Chief Seattle

"Chief Seattle's 1854 Oration" That Sky has wept Tears of compassion Upon my People, for centuries untold To us appearing changeless and Eternal Today fair, tomorrow, overcast and cold. My Words are like the Stars, neverchanging Whatever Seattle says can be relied upon Like the return of Sun or the Seasons By that Great White Chief in Washington. That Big Chief sends Greetings of Friendship Along with his People’s wishes of Goodwill That is kind of him for we know he has no need Of our Friendship in return or of our own good will. His People are many, like grasses on the Prairie In endless row after row like the waving grain While my people are few and far between We resemble the scattering trees on a storm-swept Plain The Great and I presume – Good, White Chief Sends his word, he wishes to buy our Land Allowing us enough to live comfortably In this Great Nation the White Man has planned. This indeed appears just, and even generous For the Red Man no longer have rights he need respect The offer may also be wise, as we no longer need Such an extensive Country, in my retrospect. There was a time our People covered the Land As a Wind-ruffled Sea over a Shell-paved floor But that Time has long since passed away The Greatness of the Tribes, a mournful memory of yore. I will not dwell on, nor mourn over our decay Nor will I reproach our paleface brothers Who were a part of the hastening of it For that blame must be shared by many others. When our young impulsive Men grow angry At some wrong whether imagined or real And disfigure their faces with the black paint It denotes their Hearts are black too, I feel. Our old Men and Women can’t restrain them

And thus that’s the way it has ever been Thus it was when our Forefathers were pushed Further Westward by waves of the White Men. Let us hope the old hostilities between us Are only memories, may they never return We have everything to lose, nothing to gain Although the old times are what we yearn. Revenge by young men is considered gain Even at the cost of their lives they would give But old Men who stay Home in times of War Mothers with Sons to lose, know it’s better to Live. Since King George has moved his boundaries Good Father in Washington sends us your Word If we do all that you desire you will protect us That is the message we have been sent and heard. Your Warriors will be to us a Wall of Strength Our Harbors filled with your great ships of War So that our ancient enemies to the Northward Will frighten old Men, Women and Children no more. You want to be our Father, we as your Children Your God is not our God, so can that ever be? Your God loves your People yet He hates mine Folds protecting arms around the Paleface, lovingly. He leads them by the hand as if an infant Son He has forsaken his Red Children, if really His Our God, the Great Spirit seems to forsake us too Your People wax stronger, to be the way it is. Soon your People will spread over all the Land Ours ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide If the White Man’s God loved he would protect us Not make us Orphans, never seeming to take our side. If we both have a common Heavenly Father He must be partial to his Children, Palefaced How can He renew our Hopes of Prosperity How can Dreams of Greatness be replaced. Del “Abe” Jones 01.23.2006

======================== "Our dead never forget the 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 bay, 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 ... 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." __ Chief Seattle (Sealth), Suquamish and Duwamish