Chief Seattle - Poglavica Sijetla

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Chief Seattle's Letter To All The People

[ Procitajte: MOZDA SMO, IPAK, BRACA ]

 

Chief Seattle, Chief of the Suquamish Indians allegedly wrote to the American Government in the 1800's - In this letter he gave the most profound understanding of God in all Things. Here is his letter, which should be instilled in the hearts and minds of every parent and child in all the Nations of the World:

"The President in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. But how can you buy or sell the sky? 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 meadow, every humming insect. All are holy in the memory and experience of my people.

We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters. The bear, the deer, the great eagle, these are our brothers.

The rocky crests, the dew in the meadow, the body heat of the pony, and man all belong to the same family.

The shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water, but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you must remember that it is sacred. Each glossy reflection in the clear waters 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. They carry our canoes and feed our children. So you must give the rivers the kindness that you would give any brother.

If we sell you our land, remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life that it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also received his last sigh. The wind also gives our children the spirit of life. So if we sell our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow flowers.

Will you teach your children what we have taught our children? That the earth is our mother? What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth.

This we know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. 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.

One thing we know: our God is also your God. The earth is precious to him and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator.

Your destiny is a mystery to us. What will happen when the buffalo are all slaughtered? The wild horses tamed? What will happen when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills is blotted with talking wires? Where will the thicket be? Gone! Where will the eagle be? Gone! And what is to say goodbye to the swift pony and then hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.

When the last red man has vanished with this 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 this earth as a 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 receive it. Preserve the land for all children, and love it, as God loves us.

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 only one God. No man, be he Red man or White man, can be apart. We ARE all brothers after all."

 

Poglavica Sijetla

 

Poglavica Seattle (oko 1780. – 7. lipnja 1866.) je bio poglavica plemena Duwamish. Grad Seattle, u državi Washington, je dobio ime po njemu. Poznat je po svom govoru (pismu), američkom predsjedniku Franklinu Piercu, kao odgovor na ponudu da bijelci kupe indijansku zemlju. Pismo indijanskog poglavice Seattlea se ubraja medu najljepše i najdublje misli koje su ikada izrečene o čovjekovoj prirodi.

Njegove riječi su ušle u historiju.

Indijanskom poglavici Seattle posvećen je Svjetski dan zaštite okolinea – 5. juna.

 

MOZDA SMO, IPAK, BRACA

Oslobodjenje, NEDJALJA, Sarajevo, 21.5.1989

"Knjizevna revija" iz Sarajeva, list za knjizevnost, umjetnost, kulturu i drustvena pitanja, svoj najnoviji broj u cijelosti je posvetila ekologiji. Ovim ce ostati zacudjeni samo oni koji su vec davno prestali da zive od zanosa sto ga stvara dusa i priroda sama, ali se zato onima sto jos tragaju za izgubljenom harmonijom biti moguci putokaz. Izdvojili smo, ovom prilikom pismo poglavice Sijetla, koje je on 1854. godine uputio tadasnjem americkom predsjedniku Frenklinu Pirsu kao odgovor na njegov prijedlog da se otkupi veliko podrucje indijanske zemlje u zamjenu za rezervat. "To njegovo pismo predstavlja najuniverzalniju poruku cijelom ljudskom rodu, koju moraju uvazavati s duznim postovanjem sve filozofije, ideologije i pokreti" - napisao je u ovom casopisu Milorad Kovacevic, od koga je istovremeno potekla i inicijativa da se osnuje najvece svjetsko ekolosko priznanje za zastitu prirode i ocuvanje okolisa pod nazivom "Poglavica Sijetla", koje bi se dodjeljivalo pod pokroviteljstvom UNEP-a ( Program ujedinjenih naroda za okolis ). Ne dopustimo da ostane sam, jer nam je bar san zajednicki!
M.H.

Slijedi prijevod pisma:

Kako se moze kupiti ili prodati nebo i toplina zemlje? Takvo sto sasvim nam je strano. Mi ne posjedujemo svjezinu zraka i bistrinu vode, pa kako ih mozete kupiti?

Svaki je djelic ove zemlje svet mom narodu. Svaka blistava borova iglica, svako zrno pijeska na rijecnom sprudu, svaka maglica u tami sume, svaka majusna buba, sveti su u mislima i zivotu mog naroda. Sokovi u drvecu prozeti su sjecanjima na crvenog covjeka.

Kad mrtvi bljedolikog odu u setnju medju zvijezde, zaboravljaju zemlju koja im je dala zivot. Nasi mrtvi nikada ne zaborave svoju predivnu zemlju, jer ona je mati crvenoga covjeka. Dio sam zemlje, i ona je dio nas. Mirisne trave su nam sestre, jelen, pastuh, veliki orao – braca su nam. Stjenoviti vrhunci, socni pasnjaci, toplo tijelo ponija i covjek – sve pripada istoj porodici.

Kad veliki poglavica iz Vasingtona salje svoj glas da zeli kupiti nasu zemlju, previse od nas trazi. Veliki poglavica porucuje da ce nam pronaci mjesto na kojem cemo lijepo zivjeti. On ce nam biti otac, mi njemu djeca. Razmotrit cemo tu ponudu da kupite nasu zemlju. Ali, nece to biti lahko. Ova je nama zemlja sveta.

Ova blistava voda sto tece brzacima i rijekama nije samo voda, vec krv nasih predaka. Ako vam prodamo zemlju, morate se sjetiti da je ova voda sveta, morate reci svojoj djeci da je sveta, da svaki odraz u bistrom jezeru kazuje dogadjaje i uspomene iz zivota moga naroda. Zubor vode glas je mog oca. Rijeke su nasa braca, utazuju nam zedj. Rijeke nose nase kanue, hrane nam djecu. Prodamo li vam ovu zemlju, morate se sjetiti i uciti svoju djecu da su rijeke nasa, a i vasa braca. Zato rijekama morate pruziti dobrotu kakvu biste bratu pruzili.

Znamo da nas bijeli covjek ne razumije. Njemu je jedan dio zemlje isti kao i bilo koji drugi. On je stranac sto dodje nocu i oduzme zemlju i sve sto mu treba. Zemlja mu nije brat, vec neprijatelj, kad je pokori, on krece dalje. Ostavlja za sobom grobove svojih otaca i ne mari zbog toga. Oduzima zemlju svojoj djeci i nije ga briga. Grobovi njegovih otaca i zemlja sto mu djecu rodi – ostaju zaboravljeni. Prema majci – zemlji i prema bratu – nebu odnosi se kao prema stvarima sto se mogu kupiti, opljackati, prodati poput stoke ili sjajnog nakita. Njegova ce pohlepa unistiti zemlju i za sobom ostaviti samo pustos.

Ne znam. Nas se nacin zivota razlikuje od vaseg. Od pogleda na vase gradove crvenog covjeka zabole oci. To je mozda zato sto je crveni covjek divlji i ne razumije stvari. U gradovima bijeloga covjeka nema mirnog kutka. Nema mjesta na kojem bi se culo ostvarenje lisca u proljece ili drhtaj krilca u musice. Mozda zato sto sam divlji naprosto ne shvacam. Buka mi vrijedja usi. Sto li vrijedi zivot ako covjek ne moze cuti usamljeni krik kozoroga ili nocnu prepirku zaba u bari? Ja sam crveni covjek i ne razumijem mnogo …

Indijanac voli mehki zvuk vjetra kad se poigrava povrsinom mocvare i miris povjetarca, osvjezen podnevnom kisom ili borovinom.

Najvece blago crvenoga covjeka jest zrak. Sve zivo dijeli isti dah – zivotinja, drvo, covjek. Svima je taj dah potreban. Bijeli covjek kao da ne opaza zrak koji udise. Poput nekoga ko je dugo na samrti, imun je na smrad. Prodamo li vam svoju zemlju, morate se sjetiti da nam zrak dijeli svoj dah sa svim zivotom koji odrzava.

Vjetar sto je mome djedu dao prvi dah prihvatit ce i njegov posljednji uzdah. Ako vam prodamo zemlju, morate je cuvati kao svetinju, kao mjesto na koje ce bijeli covjek moci da udahne vjetar, zasladjen mirisom poljskog cvijeca.

Razmotrit cemo vasu ponudu da kupite zemlju. Odlucimo li da pristanemo, zahtjevat cu da ispunite ovaj uslov: bijeli covjek se mora ophoditi prema zivotinjama ovog kraja kao prema svojoj braci! Divlji sam i ne razumijem drugaciji zivot. Vidio sam po preriji hiljade bufala koje je bljedoliki ostavio, ustrijelivsi ih iz jureceg zeljeznog konja. Divlji sam i ne razumijem kako zeljezni konj iz kojeg suklja dim moze biti vazniji od bufala kojeg mi ubijamo samo da bi smo prezivjeli.

Sta je covjek bez zivotinja? Kad bi zivotinja nestalo, covjek bi umro od velike usamljenosti duha. Sta god zadesi zivotinje, ubrzo snadje i covjeka. Sve je na svijetu povezano.

Morat cete uciti svoju djecu da im je pod nogama pepeo nasih djedova. Da bi postovali zemlju, kazat cete da je zemlja bogata zivotom nasih predaka.

Morat cete uciti svoju djecu isto sto i mi ucimo svoju – da nam je zemlja majka. Sto snadje zemlju, snadje i njenu djecu. Pljuje li covjek na zemlju, pljuje na sebe sama.

Zemlja ne pripada covjeku. Covjek pripada zemlji. To dobro znamo. Sve je u medjusobnoj vezi, kao sto je porodica sjedinjena krvlju. Sve je povezano. Nije covjek tvorac tkanine zivota, vec samo nit u njoj. Sta uradi sa tkaninom cini i sa sobom.

Cak ni bijeli covjek, ciji bog kroci i govori s njime kao prijatelj s prijateljem, nece izbjeci zajednickoj sudbini. Mozda smo ipak braca. Vidjet cemo. Jedno znamo zasigurno, a to ce i bjeli covjek jednom morati shvatiti: nas bog je isti bog. Mozda mislite da i njega mozete posjedovati, kao sto se spremate da uzmete cijelu nasu zemlju. Ali, necete! On je bog ljudi I njegova je milost jednaka za crvenog i za bijelog covjeka. Ova je zemlja njemu sve. Oskrnaviti je isto je sto i prezirati njenog stvoritelja. Bijelih ce ljudi nestati: mozda cak i prije no ostalih plemena.

Prljajte samo svoj lezaj i jedne cete se noci udaviti u vlastitom izmetu. U svome cete nestajanju plamtjeti u ognju boga koji vas je doveo ovamo i nekom neobjasnjivom nakanom dao vam vlast nad ovom zemljom i crvenim covjekom. Takva se sudbina nama cini bjednom.

Ne razumijemo zasto se ubija bufalo, zasto se krote divlji konji, zasto je u dubini sume toliko ljudskog vonja, zasto je pogled na zelene brijegove rastrgan zicama sto govore. Gdje su gustici? Nema ih vise.

Gdje je orao? Otisao.

Pravom zivljenju je kraj. Nastupa borba za opstanak.

"To mi znamo: zemlja ne pripada čovjeku; čovjek pripada zemlji"


 

 

Originally published in the Seattle Sunday Star, Oct. 29 1887

Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion upon my people for centuries untold, and which to us appears changeless and eternal, may change. Today is fair. Tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the stars that never change. Whatever Seattle says, the great chief at Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the return of the sun or the seasons. The white chief says that Big Chief at Washington sends us greetings of friendship and goodwill. This is kind of him for we know he has little need of our friendship in return. His people are many. They are like the grass that covers vast prairies. My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain. The great, and I presume - good, White Chief sends us word that he wishes to buy our land but is willing to allow us enough to live comfortably. This indeed appears just, even generous, for the Red Man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, as we are no longer in need of an extensive country.

There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory. I will not dwell on, nor mourn over, our untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers with hastening it, as we too may have been somewhat to blame.

Youth is impulsive. When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, it denotes that their hearts are black, and that they are often cruel and relentless, and our old men and old women are unable to restrain them. Thus it has ever been. Thus it was when the white man began to push our forefathers ever westward. But let us hope that the hostilities between us may never return. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Revenge by young men is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old [men who stay] at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose, know better.

Our good father in Washington-for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since King George has moved his boundaries further north-our great and good father, I say, sends us word that if we do as he desires he will protect us. His brave warriors will be to us a bristling wall of strength, and his wonderful ships of war will fill our harbors, so that our ancient enemies far to the northward - the Haidas and Tsimshians - will cease to frighten our women, children, and old men. Then in reality he will be our father and we his children.

But can that ever be? Your God is not our God! Your God loves your people and hates mine! He folds his strong protecting arms lovingly about the paleface and leads him by the hand as a father leads an infant son. But, He has forsaken His Red children, if they really are His. Our God, the Great Spirit, seems also to have forsaken us. Your God makes your people wax stronger every day. Soon they will fill all the land. Our people are ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide that will never return. The white man's God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers? How can your God become our God and renew our prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness? If we have a common Heavenly Father He must be partial, for He came to His paleface children. We never saw Him. He gave you laws but had no word for His red children whose teeming multitudes once filled this vast continent as stars fill the firmament. No; we are two distinct races with separate origins and separate destinies. There is little in common between us.

To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tablets of stone by the iron finger of your God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could never comprehend or remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors - the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people. Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered vales and verdant lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them. Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fled the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the morning sun. However, your proposition seems fair and I think that my people will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them. Then we will dwell apart in peace, for the words of the Great White Chief seem to be the words of nature speaking to my people out of dense darkness.

It matters little where we pass the remnant of our days. They will not be many. The Indian's night promises to be dark. Not a single star of hope hovers above his horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Grim fate seems to be on the Red Man's trail, and wherever he will hear the approaching footsteps of his fell destroyer and prepare stolidly to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter.

A few more moon, a few more winters, and not one of the descendants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to mourn over the graves of a people once more powerful and hopeful than yours. But why should I mourn at the untimely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We will see.

We will ponder your proposition and when we decide we will let you know. But should we accept it, I here and now make this condition that we will not be denied the privilege without molestation of visiting at any time the tombs of our ancestors, friends, and children. Ever part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves, fond mothers, glad, happy hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season, will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits. And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land. The White Man will never be alone. Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless.

 

Chief Seattle's speech ( by Mark Sawalha )


 

 

 

Vanjske linkovi

  1. [1] "Chief Si'ahl and His Family" 2009.
  2. [2] Hrvatski povijesni portal;Povijest.net
  • [3] Najljepši zapis o Zemlji; Advance.hr
  • [4] "Počinje borba za opstanak"; Udruga-kameleon.hr
  • [5] "Svijet oko nas - priroda"; Priroda.blog.hr
  • [6] "Pismo indijanskog poglavice Seattle"; Orbus.be
  • [7] "Pismo indijanskog poglavice Seattle-a iz 1854. godine"; hr-hr.facebook.hr

Please check them out to Educate Yo'self.

"CHIEF SEATTLE'S 1854 ORATION" - ver . 1

Chief Seattle on the Internet

Chief Seattle - More Data

"Thus Spoke Chief Seattle: The Story of An Undocumented Speech"

Download PDF: Chief-Seattles-Letter-to-the-American-President

Download PDF: Chief-Seattle-Letter_02

Download PDF: Myth-of-Chief-Seattle

Download PDF: Chief-Seattle-s-Speech-Revisited

 

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