‘ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED ~

WHATEVER BEFALLS THE EARTHBEFALLS THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF THE EARTH’The Great Chief in Washington sends word, he wishes to buy our land.The Great Chief also sends us words of friendship and good will.It’s kind of him since we know he has little need of our friendship in return.But we will consider your offer, for we know if we do not do so,the white man may come with guns and take our land.What Chief Sealth says, the Great Chief in Washington can count onas truly as our white brothers can count on the return of the seasons.My words are like the stars ~ they do not set.How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land?The idea is strange to us. Yet we do not own the freshnessof the air or the sparkle of the water.How can you buy them from us? We will decide in our time.Every part of this Earth is sacred to my people. Every shiningpine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods,every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memoryand experience of my people. We know that the white mandoes not understand our ways. One portion of the land isthe same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comesin the night and takes from the land whatever he needs ~The earth is not his brother, but his enemy and when hehas conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his fathers’ gravesand his children’s birthright is forgotten.The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the redman. But perhapsit is because the redman is a savage and does not understand ~There is no quiet place in the white man’s citiesNo place to hear the leaves of spring or the rustle of insects’ wings.But perhaps because I am a savage and do not understand ~the clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to lifeif a man cannot hear the lovely cry of a whippoorwillor the arguments of frogs around a pond at night?The Indian prefers the soft sound of the winddarting over the face of the pond, and the smell of the wind itselfcleansed by a mid-day rain, or scented with a pinon pine.The air is precious to the redman for all things sharethe same breath, the beasts, the trees, the man.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.If I 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 buffalo bodies left by the white manwho shot them from a passing train.I am a savage and I do not understandhow the smoking iron horse can be more importantthan the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.What is man without the beasts?If all the beasts were gone men would die from great lonelinessof spirit, for whatever happens to the beast also happens to man.All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earthbefalls the sons and daughters of the earth.Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat.Our warriors have felt shame. And after defeat, they turn their days toidleness and contaminate their bodies with sweet food 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 childrenof the great tribes that once lived on this earth, or that roamedin small bands in the woods will be left to mourn the gravesof a people once as powerful and hopeful as ours.One thing we know which the white man may one day discover Our Godis the same God. You may think now that you own him as you wishto own our land. But you cannot. He is the body of man.And his compassion is equal for the redman and the white.This 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 other tribes.Continue to contaminate your bed and you will one nightsuffocate in your own waste. When the buffalo are all slaughtered,the wild horses all tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy withthe scent of many men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talkingwires, where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone.And what is to say goodbye to the swift and the hunt, the end of livingand the beginning of survival ~ We might understand if we knewwhat it was that the white man dreams, what hopes he describes to hischildren on long winter nights, what visions he burns into their minds,so they will wish for tomorrow. But we are savages.The white man’s dreams are hidden from us. And because they are hiddenwe will go on our own way. If we agree, it will be to secure our reservationyou have promised. There perhaps we may live out our brief days as we wish.When the last redman has vanished from the earth and the memory is onlythe shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, these shores and forests willstill hold the spirits of my people for they love this earth as the new born lovesits mother’s heartbeat. 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 might andwith 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. The earth is precious to Him.Even the white man cannot be exempt from the common destiny.~This letter written in 1885 was sent to President Franklin Pierceby Chief Sealth of the Duwamish tribe of the State of Washington.It concerns the proposed purchase of the tribe’s land. Seattle is analteration of the Chief’s name; it’s built in the heart of Duwamish land.