俺周末挖出的寶貝，炫耀一下。哈。 這篇動人心弦的演說，是1851年，印第安索瓜米西族酋長西雅圖所發表的，地點在美國華盛頓州的布格海灣。是時，美國政府要求籤約，要以15萬美元買下印第安人的200萬英畝土 地。華盛頓州的州政府便以他的名字定名。 　　 　　———————————— 西雅圖的宣言—————————— 　 —————————印第安索瓜米西族酋長 西雅圖 —————— 　　 　　　　你怎能做到買賣天空、買賣大地的溫馨？我們不懂。 　　 　　　　如果我們沒有新鮮的空氣和晶瑩的流水，你還會買嗎？ 　　 　　　　我們紅人，視大地每一方土地為聖潔。在我們的記憶里、在我們的生活里，每一根晶亮的松針、每一片沙灘、每一叢幽林里的霧水、每一片空曠之地和每一種鳴叫的昆蟲都是神聖的。樹的汁液在林中穿越，攜帶着我們紅人亙古以來的記憶。 　　 　　　　白人死後漫遊星際之時，早忘了生他們的大地。紅人死後永不忘我們美麗的出生地。因為，大地是我們的母親，母子連心，互為一體。綠意芬芳的花朵是我們的姊妹，鹿、馬、大鷹都是我們的兄弟，山岩峭壁、草原上的露水、人身上、馬駒身上所散發出的體熱，都是在同一個大家庭。 　　 　　　　因此，華盛頓京城的大統領傳話來說，要買我們的地，他買下的將不僅僅是土地。大統領說，會留下一塊保護地讓我們過安逸的日子。他將成為我們的父親，我們將成為他的孩子。 　　 　　　　即使是這樣，我們會考慮你的交易，但這買賣不那麼容易，因為，這地是聖潔的。在溪流中與江河裡的盈盈流水不僅是水，還是我們世代祖先的血。若賣地給你，務請牢記，這地是聖潔的。務請教導你的子子孫孫，這地是聖潔的，湖中清水裡的每一種充滿靈意的倒影都在講述着我們的故事，流水的低吟是我們祖先的聲音。 　　 　　　　河流是我們的兄弟，它解我們的渴，運送我們的獨木舟，餵養我們的孩子。若賣地給你，務請記得、務請教導你的孩子，河流是我們和你們的兄弟，你們對待它，要有愛，像對待你們自己的兄弟一樣。 　　 　　　　我們知道白人不能體會我們的想法。在白人眼裡，哪一塊地都一樣，可以趁夜打劫、盡取所需、拿了就走。對白人來說，大地不是他的兄弟，大地是他的仇敵，他要一一征服。白人可以把父親的墓地棄之不顧，掠奪別人的土地也毫無顧忌。父親的安息之地，兒女的出生之所，他可以完全不放在心上。在他看來，母親一樣的大地和兄弟一樣的天空都可以被隨意買下、掠奪，或者象羊群和珠子一樣賣出。他貪得無厭，大口大口吞食土地之後，任由大地成為片片荒漠。 　　 　　　　我不懂。你我的生活方式完全不同。紅人的眼睛只要一看見你的城市就覺疼痛。白人的城裡沒有安靜，沒地方可以聽到春天裡樹葉攤開的聲音、聽不見昆蟲振翅作樂的聲音。城市的噪音羞辱我們的雙耳。如果在晚間聽不到鴟鳥孤獨的鳴叫、聽不到池塘邊青蛙的爭論，這樣的生活，還算是活着？我是紅人，我不懂。我們紅人喜歡風拂過水麵時所發出的輕柔的聲音，喜歡風的清香，那是經午後暴雨洗滌過的有時還浸潤了松香的風的氣息。 　　 　　　　紅人珍愛大氣，因為人、獸、樹木都在呼吸它、世間萬物都在呼吸它。白人，似從不注意人呼吸的空氣，像坐死多日的人一樣麻木。若賣地給你，務請牢記，空氣是珍貴的，它將自身的靈意同其支撐的所有生命分享。 　　 　　　　風帶來我的祖父出生時的第一口呼吸，也送走他離去時的最後一聲嘆息。若賣地給你，務請將生與死區別開來，讓土地聖潔，這樣即使是你們白人也能夠聞到被草原上的野花加強過的風的甜香。 我們會考慮你的交易。如果我們決定接受，我有一個條件－－白人必須對待這裡的野獸象對待他的兄弟一樣。 我是一個沒有文明的野蠻人，不懂得什麼。我看見大平原上成千的野牛在腐爛，他們是白人乘火車射殺的結果。我是一個沒有文明的野蠻人，我不懂為什麼冒煙的鐵馬比我們僅為生存而射殺的野牛更加重要。 沒有野獸，人還能存在嗎？如果所有的野獸都不存在了，人就會在孤獨中死去。野獸的命運怎樣，人的命運就會怎樣，世間萬物生息相連。 　　 　　　　務請教導你的孩子，讓他們知道，腳下的塵土，是我們祖先的骨灰，大地因我們親族的生命而得滋潤。這樣，他們才會尊崇大地。請象我們紅人一樣教導你的孩子，大地是我們的母親，大地的命運，就是人類的命運，人若唾棄大地，就是唾棄自己。 　　 　　　　我們確知一事：大地並不屬於人，而人，屬於大地。萬物息息相關、血脈交融。 即使是白人、上帝同他有如朋友一樣的白人，也不能避免相同的命運。我們終究是兄弟。等着看，我們相信白人有一天會發現，他們與我們信仰的其實是同一位神。 　　 　　　　或許現在你們以為擁有上帝就象想擁有土地就擁有一樣自然，但是你們不能。上帝，是全人類的神，上帝對人類憐恤平等，不分紅、白。上帝視大地為至寶，傷害大地就是褻瀆大地的創造者。白人終將隨風消失，說不定比其他族類失落得更快。污穢了你的床鋪，你必會在自己的污穢中窒息。 　　 　　　　但是，在你們消失之前，你們將因上帝的力量在世上燦爛發光，是上帝把你們帶到了這片土地上，為着特殊的目的，讓你們統治這裡的土地和我們紅人。 　　 　　　　命運真是一個迷，因為當野牛都被殺戮、當野馬變成馴馬、當森林充滿了人的味道、當優美的山景被電話線破壞的時候，我們不懂是為什麼。 　　 　　　　叢林在哪裡？沒了！ 　　 　　　　老鷹在哪裡？不見了！ 　　 　　　　生活已到了盡頭， 　　 　　　　是偷生的開始。 Chief Seattle's 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 man's 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 water's murmur 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 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 father's grave behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children, and he does not care. His father's grave, and his children's 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 man's cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring or the rustle of the insect's 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 meadow's 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 reator. 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.