Chief Sealth’s letter to
President Franklin Pierce 1854
A Speech by Chief Seattle of the
Dwamish Tribe in 1854
The Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land.
The Great Chief also sends us words of friendship and good will. 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 if we do not so the white man may come
with guns and take our land. What Chief Seattle says you can count on as 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 freshness of 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 shining pine needle, every sandy
shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing, and every humming insect
is holy in the memory and experience of my people.
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
father's graves and his children's birthright is forgotten. The sight of your
cities pains the eyes of the redman. But perhaps it is because the redman is a
savage and does not understand.
There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to listen to
the leaves of spring or the rustle of insect 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 life if a man cannot hear the lovely cry of the whippoorwill
or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night? The Indian prefers the
soft sound of the wind itself cleansed by a mid-day rain, or scented by a pinõn
pine: The air is precious to the redman. For all things share the same breath -
the beasts, the trees, and 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 thousands of rotting buffaloes on the
prairie 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 that we kill only to stay alive. What is man without the beasts? If all
the beasts were gone, men would die from great loneliness of spirit, for
whatever happens to the beast also happens to the man.
All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of
the earth.
Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat. Our warriors
have felt shame. And after defeat they turn their days in idleness 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 children of the great tribes that once lived on
this earth, or that roamed in small bands in the woods will remain to mourn the
graves of the people once as powerful and hopeful as yours.
One thing we know that the white man may one day discover. Our God is
the same God. You may think that you own him as you wish to 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 night
suffocate in your own waste. When the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild
horses all tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many
men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by the talking wires, where is the
thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone. And what is it to say goodbye to the
swift and the hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.
We might understand if we knew what it was the white man dreams, what
hopes he describes to his children 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 hidden, we will go our
own way. If we agree, it will be to secure your reservation you 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 only the shadow of a
cloud passing over the prairie, these shores and forests will still hold the
spirits of my people, for they love this earth as the newborn loves its
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 memory the way the land is as you
take it. And with all your strength, with all your might, and 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. This earth is precious to him. Even the
white man cannot escape the common destiny.
This speech by the Duwamish Chief Sealth, was was reconstructed from the
notes of Dr. Henry A. Smith, who by record was present on the occasion when
Governor Isaac Ingalls Stevens first arrived in Seattle and told the natives
that he had been appointed Commissioner of Indian Affairs for Washington
Territory, an event dated as December, 1854. According to the Seattle Sunday
Times (October 1887), on his deathbed, Smith reaffirmed the speech's
authenticity to Vivian M. Carkeek, who, on his deathbed, told Clark B.
Belknap, who in turn told John M. Rich. See Rich, Seattle's Unanswered
Challenge, p. 45.
Regarding the accuracy of this speech, it seems obvious that Chief
Seattle did not read or write English, but this does not mean he didn't mean
these words albeit spoken in his native tongue. Granted, Dr. Smith was a poet
fluent in English, so yes this poetical rendering would befit the event. To
attack the legitimacy of Chief Seattle's speech is an obvious attempt to attack
the legitimacy of its sentiments by those who deny, demean, and have a
malicious need to otherwise ridicule and demonize such sentiments. Below is a
link to the unquestioned original translation, while the above translation
proves to be of the same vein and authorship but which many speculate occurred
at a different occasion.
Further reading about this speech and the oldest rendering is found at:
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