section is dedicated to the making of Indian clothes and objects. With the help of our almanac, those interested can find themselves new friendsIndianists, exchange or sell books, films and musical works. The addresses of Indian organizations, reservations, and so on will give our readers the opportunity for direct correspondence with American Indians" (1994, No. 2: 1). The first issue was printed in a tirage of 500, and inscribed also on the first page with the following note: "Inasmuch as the almanac is not a commercial publication, we will be happy to have any help from our readers." In the second number, this note had disappeared, the tirage dropped to 100, and the price rose significantly. These and other publications Indianists publish and distribute themselves, which is how I located them: I saw a flier announcing "Mir Indeitsev Knigi" glued high up on a wall on Sadovaia. This surprised me, since I had been told that the Indianists were very secretive and did not welcome curious outsiders, especially at the Powwow. That may have been true about them in the mid80s, when the KGB was trying to discourage them from meeting. But when I called the number on the flier and reached Oleg, it quickly became clear that there was nothing secretive about them. Rather, they have taken upon themselves a popularizing campaign, as seen in the note from the editors, and in Oleg's willingness to give an interview. In September 1994, a lengthy program about the July Powwow called "Voices" aired on Russian television.
The Indianists' attitude to their own interest has also changed in a
crucial respect. Once again, it is linked to the theme of information access.
Oleg first formulated this idea: "Now our society has changed radically,
if not internally at least superficially. It seems values have changed,
and people are searching for the illusory values of the West. The flow
of information has made the need for such informal groups less. They have
lost the general idea. Now, like Indianists, it has become a hobby. No
need for the passionate desire to help Indians, just a hobby. Although
I must say that they give a lot of time to their interest. For many it
was a life path, to see and find some values in Indian society." Being
an Indianist in a society where information about Indians is increasingly
accessible makes it no longer a "passionate desire," nor a "life
path." It has become a hobby. Why? Because time previously spent in
pursuit of information and meaningful values must now be devoted to work
or in search of work. Unique to the Soviet situation was the possibility
of living on the margins of society, working occasional and undemanding
jobs such as night watchman or furnace stoker. Now such jobs are fewer,
and the pay insufficient to live on. And so work has become a primary focus,
interests secondary. Nevertheless, both Indianists sought work with some
kind of significance for them: working with wood, as carpenters. Oleg just
finished a twomonth course in woodworking as a carpenter and furnituremaker.
He is in the process of looking for a job now. As a result, he will not
attend the Powwow.
Conclusion
To begin to try to answer the question posed at the outset regarding the relationship between such "alternative" groups and society, the Indianists provide many suggestive answers. Valentin himself formulated one answer in his description of his own life goal, "to live as parallel to society as possible." He manages to continue such an existence under changed circumstances by working in Germany for several months of the year as a carpenter and other odd jobs. The money he earns there lasts much longer in Russia, which still offers lower cost of living (for those with their own apartments). Oleg's life goal is to move with Ol'ga from Petersburg (where they live with her parents) to a village, where they would buy and fix up an old house. In Russia, such a goal is very unusual, since most people strive to reach "the center" Moscow or Petersburg.
Both Oleg and Valentin recognize for various reasons that they could
not now live as Indians. Yet the spirit of "Indianness," the
nonstandard attitudes toward society remain. Previously, Oleg and
Valentin to greater or lesser degrees rejected the "white man's ways."
Now they have both started families and recognize their social responsibilities.
At the same time, they continue to incorporate Indianist values and activities
into their adult lives, through choice of work, style of life (maintaining
the Indianist network, helping in the translation, publication, distribution
of Indianist materials, studying Indianist literature, corresponding with
Indianists and American Indians, attending the Powwow), beliefs (as
Victor put it, "being in good relations with nature"), choice
of friends. For all three as individuals, Indianism still plays an integral
role in their lives. For Indianists as a collective, the July Powwow
should provide a measure of the vitality of the movement.
Postscript: The Indianist PowWow, July 5, 1995: First Day of Dancing
The PowWow took place this year during the first ten days in July. It was located in the same valley where it has been held for the past five years: near the village of Boloto, outside the town of Tolmachevo. This flat, sheltered grassland is a twohour drive from St. Petersburg. But even though Boloto is on the regional map, and despite the fact that we reached it by ourselves, we would never have found the location of the Powwow without Oleg/Brodiachii Dukh, or Dukh as I heard him called by Indianists, as our guide. From the main highway, the sideroad quickly changed character from asphalt into a dirt road, and soon that road petered out until we were driving through a trackless field of tall grass. After crossing two incomplete bridges and ten more minutes of driving through uncharted fields, we finally arrived at the top of the valley.
As we walked down into the valley, and the Indianist camp came into view, I suddenly began to doubt whether this was still Russia: approximately 30 tepees were already set up in two parallel rows, several others were "under construction." Smoke puffed out of the tepees from their interior campfires. People ranging in age from nursing babies to adults in their late 30s circulated in and out of wigwams. In front and center of the double row of tepees, a circular area of "prairie" had been fenced off with slender sticks, in the capacity of a stage: this was the dancing ground. On the other side of the encampment, a shallow stream flowed, providing water for cooking and bathing. At the height of the Powwow, the tepees numbered around 40, and total participants well over 200. They came from all over Russia, from Belorus, Lithuania, and Ukraine. A Blackfoot Indian woman, Bee Medicine, visited the Powwow, along with an American woman from Minnesota. There were others besides us equipped with video and still cameras.
It is worth drawing on Dukh's and Rysenok's narratives as a touchstone for understanding what took place at the Indianist Powwow in 1995. The ruling principle for both of them had been, to greater or lesser degrees, to reject "the white man's ways." Rysenok expresses a continuing desire to "live as parallel to society as possible." In each case, these seasoned Indianists were rejecting what they saw as the hypocrisy and falsity of Soviet industrial society, in favor of a return to the earth, to living in harmony with nature, and to a purer way of life. One key value which can be identified from their discourse is selfsufficiency; and they achieved their "independence" by adopting the lifeways of North American Indians on a spiritual as well as a material level. One might argue that Indian lifeways served as the vehicle whereby these young men attained a measure of independence from or "parallelism" to the society in which they lived and live.
In 1995, from every possible indication, the Indianist movement in Russia is alive and well, with numbers second only to the largest ever in 1990. Indianists continue to construct themselves as independent from "the white man" at least for ten days out of the year. The Ukrainian Indianists came in a group of about 8, and they traveled the whole way on "elektrichki," the local commuter trains which span out in a web from each major city: that is, their passage was almost free. Until the day turned chilly, young children ran around without clothes. The group exists without hierarchy or any political organization whatsoever. This statement is based upon observation of the manner in which the first day of dancing came to pass. Dukh had told us that dancing might begin today, since only the rain on the previous day had prevented the "opening" of the Powwow. For hours, we simply sat in his tepee in hopeful anticipation, or walked around to visit the Ukrainian tepee, or had tea, or went to look at the river, or... There was none of the excitement in the air which precedes, for example, a parade or a theatrical performance. I attribute this to the fact that the dancing occurred when, spontaneously, everyone who wanted to got into the mood to dance and sing. And also, because, unlike for a parade or a play, THERE WAS NO AUDIENCE!! The "stage" of the dancing ground faced the two rows of tepees like a stage faces the orchestra seats of a theater, for these represented the spectators. People from the nearby collective farm quietly scythed the grass on the hill overlooking the valley, and then disappeared. We and our compatriots were, of course, outsiders, but I think that very few Indianists knew of our presence at least, not in advance of our arrival and no one inquired as to our reasons for being there.
On the theme of outsiders, the Indianists in the postSoviet era distinguish themselves from other groups of young people on the basis of their seriousness of purpose. That is, I was told about the absence of a non serious group who used to hang around near the Powwow in immediately preceding years: they had been asked not to come back last year by several Indianists, and they had not. They were undesirable either as participants or spectators because they were "not serious," "donothings" (bezdel'niki) who like to dabble in different exotic practices, white magic, black magic, but did not take them seriously. This Indianist selfdifferentiation from other informal groups on the basis of "seriousness" seems to be a sign of the times: in describing his life in Crimea, Dukh had said that he "related to any neformal'noe dvizhenie with respect because it was a form of protest to how we were all programmed." This unity in adversity has dissipated in many instances among "informals" in their current forms.
The Indianists show their seriousness through their scholarly and spiritual approach to their chosen topic, not allowing it to become a matter of superficial style alone. For example, Dukh did not wear his Indian clothes, let alone participate in the dancing, saying it's not a matter of principle for him to wear the Indian gear to the Powwow, or anywhere for that matter. He and several of his friends wore "western" clothes, with an Indian ornament, such as Dukh's beaded ponytail holders, or his friend Peet's bolo tie and black felt hat with beaded hat band (the latter of which he presented to me).
For those who choose to join in the performative aspect of the PowWow, authenticity and craftsmanship serve as guiding principles. Although I am no expert on American Indian tribal dress, it was clear to me that there were at least three or four distinct tribal dress styles represented at the Powwow, if not more. The Ukrainians dressed as Apache, I know, because they told me. Most remarkable was the beadwork: one young man's vest was encrusted with beads in the pattern of feathers. Every pair of moccasins bore beadwork. In general, the level of craftsmanship of the costumes as well as of the tepees seemed extremely high, especially taking into consideration the difficulty of finding even beads, let alone feathers and leather, in Soviet shops. (I say "Soviet" advisedly, since as far as we could learn, no one had made their costume yesterday.) And the singers, a group of four people, had reportedly taught themselves the songs by listening to tapes of American Indian dancing music: they did not understand the words, necessarily, but had mastered the sound.
So who is all of this tremendous effort for, if indeed there is no audience?
Clearly, for the Indianists themselves, and for any other like minded
persons. The annual Powwow provides a forum in which these self
reliant lovers of nature and of the romantic image of the noble Indian
can come together and reaffirm their likemindedness. And at the same
time, live apart from the society to which they belong, at least for ten
days.
Textnotes
The author gratefully acknowledges that the research for this paper was accomplished with the support of a FulbrightHays Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad Fellowship, and the collaboration of Andrei Rabodzeenko.
Posted:12/24/96
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