俺周末挖出的宝贝，炫耀一下。哈。 这篇动人心弦的演说，是1851年，印第安索瓜米西族酋长西雅图所发表的，地点在美国华盛顿州的布格海湾。是时，美国政府要求签约，要以15万美元买下印第安人的200万英亩土 地。华盛顿州的州政府便以他的名字定名。 　　 　　———————————— 西雅图的宣言—————————— 　 —————————印第安索瓜米西族酋长 西雅图 —————— 　　 　　　　你怎能做到买卖天空、买卖大地的温馨？我们不懂。 　　 　　　　如果我们没有新鲜的空气和晶莹的流水，你还会买吗？ 　　 　　　　我们红人，视大地每一方土地为圣洁。在我们的记忆里、在我们的生活里，每一根晶亮的松针、每一片沙滩、每一丛幽林里的雾水、每一片空旷之地和每一种鸣叫的昆虫都是神圣的。树的汁液在林中穿越，携带着我们红人亘古以来的记忆。 　　 　　　　白人死后漫游星际之时，早忘了生他们的大地。红人死后永不忘我们美丽的出生地。因为，大地是我们的母亲，母子连心，互为一体。绿意芬芳的花朵是我们的姊妹，鹿、马、大鹰都是我们的兄弟，山岩峭壁、草原上的露水、人身上、马驹身上所散发出的体热，都是在同一个大家庭。 　　 　　　　因此，华盛顿京城的大统领传话来说，要买我们的地，他买下的将不仅仅是土地。大统领说，会留下一块保护地让我们过安逸的日子。他将成为我们的父亲，我们将成为他的孩子。 　　 　　　　即使是这样，我们会考虑你的交易，但这买卖不那么容易，因为，这地是圣洁的。在溪流中与江河里的盈盈流水不仅是水，还是我们世代祖先的血。若卖地给你，务请牢记，这地是圣洁的。务请教导你的子子孙孙，这地是圣洁的，湖中清水里的每一种充满灵意的倒影都在讲述着我们的故事，流水的低吟是我们祖先的声音。 　　 　　　　河流是我们的兄弟，它解我们的渴，运送我们的独木舟，喂养我们的孩子。若卖地给你，务请记得、务请教导你的孩子，河流是我们和你们的兄弟，你们对待它，要有爱，像对待你们自己的兄弟一样。 　　 　　　　我们知道白人不能体会我们的想法。在白人眼里，哪一块地都一样，可以趁夜打劫、尽取所需、拿了就走。对白人来说，大地不是他的兄弟，大地是他的仇敌，他要一一征服。白人可以把父亲的墓地弃之不顾，掠夺别人的土地也毫无顾忌。父亲的安息之地，儿女的出生之所，他可以完全不放在心上。在他看来，母亲一样的大地和兄弟一样的天空都可以被随意买下、掠夺，或者象羊群和珠子一样卖出。他贪得无厌，大口大口吞食土地之后，任由大地成为片片荒漠。 　　 　　　　我不懂。你我的生活方式完全不同。红人的眼睛只要一看见你的城市就觉疼痛。白人的城里没有安静，没地方可以听到春天里树叶摊开的声音、听不见昆虫振翅作乐的声音。城市的噪音羞辱我们的双耳。如果在晚间听不到鸱鸟孤独的鸣叫、听不到池塘边青蛙的争论，这样的生活，还算是活着？我是红人，我不懂。我们红人喜欢风拂过水面时所发出的轻柔的声音，喜欢风的清香，那是经午后暴雨洗涤过的有时还浸润了松香的风的气息。 　　 　　　　红人珍爱大气，因为人、兽、树木都在呼吸它、世间万物都在呼吸它。白人，似从不注意人呼吸的空气，像坐死多日的人一样麻木。若卖地给你，务请牢记，空气是珍贵的，它将自身的灵意同其支撑的所有生命分享。 　　 　　　　风带来我的祖父出生时的第一口呼吸，也送走他离去时的最后一声叹息。若卖地给你，务请将生与死区别开来，让土地圣洁，这样即使是你们白人也能够闻到被草原上的野花加强过的风的甜香。 我们会考虑你的交易。如果我们决定接受，我有一个条件－－白人必须对待这里的野兽象对待他的兄弟一样。 我是一个没有文明的野蛮人，不懂得什么。我看见大平原上成千的野牛在腐烂，他们是白人乘火车射杀的结果。我是一个没有文明的野蛮人，我不懂为什么冒烟的铁马比我们仅为生存而射杀的野牛更加重要。 没有野兽，人还能存在吗？如果所有的野兽都不存在了，人就会在孤独中死去。野兽的命运怎样，人的命运就会怎样，世间万物生息相连。 　　 　　　　务请教导你的孩子，让他们知道，脚下的尘土，是我们祖先的骨灰，大地因我们亲族的生命而得滋润。这样，他们才会尊崇大地。请象我们红人一样教导你的孩子，大地是我们的母亲，大地的命运，就是人类的命运，人若唾弃大地，就是唾弃自己。 　　 　　　　我们确知一事：大地并不属于人，而人，属于大地。万物息息相关、血脉交融。 即使是白人、上帝同他有如朋友一样的白人，也不能避免相同的命运。我们终究是兄弟。等着看，我们相信白人有一天会发现，他们与我们信仰的其实是同一位神。 　　 　　　　或许现在你们以为拥有上帝就象想拥有土地就拥有一样自然，但是你们不能。上帝，是全人类的神，上帝对人类怜恤平等，不分红、白。上帝视大地为至宝，伤害大地就是亵渎大地的创造者。白人终将随风消失，说不定比其他族类失落得更快。污秽了你的床铺，你必会在自己的污秽中窒息。 　　 　　　　但是，在你们消失之前，你们将因上帝的力量在世上灿烂发光，是上帝把你们带到了这片土地上，为着特殊的目的，让你们统治这里的土地和我们红人。 　　 　　　　命运真是一个迷，因为当野牛都被杀戮、当野马变成驯马、当森林充满了人的味道、当优美的山景被电话线破坏的时候，我们不懂是为什么。 　　 　　　　丛林在哪里？没了！ 　　 　　　　老鹰在哪里？不见了！ 　　 　　　　生活已到了尽头， 　　 　　　　是偷生的开始。 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.