Allegory of the Cave
Chapter 1: Shadows The great Indian chief Seattle
Seattle is a great Indian leader and Suquamish tribes Dumawish best known for his speech in 1854 during negotiations with the U.S. Government United, in which he expressed his refusal to sell Indian lands.
Seattle was born in 1786 on a small island south of Brainbridge Island, during the terrible epidemic, the legacy of white settlers, who annihilated the indigenous population.
When he was between twenty and twenty-five years, Seattle was named head of six tribes, a title he held until his death in 1866.
Seattle is the spokesperson for the negotiations (begun in 1854) and the signatory with other Indian leaders, the peace treaty of Point Elliott - Mukilteo (1855) that yielded 2.5 million acres of land in State Government U.S. and delimited the territory of a reserve for the Suquamish.
following his speech to the Assembly of the tribes of North America in 1854:
"The Great Chief in Washington has expressed its desire to buy our land. The Grand Chief has expressed his friendship and his caring feelings. He is very generous, because we know he did not need our friendship in return.
However, we will consider your offer because we know that if we do not sell, the white man will come with guns and will take our land.
But can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the earth? Strange idea for us!
If we do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water, how can you buy it? The
every corner of this land is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every scarf of mist in the dark woods, every clearing, buzzing insects, all that is sacred in the memory and life of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man.
The dead white men, when they wander among the stars, forget their homeland. Our dead never forget the beauty of this land, because she is the mother of the red man, we're part of this land as it belongs to us.
The perfumed flowers are our sisters, the deer, the horse, the great eagle are our brothers, the mountain ridges, the juices of the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man himself, all belong to the same family.
So when he asks us to buy our land, Grand Chief Washington requires a lot of us.
Grand Chief has assured us that we would book a corner where we could live comfortably, we and our children, and it would be our father and we his children.
We will consider your offer to buy our land, but it will not be easy, because this land for us is sacred.
The sparkling water of streams and rivers is not water only, it is the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you will need to remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children and teach them that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of the past and the memories of my people. The murmur of the water 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 will need to remember that rivers are our brothers and yours, and teach your children and you must now show them the kindness that you would for a brother.
The red man has always retreated before the white man, as the mist of the mountains fled before the rising sun. But the ashes of our fathers are sacred. Their graves are holy ground, so these hills, these trees, this corner of the earth are sacred to us. We know that the white man does not understand our thoughts. For him, a piece of land worth another because it is the foreigner who comes at night to plunder the earth according to its needs. The soil is not his brother but his enemy, and when he has conquered, he continued his journey. He left behind the graves of their fathers and do not care.
You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of our grandparents. So they respect it, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our people. Teach your children what we teach our children that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the son of the earth. When men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.
We know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to earth. We know that all things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.
Everything that happens to the earth befalls the son of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life, there is a thread of tissue. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
But we will consider your offer to go to the reservation that you intend for my people. We will live apart and in peace. No matter where we spend the rest of our days. Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat. Our warriors have experienced the shame of defeat after they sank days idle and defile their bodies with sweet foods and strong drink. No matter where we spend the rest of our days? They are more numerous. A few more hours, a few winters, and there will be no more children of the great tribes that once lived on this land, or who still wander in the woods in small groups, none will be there to weep over the graves of a people once so powerful, so full of hope as yours. But why mourn the passing of my people? Tribes are made of men, not more. Men come and go, like waves of the sea
Even the white man, whose God walks with him and talks like a friend with his friend, can not escape the common destiny. Maybe we are still brothers, and we'll see. But we know one thing that the white man may discover one day, our God is the same God. Although you think now that you have as you would like to own our land, you can not do. He is the God of men, and compassion is the same for the red man and white man.
Land is precious in his eyes, which harms the earth covering the creator of contempt. The whites will go, too, and perhaps before the other tribes. Continue to contaminate your bed, and a nice night, you suffocate in your own waste.
But in your loss, you will shine bright lights, lit by the power of God who brought you into this country, and who, for a purpose known to him, gave you power on this earth and the red man. That destiny is a mystery to us, we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses tamed, when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the smell of many men, the appearance of hills ripe for harvest is damaged by the cables talking.
Where is the thicket? Disappeared. Where is the eagle? There is no more. What say goodbye to the pony and agile for hunting? It's finally live and get to survive.
So we will consider your offer to buy our land. And if we accept, for it will be well assured of receiving the reservation you have promised. Here, perhaps, we can finish the brief days we have left to live according to our desires. And when the last red man has vanished from this earth, and that his memory will be only a shadow of a cloud rolling prairie, these shores and forests still houses the spirits of my people. For they love this earth as the newborn loves the beat of the heart his mother. So if we sell you our land, love it as we loved. Take care of it as we have taken care.
Keep in mind the memory of this country, as when you take it. And with all your strength and with all your mind, with all your heart, preserve it for your children and love him as God loves you all.
One thing we know: our God is the same God. He loves this land. The white man himself can not escape the common destiny. Maybe we are brothers, we'll see. "
the Seattle was born in 1786 on a small island south of Brainbridge Island, during the terrible epidemic, the legacy of white settlers, who annihilated the indigenous population.
When he was between twenty and twenty-five years, Seattle was named head of six tribes, a title he held until his death in 1866.
Seattle is the spokesperson for the negotiations (begun in 1854) and the signatory with other Indian leaders, the peace treaty of Point Elliott - Mukilteo (1855) that yielded 2.5 million acres of land in State Government U.S. and delimited the territory of a reserve for the Suquamish.
following his speech to the Assembly of the tribes of North America in 1854:
"The Great Chief in Washington has expressed its desire to buy our land. The Grand Chief has expressed his friendship and his caring feelings. He is very generous, because we know he did not need our friendship in return.
However, we will consider your offer because we know that if we do not sell, the white man will come with guns and will take our land.
But can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the earth? Strange idea for us!
If we do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water, how can you buy it? The
every corner of this land is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every scarf of mist in the dark woods, every clearing, buzzing insects, all that is sacred in the memory and life of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man.
The dead white men, when they wander among the stars, forget their homeland. Our dead never forget the beauty of this land, because she is the mother of the red man, we're part of this land as it belongs to us.
The perfumed flowers are our sisters, the deer, the horse, the great eagle are our brothers, the mountain ridges, the juices of the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man himself, all belong to the same family.
So when he asks us to buy our land, Grand Chief Washington requires a lot of us.
Grand Chief has assured us that we would book a corner where we could live comfortably, we and our children, and it would be our father and we his children.
We will consider your offer to buy our land, but it will not be easy, because this land for us is sacred.
The sparkling water of streams and rivers is not water only, it is the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you will need to remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children and teach them that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of the past and the memories of my people. The murmur of the water 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 will need to remember that rivers are our brothers and yours, and teach your children and you must now show them the kindness that you would for a brother.
The red man has always retreated before the white man, as the mist of the mountains fled before the rising sun. But the ashes of our fathers are sacred. Their graves are holy ground, so these hills, these trees, this corner of the earth are sacred to us. We know that the white man does not understand our thoughts. For him, a piece of land worth another because it is the foreigner who comes at night to plunder the earth according to its needs. The soil is not his brother but his enemy, and when he has conquered, he continued his journey. He left behind the graves of their fathers and do not care.
You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of our grandparents. So they respect it, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our people. Teach your children what we teach our children that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the son of the earth. When men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.
We know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to earth. We know that all things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.
Everything that happens to the earth befalls the son of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life, there is a thread of tissue. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
But we will consider your offer to go to the reservation that you intend for my people. We will live apart and in peace. No matter where we spend the rest of our days. Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat. Our warriors have experienced the shame of defeat after they sank days idle and defile their bodies with sweet foods and strong drink. No matter where we spend the rest of our days? They are more numerous. A few more hours, a few winters, and there will be no more children of the great tribes that once lived on this land, or who still wander in the woods in small groups, none will be there to weep over the graves of a people once so powerful, so full of hope as yours. But why mourn the passing of my people? Tribes are made of men, not more. Men come and go, like waves of the sea
Even the white man, whose God walks with him and talks like a friend with his friend, can not escape the common destiny. Maybe we are still brothers, and we'll see. But we know one thing that the white man may discover one day, our God is the same God. Although you think now that you have as you would like to own our land, you can not do. He is the God of men, and compassion is the same for the red man and white man.
Land is precious in his eyes, which harms the earth covering the creator of contempt. The whites will go, too, and perhaps before the other tribes. Continue to contaminate your bed, and a nice night, you suffocate in your own waste.
But in your loss, you will shine bright lights, lit by the power of God who brought you into this country, and who, for a purpose known to him, gave you power on this earth and the red man. That destiny is a mystery to us, we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses tamed, when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the smell of many men, the appearance of hills ripe for harvest is damaged by the cables talking.
Where is the thicket? Disappeared. Where is the eagle? There is no more. What say goodbye to the pony and agile for hunting? It's finally live and get to survive.
So we will consider your offer to buy our land. And if we accept, for it will be well assured of receiving the reservation you have promised. Here, perhaps, we can finish the brief days we have left to live according to our desires. And when the last red man has vanished from this earth, and that his memory will be only a shadow of a cloud rolling prairie, these shores and forests still houses the spirits of my people. For they love this earth as the newborn loves the beat of the heart his mother. So if we sell you our land, love it as we loved. Take care of it as we have taken care.
Keep in mind the memory of this country, as when you take it. And with all your strength and with all your mind, with all your heart, preserve it for your children and love him as God loves you all.
One thing we know: our God is the same God. He loves this land. The white man himself can not escape the common destiny. Maybe we are brothers, we'll see. "
Photo Copyright © Edward C. Curtis
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