영문으로 봅시다...
아주 감동적인 글이라서 저도 아주 오래전 부터 읽었었지요...

Chief Seattleadxx01s Thoughts

How can you buy or 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?

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 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.

The white manadxx01s dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the
stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother 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 word that he wishes to buy our land, he
asks much of us. The Great Chief sends word he will reserve us a place so that we
can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children.

So, we will consider your offer to buy our land. But it will not be easy. For this land is
sacred to us. This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water
but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you the land, you must remember that it is
sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly
reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my
people. The wateradxx01s murmur is the voice of my fatheradxx01s 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.

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 fatheradxx01s grave behind, and he does not
care. He kidnaps the earth from his children, and he does not care. His fatheradxx01s grave,
and his childrenadxx01s 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 than your ways. The sight of your cities pains
the eyes of the red man. There is no quiet place in the white manadxx01s cities. No place to
hear the unfurling of leaves in spring or the rustle of the insectadxx01s wings. The clatter
only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely
cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around the 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 a pond and the smell of the wind itself, cleaned by a midday rain, or
scented with 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 land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, 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 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 meadowadxx01s 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 beasts 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 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 made more
important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.

What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a
great loneliness of the 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 that we have taught our children that the
earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of earth. If men spit
upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.

This we know; the earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we
know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are
connected.

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 on its creator. The
whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Contaminate your bed and
you will one night suffocate in your own waste.

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 buffalo 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.

The end of living and the beginning of survival.