Fortunate that I was
introduced to this poetic, beautiful and most profound statement on
the environment ever made; the 1854 speech by the “Great White
Chief” in Washington made an offer for large part of Indian land
and promised a “reservation” for the Indian People. The speech
was discussed during my Sustainable Development class – the basic,
yet logical reminder of great importance of the Environment, poetic
and enigmatic in many ways but every word that we are part of the
Earth and it is part of us and desire to protect environment.
ALL SACRED
“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 the Earth
is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore,
every mist in the dark woods, every clear and humming insect is holy
in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses
through the trees carries 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 juices in the
meadows, the body heat of the pony, and the man, all belong to the
same family.
NOT EASY
So, when the Great Chief
in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much
of us. The Great White Chief sends word he will reserve us 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 land.
But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us.
The shining water that
moves in streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our
ancestors. If we sell you land, you must remember that it is sacred
blood of our ancestors. If we sell you land, you must remember it is
sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that
each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of
events in the life of my people. The waters murmur is the voice of my
father’s father.
BROTHERS
The rivers of our
brothers they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes and feed
our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember to teach
your children that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and you
must henceforth give the rivers the kindness that you would give my
brother. We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One
portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger
who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The
Earth is not his brother, but his enemy and when he 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.
BIRTHRIGHT
His father’s grave, and
his children’s birthright are forgotten. He treats his mother, the
Earth, and his brother, the same, as things to be bought, plundered,
sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the Earth
and leave behind only a dessert.
I do not know. Our ways
are different from your ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes
of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a 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 spring, or the rustle of an insect’s wings. But perhaps it is
because I am a savage and do not understand. The clatter only seems
to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear
the lonely cry of a whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around
a pond at night. I am 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 the pinon pine.
PRECIOUS
The air is precious to
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 breathes. Like a man dying for many days,
he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must
remember that the 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 receives 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.
ONE CONDITION
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 do not
understand any other way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on
the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing
train. I am savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse
can be made more important that the buffalo that we kill only to stay
alive.
What is man without the
beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great
loneliness of the spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon
happens to man. All things are connected.
RESPECT
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.
Whatever befalls the
Earth – befalls the sons of the Earth. Man did not weave the web of
life – he is merely 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, cannot be exempt
from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see.
One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover – Our
God is the same God. You may think now that you own Him as you wish
to our land, but you cannot. He is the God of man, and His compassion
is equal for red man and the white. The Earth is precious 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.
But in your perishing you
will shine brightly, fired by the strength of the 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 slaughtered, the wild horses
tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with scent of many men,
and the view of the ripe hills bottled by talking wires.
Where is the thicket?
Gone.
Where is the Eagle? Gone.
“The end of living and
the beginning of survival.”
Chief Seattle
1854
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