Letter from Chief Seattle to President Franklin Pierce
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Letter from Chief Seattle to President Franklin Pierce
IN THE YEAR 1854, THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, FRANKLIN PIERCE, MADE AN INDIGENOUS TRIBE TO PROPOSAL TO PURCHASE A GREAT PART OF THEIR LAND, OFFERING, IN COUNTERPART, THE CONCESSION OF ANOTHER "RESERVE". THE TEXT OF CHIEF SEATLE'S RESPONSE, DISTRIBUTED BY THE UN (ENVIRONMENT PROGRAM) AND PUBLISHED HERE, HAS BEEN CONSIDERED, THROUGHOUT THE TIMES, AS ONE OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL AND DEEP PRONOUNCEMENTS EVER MADE REGARDING ENVIRONMENTAL DEFENSE.
How can you buy or sell the sky, the heat of the earth?
This idea seems strange to us. If we don't have the freshness of the air and the shine of the water, how is it possible to buy them?
Every piece of this land is sacred to my people. Every gleaming branch of a pine tree, every handful of sand on the beaches, the dimness in the dense forest, every clearing and humming insect is sacred in the memory and experience of my people. The sap that runs through the body of the trees carries with it the memories of the red man. The white man's dead forget their homeland when they go to walk among the stars.
Our dead never forget this beautiful land, for she is the mother of the red man. We are part of the land and it is part of us. The fragrant flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, are our brothers. The rocky peaks, the wet juices in the meadows, the heat of the foal's body, and the man – all belong to the same family.
So when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wants to buy our land, he asks a lot of us. The Great Chief says he will reserve us a place where we can live contentedly. He will be our father and we will be his children. Therefore, we will consider your offer to buy our land.
But that will not be easy. This land is sacred to us. This glistening water flowing in streams and rivers is not just water, but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you the land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that every reflection in the clear waters of the lakes speaks to events and memories in the lives of my people.
The murmur of the waters is the voice of my ancestors. The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. Rivers carry our canoes and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remind and teach your children that the rivers are our brothers, and yours too. And, therefore, you must give the rivers the kindness that you would do to any brother.
We know the white man does not understand our customs. A portion of land, for him, has the same meaning as any other, as he is an outsider who comes at night and extracts from the land what he needs. The land is not his sister, but his enemy, and when he conquers it, he goes on his way. Leave the tombs of your ancestors behind and don't bother. He kidnaps from the earth what would belong to his children and he doesn't care. His father's grave and his children's rights are forgotten. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things that can be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or colorful ornaments. Your appetite will devour the land, leaving only a desert.
I don't know, our customs are different from yours. The sight of their cities hurts the red man's eyes. Maybe it's because the red man is a savage and doesn't understand.
There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place where you can hear the unfurling of spring leaves or the flutter of an insect's wings. But maybe it's because I'm a savage and I don't understand. The noise only seems to insult the ears.
And what is left of life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of a bird or the debate of frogs around a pond at night? I'm a red man and I don't understand. The Indian prefers the soft murmur of the wind rippling the face of the lake, and the wind itself, cleansed by a daytime rain or scented by pine trees.
Air is precious to the red man, as all things share the same breath, the animal, the tree, the man, all share the same breath. It seems that the white man does not feel the air he breathes. Like a man who has been dying for days, he is insensitive to the stench. But if we sell our land to the white man, he must remember that air is precious to us, that air shares its spirit with every life it sustains. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also received his last breath. If we sell you our land, you must keep it intact and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go and taste the wind sweetened by the flowers in the meadows.
So let's mull over your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will impose a condition: the white man must treat the animals of this land as his brothers. I'm a savage and I don't understand any other way to act. I saw a thousand buffaloes rotting on the plain, abandoned by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I'm a savage and I don't understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo, which we sacrifice just to stay alive.
What is man without animals? If all the animals were gone, man would die of a great loneliness of spirit. For what happens to animals, soon happens to man. There is a connection in Everything.
You must teach your children that the ground at their feet is our grandparents' ashes. To respect the land, tell your children that it has been enriched with the lives of our people. Teach your children, what we teach ours, that the earth is our mother. Everything that happens to the earth will happen to its children of the earth. If men spit on the ground, they are spitting on themselves.
This we know: the land does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth.
This we know: all things are linked like the blood that binds a family together. There is a connection in Everything. What happens to the earth will fall on the children of the earth. Man did not weave the fabric of life; he is simply one of your threads. Everything you do to fabric will do to itself.
But when your disappearance, you will shine brightly, illuminated by the strength of the God who brought you to this earth and for some special reason gave you dominion over the earth and over the red man. This fate is a mystery to us, for we do not understand that all the buffaloes are exterminated, the wild horses are all tamed, the secret corners of the dense forest permeated with the scent of many men, and the view of the hills obstructed by talking wires.
Where is the grove? It disappeared.
Where is the eagle? It disappeared.
It's the end of life and the beginning of survival.
Public domain text distributed by the UN