happy conquistador day!
Oct. 12th, 2009 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intertribalLucia sent me this text today: In 1492, Native Americans discovered Christopher Columbus lost at sea. What a loser!! Send 2 every1 if u dnt believe n Columbus Day!
And if not for that, I wouldn't have known it was Columbus Day. I immediately thought of the first essay I read for Colonial Encounters, "Good Day, Columbus" (from Silencing The Past: Power and the Production of History by Michel-Rolph Trouillot). I kept my course reader for a reason! But after work I had pilates, so I'm only getting around to typing it up now, and watch by the time I finish it won't even be Columbus Day anymore [Update: Yeah, it's not.]:
Prologue: For in the monumental efforts of the Portuguese state to catch up with a history now eclipsed by nostalgia, I saw the nostalgia of the entire West for a history that it never lived, its constant longing for a place that exists only in its mind... The West was America, a dream of conquest and rapture... Except that I was in Belem whence Europe's face looked no clearer than that of the Americas... Belem's steady effort to patch up its own silences did not reflect on Portugal alone. It spoke of the entire West - of Spain, France, and the Netherlands, of Britain, Italy, and the United States - of all those who, like Columbus, had come from behind to displace Portugal in the reshaping of the world. And as much as I did not like it... its spoke also of me, of all the lands disturbed by their cacophony.
How interesting, then, that 1492 has become Columbus's year, and October 12 the day of "The Discovery." Columbus himself has become a quintessential "Spaniard" or a representative of "Italy" - two rather vague entities during his lifetime... The Discovery has lost its processual character. It has become a single and simple moment.
The creation of that historical moment facilitates the narrativization of history, the transformation of what happened into that which is said to have happened. First, chronology replaces process. All events are placed in a single line leading to the landfall. The years Columbus spent in Portugal, the knowledge he accumulated from Portuguese and North African sailors, his efforts to peddle his project to various monarchs are subsumed among the "antecedents" to The Discovery. Other occurrences, such as the participation of the Pinzon brothers, are included under "the preparations," although in the time lived by the actors, that participation preceded, overlapped, and outlived the landfall. Second, as intermingled processes fade into a linear continuity, context also fades out. For instance, the making of Europe, the rise of the absolutist state, the reconquista, and Christian religious intransigence all spread over centuries and paralleled the invention of the Americas. These Old World transformations were not without consequences... But in the narrative of The Discovery, Europe becomes a neutral and ageless essence able to function, in turn, as stage for "the preparations," as background for "the voyage," and as supportive cast in a noble epic.
The isolation of a single moment thus creates a historical "fact": on this day, in 1492, Christopher Columbus discovered the Bahamas. As a set event, void of context and marked by a fixed date, this chunk of history becomes much more manageable outside of the academic guild. It returns inevitably: one can await its millenial and prepare its commemoration. It accommodates travel agents, airlines, politicians, the media, or the states who sell it in the prepackaged forms by which the public has come to expect history to present itself for immediate consumption. It is a product of power whose label has been cleansed of traces of power.
To call "discovery" the first invasions of inhabited lands by Europeans is an exercise in Eurocentric power that already frames future narratives of the event so described. Contact with the West is seen as the foundation of historicity of different cultures. Once discovered by Europeans, the Other finally enters the human world.
In the 1990s, quite a few observers, historians, and activists worldwide denounced the arrogance implied by this terminology during the quincentennial celebrations of Columbus's Bahamian landing... others preferred "encounter," which suddenly gained an immense popularity - one more testimony, if needed, of the capacity of liberal discourse to compromise between its premises and its practice. "Encounter" sweetens the horror, polishes the rough edges that do not fit neatly either side of the controversy. Everyone seems to gain.
"Discovery" and analogous terms ensure that by just mentioning the event one enters a predetermined lexical field of cliches and predictable categories that foreclose a redefinition of the political and intellectual stakes. Europe becomes the center of "what happened." Whatever else may have happened to other people in that process is already reduced to a natural fact: they were discovered.
For this reason, I prefer to say that Columbus "stumbled on the Bahamas," or "discovered the Antilles," and I prefer "conquest" over "discovery" to describe what happened after the landing. Such phrasings are awkward and may raise some eyebrows. They may even annoy some readers. But both the awkwardness and the fact that the entire issue can be dismissed as trivial quibbling suggests that it is not easy to subvert the very language describing the facts of the matter. For the power to decide what is trivial - and annoying - is also part of the power to decide how "what happened" becomes "that which is said to have happened."
Commemorations sanitize the messy history lived by the actors. They contribute to the continuous myth-making process that gives history its more definite shapes: they help to create, modify, or sanction the public meanings attached to historical events deemed worthy of mass celebration. As rituals that package history for public consumption, commemorations play the numbers game to create a past that seems both more real and more elementary.
Thus it was in the New World itself that Columbus could first emerge most strongly as myth, in the former colonies of Spain and in teh United States. The United States was one of the few places where the growth of a modern public in the midst of the Enlightenment was not encumbered by images of a feudal past. There, as elsewhere, the constitution of a public domain reflected the organization of power and the development of the national state, but power was constituted differently from the way it took shape in most European countries. Citizens with a weakness for marching bands promoted celebrations and holidays more openly and often more successfully than in Europe.
In short, for many reasons too complex to detail here, Latin Americans did not alienate native cultures from their myths of origin, even before the twentieth-century rise of various forms of indigenismo. They view themselves as criollos and mestizos of different kinds, peoples of the New World; perhaps Columbus was too much a man of the Old.
In the United States, in contrast, in spite of inflated references to a melting pot, ideologies of ethnicity emphasize continuities with the Old World. The real natives are mainly dead or on reservations. New natives (recognizable by their hyphenated group names) are numbered by generation, and their descendants fight each other for pieces of a mythical Europe. The peculiar politics of ethnicity has proved to be a boon for Columbus's image in the United States... Columbus played a leading role in making citizens out of these immigrants.
The second half of the nineteenth century saw an unprecedented attention to the systematic management of public discourse in countries that combined substantial working classes and wide electoral franchises. With the realization that "the public" - this rather vague presumption of the first bourgeois revolutions - indeed existed, government officials, entrepreneurs, and intellectuals joined in the planned production of traditions that cut across class identities and reinforced the national state... Spain was in dire need of a moral and political uplift. Conservative leader Antonio Canovas del Castillo, architect of the Bourbon Restoration and a historian in his own right, made of Columbus and The Discovery the consummate metaphors for this anticipated revitalization... Canovas turned this growing interest [in Columbus] into an extravaganza: a political and diplomatic crusade, an economic venture, a spectacle to be consumed by Spain and the world for the sheer sake of its pageantry... He sold the quadricentennial not only as pageantry but as a challenge to the most enlightened minds, a yearlong symposium on past and present policy, on the role of Spain in the world, on Western civilization, and on the relevance of history.
Thus if for Spain, the quadricentennial was an occasion to authenticate past splendors and imagine future glories, for many in the United States it was an opportunity to verify and celebrate their present course. Accordingly, U.S. officials paid lip service to Canovas's festivities, but invested their energy in their quadricentennial, the World's Columbian Exposition of Chicago... The main point was money: to be spent and to be made... That it occurred in Chicago one year too late [1893] was the combined result of accidents and false starts among bureaucrats and investors. That it bore Columbus's name and included a Spanish Infanta as the guest of honor were merely additional attractions.
Latin America certainly noticed. To be sure, Columbus's metamorphosis into a Yankee hero, the lone ranger of the western seas, looked somewhat banal outside of Chicago. Still, viewed from the far south, the fair belonged to a political and economic series from which it drew its symbolism. The Columbus story written in Chicago overlapped with the ongoing narrative of conquest that U.S. power was busily writing in the lands of this hemisphere. What was said to have happened in 1492 legitimized what was actually happening in the early 1890s... Columbus as Yankee looked somewhat more real, if not necessarily less foolish, in light of that ongoing expansion.
Europe also noticed. The Pan-American strategy was designed in part to block European incursions in the hemisphere... Thus, from 1890 to the end of the fair, Europeans were told repeatedly how to read Columbus and what this new reading meant for the hemisphere. The imposition of this new reading required the production of a number of silences. Since some traces could not be erased, their historical significance had to be reduced.
The official guide to the fair dismissed as meaningless the first 280 years of Euro-American history: the history of this hemisphere prior to 1776 was a mere "preparatory period" to the rise of the United States. The meaning of the discovery could be measured by the number of bushels of wheat that the United States now produced and the length of its railways. Shunning Europe and Latin America in the same stroke, the guide added: "Most fitting it is, therefore, that the people of the greatest nation on the continent discovered by Christopher Columbus, should lead in the celebration of the Four Hundredth Anniversary of that event."
Even U.S. citizens were told in unmistakable terms what Columbus was not about, lest working-class Irish and, especially, Italian families use him as a shield to hide their own highly suspect invasion... In the context of that migration, ideas suggesting the biological inferiority of the "southern" immigrants and the threat they constituted to the "future race" of the United States became widespread.
Those who wrote the script for Chicago could not control all the possible readings of that script. Their triumph was due, in part, to their taking Columbus further out of context than did their predecessors. Once that was done, however, Columbus was not theirs alone. Successful celebrations decontextualize successfully the events they celebrate, but in so doing they open the door to competitive readings of these events.... As rituals of a special kind, commemorations build upon each other, and each celebration raises the stake for the next one.
By the 1890s, the appropriation of Columbus in the United States truly became a national phenomenon. Narratives were produced that rewrote a past meant to certify the inevitability of a Columbian connection. Ethnic and religious leaders, counties and municipalities started to look for traces of Columbus in their origins, silencing prior narratives, busily creating others. By the end of the decade, for instance, it had become public knowledge that the Ohio town of Columbus was named after the Discoverer... As late as 1873, the connection between Columbus, Ohio, and Christopher Columbus was historically irrelevant. Yet by 1892, in the euphoria that surrounded the Chicago fair, historians were listing Columbus, Ohio, as an obvious proof of Columbus's wide recognition in the United States... From the U.S. viewpoint, turning the discoverer into an "American" was equivalent to putting on him a "made in USA" label, for the United States is America.
Latin Americans, for their part, could not appropriate Columbus from Spain. Their cultural heritage, their views on blending, their semiperipheral position in the world economy simply did not lead to this take-over: they had neither the means nor the will... But that Americanization had different implications for the Latin Americans... An "American" Columbus belonged to the hemisphere. Adding their line to two different scripts, Latin Americans forced both the Spanish and the U.S. figures into their "blending" discourse. Throughout Latin America, October 12 became either the day to honor Spanish influence or to honor its opposite or, more often, to celebrate a blending of the two: Discovery Day, the Day of the Americas, or simply El Dia de la Raza, the Day of the Race, the day of the people - a day for ourselves, however defined, for ethnicity however constructed.
The inability to step out of history in order to write or rewrite it applies to all actors and narrators. That some ambiguities are more obvious in Arizona and in Belem than in Chicago, Madrid, or Paris has much more to do with unequal control over the means of historical production than with the inherent objectivity of a particular group of narrators. This does not suggest that history is never honest but rather that it is always confusing because of its constituting mixes.
In Columbus's travel journal, there is a description of the first sighting of land on Thursday October 11, 1492. In his log entry fo rthe day Columbus hints about the tense evening, the long night that followed, the first views of land at two in the morning. "At two hours after midnight, land appeared, from which they were about two leagues distant. They hauled down the sails... passing time until daylight Friday," when they reached an islet and descended. There is no clear-cut milestone in the log. It was a messy night - not Thursday any more, but not yet Friday. At any rate, there is no separate entry in Columbus's journal for Friday, October 12, 1492.
And if not for that, I wouldn't have known it was Columbus Day. I immediately thought of the first essay I read for Colonial Encounters, "Good Day, Columbus" (from Silencing The Past: Power and the Production of History by Michel-Rolph Trouillot). I kept my course reader for a reason! But after work I had pilates, so I'm only getting around to typing it up now, and watch by the time I finish it won't even be Columbus Day anymore [Update: Yeah, it's not.]:
Prologue: For in the monumental efforts of the Portuguese state to catch up with a history now eclipsed by nostalgia, I saw the nostalgia of the entire West for a history that it never lived, its constant longing for a place that exists only in its mind... The West was America, a dream of conquest and rapture... Except that I was in Belem whence Europe's face looked no clearer than that of the Americas... Belem's steady effort to patch up its own silences did not reflect on Portugal alone. It spoke of the entire West - of Spain, France, and the Netherlands, of Britain, Italy, and the United States - of all those who, like Columbus, had come from behind to displace Portugal in the reshaping of the world. And as much as I did not like it... its spoke also of me, of all the lands disturbed by their cacophony.
How interesting, then, that 1492 has become Columbus's year, and October 12 the day of "The Discovery." Columbus himself has become a quintessential "Spaniard" or a representative of "Italy" - two rather vague entities during his lifetime... The Discovery has lost its processual character. It has become a single and simple moment.
The creation of that historical moment facilitates the narrativization of history, the transformation of what happened into that which is said to have happened. First, chronology replaces process. All events are placed in a single line leading to the landfall. The years Columbus spent in Portugal, the knowledge he accumulated from Portuguese and North African sailors, his efforts to peddle his project to various monarchs are subsumed among the "antecedents" to The Discovery. Other occurrences, such as the participation of the Pinzon brothers, are included under "the preparations," although in the time lived by the actors, that participation preceded, overlapped, and outlived the landfall. Second, as intermingled processes fade into a linear continuity, context also fades out. For instance, the making of Europe, the rise of the absolutist state, the reconquista, and Christian religious intransigence all spread over centuries and paralleled the invention of the Americas. These Old World transformations were not without consequences... But in the narrative of The Discovery, Europe becomes a neutral and ageless essence able to function, in turn, as stage for "the preparations," as background for "the voyage," and as supportive cast in a noble epic.
The isolation of a single moment thus creates a historical "fact": on this day, in 1492, Christopher Columbus discovered the Bahamas. As a set event, void of context and marked by a fixed date, this chunk of history becomes much more manageable outside of the academic guild. It returns inevitably: one can await its millenial and prepare its commemoration. It accommodates travel agents, airlines, politicians, the media, or the states who sell it in the prepackaged forms by which the public has come to expect history to present itself for immediate consumption. It is a product of power whose label has been cleansed of traces of power.
To call "discovery" the first invasions of inhabited lands by Europeans is an exercise in Eurocentric power that already frames future narratives of the event so described. Contact with the West is seen as the foundation of historicity of different cultures. Once discovered by Europeans, the Other finally enters the human world.
In the 1990s, quite a few observers, historians, and activists worldwide denounced the arrogance implied by this terminology during the quincentennial celebrations of Columbus's Bahamian landing... others preferred "encounter," which suddenly gained an immense popularity - one more testimony, if needed, of the capacity of liberal discourse to compromise between its premises and its practice. "Encounter" sweetens the horror, polishes the rough edges that do not fit neatly either side of the controversy. Everyone seems to gain.
"Discovery" and analogous terms ensure that by just mentioning the event one enters a predetermined lexical field of cliches and predictable categories that foreclose a redefinition of the political and intellectual stakes. Europe becomes the center of "what happened." Whatever else may have happened to other people in that process is already reduced to a natural fact: they were discovered.
For this reason, I prefer to say that Columbus "stumbled on the Bahamas," or "discovered the Antilles," and I prefer "conquest" over "discovery" to describe what happened after the landing. Such phrasings are awkward and may raise some eyebrows. They may even annoy some readers. But both the awkwardness and the fact that the entire issue can be dismissed as trivial quibbling suggests that it is not easy to subvert the very language describing the facts of the matter. For the power to decide what is trivial - and annoying - is also part of the power to decide how "what happened" becomes "that which is said to have happened."
Commemorations sanitize the messy history lived by the actors. They contribute to the continuous myth-making process that gives history its more definite shapes: they help to create, modify, or sanction the public meanings attached to historical events deemed worthy of mass celebration. As rituals that package history for public consumption, commemorations play the numbers game to create a past that seems both more real and more elementary.
Thus it was in the New World itself that Columbus could first emerge most strongly as myth, in the former colonies of Spain and in teh United States. The United States was one of the few places where the growth of a modern public in the midst of the Enlightenment was not encumbered by images of a feudal past. There, as elsewhere, the constitution of a public domain reflected the organization of power and the development of the national state, but power was constituted differently from the way it took shape in most European countries. Citizens with a weakness for marching bands promoted celebrations and holidays more openly and often more successfully than in Europe.
In short, for many reasons too complex to detail here, Latin Americans did not alienate native cultures from their myths of origin, even before the twentieth-century rise of various forms of indigenismo. They view themselves as criollos and mestizos of different kinds, peoples of the New World; perhaps Columbus was too much a man of the Old.
In the United States, in contrast, in spite of inflated references to a melting pot, ideologies of ethnicity emphasize continuities with the Old World. The real natives are mainly dead or on reservations. New natives (recognizable by their hyphenated group names) are numbered by generation, and their descendants fight each other for pieces of a mythical Europe. The peculiar politics of ethnicity has proved to be a boon for Columbus's image in the United States... Columbus played a leading role in making citizens out of these immigrants.
The second half of the nineteenth century saw an unprecedented attention to the systematic management of public discourse in countries that combined substantial working classes and wide electoral franchises. With the realization that "the public" - this rather vague presumption of the first bourgeois revolutions - indeed existed, government officials, entrepreneurs, and intellectuals joined in the planned production of traditions that cut across class identities and reinforced the national state... Spain was in dire need of a moral and political uplift. Conservative leader Antonio Canovas del Castillo, architect of the Bourbon Restoration and a historian in his own right, made of Columbus and The Discovery the consummate metaphors for this anticipated revitalization... Canovas turned this growing interest [in Columbus] into an extravaganza: a political and diplomatic crusade, an economic venture, a spectacle to be consumed by Spain and the world for the sheer sake of its pageantry... He sold the quadricentennial not only as pageantry but as a challenge to the most enlightened minds, a yearlong symposium on past and present policy, on the role of Spain in the world, on Western civilization, and on the relevance of history.
Thus if for Spain, the quadricentennial was an occasion to authenticate past splendors and imagine future glories, for many in the United States it was an opportunity to verify and celebrate their present course. Accordingly, U.S. officials paid lip service to Canovas's festivities, but invested their energy in their quadricentennial, the World's Columbian Exposition of Chicago... The main point was money: to be spent and to be made... That it occurred in Chicago one year too late [1893] was the combined result of accidents and false starts among bureaucrats and investors. That it bore Columbus's name and included a Spanish Infanta as the guest of honor were merely additional attractions.
Latin America certainly noticed. To be sure, Columbus's metamorphosis into a Yankee hero, the lone ranger of the western seas, looked somewhat banal outside of Chicago. Still, viewed from the far south, the fair belonged to a political and economic series from which it drew its symbolism. The Columbus story written in Chicago overlapped with the ongoing narrative of conquest that U.S. power was busily writing in the lands of this hemisphere. What was said to have happened in 1492 legitimized what was actually happening in the early 1890s... Columbus as Yankee looked somewhat more real, if not necessarily less foolish, in light of that ongoing expansion.
Europe also noticed. The Pan-American strategy was designed in part to block European incursions in the hemisphere... Thus, from 1890 to the end of the fair, Europeans were told repeatedly how to read Columbus and what this new reading meant for the hemisphere. The imposition of this new reading required the production of a number of silences. Since some traces could not be erased, their historical significance had to be reduced.
The official guide to the fair dismissed as meaningless the first 280 years of Euro-American history: the history of this hemisphere prior to 1776 was a mere "preparatory period" to the rise of the United States. The meaning of the discovery could be measured by the number of bushels of wheat that the United States now produced and the length of its railways. Shunning Europe and Latin America in the same stroke, the guide added: "Most fitting it is, therefore, that the people of the greatest nation on the continent discovered by Christopher Columbus, should lead in the celebration of the Four Hundredth Anniversary of that event."
Even U.S. citizens were told in unmistakable terms what Columbus was not about, lest working-class Irish and, especially, Italian families use him as a shield to hide their own highly suspect invasion... In the context of that migration, ideas suggesting the biological inferiority of the "southern" immigrants and the threat they constituted to the "future race" of the United States became widespread.
Those who wrote the script for Chicago could not control all the possible readings of that script. Their triumph was due, in part, to their taking Columbus further out of context than did their predecessors. Once that was done, however, Columbus was not theirs alone. Successful celebrations decontextualize successfully the events they celebrate, but in so doing they open the door to competitive readings of these events.... As rituals of a special kind, commemorations build upon each other, and each celebration raises the stake for the next one.
By the 1890s, the appropriation of Columbus in the United States truly became a national phenomenon. Narratives were produced that rewrote a past meant to certify the inevitability of a Columbian connection. Ethnic and religious leaders, counties and municipalities started to look for traces of Columbus in their origins, silencing prior narratives, busily creating others. By the end of the decade, for instance, it had become public knowledge that the Ohio town of Columbus was named after the Discoverer... As late as 1873, the connection between Columbus, Ohio, and Christopher Columbus was historically irrelevant. Yet by 1892, in the euphoria that surrounded the Chicago fair, historians were listing Columbus, Ohio, as an obvious proof of Columbus's wide recognition in the United States... From the U.S. viewpoint, turning the discoverer into an "American" was equivalent to putting on him a "made in USA" label, for the United States is America.
Latin Americans, for their part, could not appropriate Columbus from Spain. Their cultural heritage, their views on blending, their semiperipheral position in the world economy simply did not lead to this take-over: they had neither the means nor the will... But that Americanization had different implications for the Latin Americans... An "American" Columbus belonged to the hemisphere. Adding their line to two different scripts, Latin Americans forced both the Spanish and the U.S. figures into their "blending" discourse. Throughout Latin America, October 12 became either the day to honor Spanish influence or to honor its opposite or, more often, to celebrate a blending of the two: Discovery Day, the Day of the Americas, or simply El Dia de la Raza, the Day of the Race, the day of the people - a day for ourselves, however defined, for ethnicity however constructed.
The inability to step out of history in order to write or rewrite it applies to all actors and narrators. That some ambiguities are more obvious in Arizona and in Belem than in Chicago, Madrid, or Paris has much more to do with unequal control over the means of historical production than with the inherent objectivity of a particular group of narrators. This does not suggest that history is never honest but rather that it is always confusing because of its constituting mixes.
In Columbus's travel journal, there is a description of the first sighting of land on Thursday October 11, 1492. In his log entry fo rthe day Columbus hints about the tense evening, the long night that followed, the first views of land at two in the morning. "At two hours after midnight, land appeared, from which they were about two leagues distant. They hauled down the sails... passing time until daylight Friday," when they reached an islet and descended. There is no clear-cut milestone in the log. It was a messy night - not Thursday any more, but not yet Friday. At any rate, there is no separate entry in Columbus's journal for Friday, October 12, 1492.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-10-13 09:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-13 01:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-13 01:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-13 01:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-13 01:33 pm (UTC)So did/do you have a personal connection with Indonesia, or a fascination with faraway places? I had/have the latter.
It's pretty weird that colonialism doesn't get talked about much in poli sci... it sure does affect attitudes and relationships.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-13 02:01 pm (UTC)My dad was Indonesian, and I lived there until I was 11. So yes, personal connection. Plus not enough poli sci people write about Indonesia, much less about what I was writing about. Do you think your fascination with faraway places would be true wherever you were?
Yeah, it does. Colonialism does get talked about by political scientists from developing countries, but there's a real divide between, quite frankly, the academics from former colonist countries and former colonized countries. Part of the reason I focused my thesis on that was because when I was interning at the consulate in Indonesia my American colleagues had no idea why Indonesia didn't want the U.S. Navy plopping down a disease research base in the middle of Jakarta. It was astounding to me that "the colonial boogeymonster" didn't occur to them.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-13 10:54 pm (UTC)And regarding my fascination with faraway places, yes: I've realized now that part of what I crave is what's strange. Unfamiliar things are strange until they become familiar... and then they're not strange. (I've lived for a number of years in Japan, so I've had the experience of strange things transitioning to familiar.) Actually, though, I end up doing the other thing--looking at what's around and seeing it strange. Make the familiar strange. That way I can always have strangeness.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 01:44 pm (UTC)Once you make a habit of it, it's hard to stop.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-21 07:04 am (UTC)-Columbus
no subject
Date: 2009-10-21 01:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-21 01:22 pm (UTC)