Chief Seattle Speaks

The Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land.

The Great Chief also sends us words of friendship, and goodwill. This is kind of him since we know he has little need of our friendship in return. But we will consider your offer, For we know that if we do not sell, the white man may come with guns and take our land.

How can you 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?

E very 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.

...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 man -all belong to the same family.

So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends us word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us...

...This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water but is the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you must teach your children that it is sacred, and that each ghostly reflection on 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...

...How can you sell the sky, the warmth of the Land? The idea is strange to us. The Earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father's graves behind, and does not care. He kidnaps the Earth from his children. He does not care. His father's graves and his children’s birthright are 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 eye 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 the 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 the whipporwill 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 the pinon pine.

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 1and, you must remember that the air is precious, too, 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 the wind must also give our children the spirit of life. 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 beast 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 pra1rie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo we kill only to stay alive.

What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, men 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. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.

This we know. The Earth does not belong to man; man belongs to Earth. This we know. All things are connected.

Whatever befalls the Earth befalls the sons of the Earth. Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

But we will consider your offer to go to the reservation you have for my people. We will live apart, and in peace. It matters little where we spend the rest of our days. Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat. Our warriors have felt shame, and after defeat they turn their days to idleness and contaminate their bodies with sweet foods and strong drink.

It matters little where we pass the rest of our days. They are not many. A few more hours, a few more winters, and none of the children of the great tribes that once lived on this Earth or that roam now in small bands in. the woods will be left to mourn the graves of a people once as powerful and hopeful as yours.

But why should I mourn the passing of my people? Tribes are made of men, nothing more. Men come and go, like the waves of the sea.

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. The 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 other tribes. Continue to contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own wastes.

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 buffaloes 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. And what is it to say goodbye to the swift pony and the hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.

So, we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we agree, it will be to secure the reservation you have promised. There, perhaps, we may Iive our brief days as we wish. When the last red man has vanished from this Earth; and his memory is only a shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, these shores and forests will still hold the spirits of my people. For they love the Earth as the newborn loves its mother's heartbeat.

So if we sell you our land, love it as we have 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 take it. And with all your strength, with all your mind, with all your heart, preserve it for your children and love it. As God loves us all.

One thing we know. Our God is the same God. This Earth is precious to Him. Even the white man cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all.

We shall see.

~Chief Seattle

This speech was delivered in 1854 by the chief of the Suquamish tribe to mark the transferal of ancestral Indian lands to the United States government.

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