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THESE ARE THE WORDS OF CHIEF SEALTH (SEATTLE) OF THE SUQUAMISH TRIBE IN
RESPONSE TO AN OFFER FROM PRESIDENT FRANKLIN PIERCE IN 1853 TO PURCHASE
TWO MILLION ACRES OF WHAT IS NOW THE STATE OF WASHINGTON FOR $150,000.
How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is
strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle
of the water how can you buy them? Every part of this earth is sacred to
my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the
dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and
experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries
the memories of the red man.
The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to
walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it
is the mother of the red man. We are part of the earth and it is part of
us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great
eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the flowers in the
meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man - all belong to the same
family.
So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy
our land, he asks too much of us. The Great Chief sends word he will
reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will
be our father and we will be his children. So we will consider your offer
to buy our land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us.
This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water
but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell your land, you must remember
that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and
that each ghostly reflection the clear water of the lake tell of events
and the memories in the life of my people. The water's murmur is the voice
of my father's father.
The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our
canoes, and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember
and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and
you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give my
brother.
We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of
the land is the same as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the
night and takes whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother but his
enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father's
grave behind and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children
and he does not care. His father's grave and his children's birthright are
forgotton. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as
things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His
appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.
I do not know. Our ways are different from your ways. The sight of your
cities pains the eye of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man
is savage and does not understand.
There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to hear the
unfurling of leaves in the spring, or the rustle of an insect's wings. But
perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand. The clatter of
it seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if man cannot hear
the lonely cry of the whipoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a
pond at night? I am a red man and do not understand. The Indian prefers
the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of the pond, and the
smell of the wind itself, cleansed by a midday rain, or scented with a
pinon pine.
The air is precious tho the red man, for all things share the same breath
- the beast, the tree, the man - they all share the same breath. The white
man does not seem to notice the air he breaths. Like a man dying for many
days. He is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must
remember that air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with
all the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first
breath also recieves his last sigh. And if we sell you our land you must
keep it apart and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to
taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow's flowers.
So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I
will make one condition: The white man must treat the beasts of this land
as his brothers.
I am a savage and I do not understand any other way. I have seen a
thousand rotting buffalos on the prarie, left by the white man who shot
them from a passing train. I am a savage and I do not understand how the
smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill
only to stay alive.
What is man without beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die
from a great loneliness of spirit. For wharever happens to the beasts,
soon happens to man. All things are connected.
You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the
ashes of our grandfathers, so that they will respect the land, tell your
children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your
children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother.
Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon
the ground, they spit upon themselves.
This we know: The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth.
This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one
family. All things are conected.
Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man did not
weave the web of life; he is mearly a strand in it. Whatever he does to
the web, he does to himself.
EVen the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to
friend, canot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after
all. We shall see. One thing we know, which the white man may soon
discover - our God is the same God. You may think now that you own Him as
you wish to own our land; but you cannot. He is the God of man, and his
compassion is equal for the red man and the white. The earth is percious
to Him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its Creator. The
whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Contaminate
your bed, and you will one night sufforcate in your own waste.
But in your perishing you will shine brightly, fired by the strength of
God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you
dominion over this land and over the red man. That destiny is a mystery to
us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the
wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the
scent of many men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking
wires. Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone. The end of
living and the beginning of survival.