"This great continent could not have been kept as nothing but a game preserve for squalid savages," wrote Teddy Roosevelt as the guns fell silent on the plains.
- Vine Deloria, Jr. The World of the American Indian
(Chief Seattle was one of the last spokesmen of the Paleolithic moral order. In about 1852, the United
States government inquired about buying tribal lands for the arriving people of the United States,
and Chief Seatlle wrote a marvelous letter in reply. His letter expresses the need for taking care of the
Earth, as well as all life on the Earth.)
Reprinted from Global Outlook News, which says that Chief Seattle was a native
American "born in the last years of the 18th century." This
speech was given in the early part of the 19th century. It is
particularly poignant to us now.
Chief
Seattle's speech is a beautiful speech. It expresses sentiments that
it is well worth our while to heed. It reminds us of what we have
done to the Native Americans and what we are doing to our land and
natural resources. It expresses a religious faith at sharp variance
with the Christianity that has dominated much
of the world for almost 2,000 years. I feel it deserves inclusion in anyone's
Book of Shadows as a tribute to Mother Earth, and those that revere Her.
A careful reader might entertain doubts about iron horses in the
plains and mass destruction of buffaloes, as told by one who lived in
the Pacific Northwest and died in the 1860's, especially in a speech
alleged to have been "given in the early part of the 19th
century." The doubts are justified. A brilliant piece of
detective work by Dr. Rudolf Kaiser, a professor in a German
"hochschule", gives us a good idea of the provenance of the
speech in its present form. (Much of the ecological material in the
speech dates from the early 1970's.)
The religion of Mother Earth is both ancient and new. It is a reaction
to both Judaeo-Christianity and the technocratic faiths. The Piscean
Age is gone, and the Age of Aquarius is now beginning to come of age.
The Goddess is alive and Magick is afoot as the saying goes. She
never left us. Chief Seattle's Speech is part of the Holy Scripture
of the Wiccan and the God and Goddess..
- Lady Hawkwind
The President in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. But
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 clearing and
humming insect is holy in the memory and experiences of my people.
The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the
red man.
The sap, which courses through the trees, carries the memories of the red man.
We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins.
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. 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 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 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 the
rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell
you land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach
your children that it is sacred and that each reflection in the clear
water of the lakes tells of events and 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 any 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 has conquered
it, he moves on. He leaves his fathers' graves, and his children's
birthright is forgotten. 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 eyes of the red man. But perhaps it is because
I am a savage and do 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.
The clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life
if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill 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 a pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed
by rain or scented with the pine cone.
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 received 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 savage, and I do not understand any other way. I have seen a
thousand rotting buffalos on the prairie, 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 the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would
die from a great loneliness of spirit. For whatever 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.
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 own our land: but you cannot. He is the
God of man, and his compassion is equal for the red man and the
white. This earth is precious to him, and to harm the earth is to
heap contempt upon its Creator.
The whites, too, shall pass; perhaps sooner than all the other tribes.
Contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own
waste. 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 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 out by talking wires. Where is the thicket? Gone. Where
is the eagle? Gone. And what is it to say goodbye to the swift pony and the hunt?
The end of living and the beginning of survival.
When the last Red Man has vanished with his wilderness and his memory is only the shadow
of a cloud moving across the prairie, will these shores and forests still be here? Will there
be any of the spirit of my people left?
We love the Earth as a newborn its mother's heartbeat. So, if we sell you our land, love it as
we loved it. Care for it as we have cared for it. Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when
you receive it. Preserve the land for all children and love it, as God loves us all.
As we are part of the land, you too are part of the land. This Earth is precious to us.
It is also precious to you. One thing we know: there is onlu one God. No man, be he Red Man, or White Man,
can be apart. We are brothers after all.