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Carta del jefe Seattle a Franklin Pierce (1854) Primera parte

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Uploaded on Jan 9, 2009

► Read ◄ ► Leer ◄ El Gran Jefe Blanco de Wáshington nos envia el mensaje de que quiere comprar nuestras tierras. El Gran Jefe nos envia también palabras de amistad y de buena voluntad. Algo muy amable por su parte, pues sabemos que él no necesita de nuestra amistad. Sin embargo nosotros meditaremos su oferta, pues sabemos que si no vendemos vendrán seguramente hombres blancos armados y nos quitarán nuestras tierras. ¿pero cómo es posible compar o vender el cielo o el calor de la tierra?. No comprendemos estas ideas si no somos dueños de la frescura del aire ni del reflejo del agua. ¿Cómo podríamos comprarlos o venderlos?, pero tomaremos una decisión el gran jefe de Wáshington podrá confiar en lo que diga el jefe Seattle con tanta seguridad como la que pueda tener en el transcurrir de las estaciones del año. Mis palabras son como las estrellas, nunca tienen ocaso.

Cada partícula de esta tierra es sagrada para mi pueblo. Cada brillante aguja de un pino, cada grano de arena de las playas, cada gota de rocío de los sombríos bosques, cada calvero, el zumbido de cada insecto, todos son sagrados en la memoria y en la experiencia de mi pueblo. La savia que asciende por los árboles lleva consigo el recuerdo de los pieles rojas.

Los muertos del hombre blanco olvidan su tierra donde nacieron cuando parten para vagar entre las estrellas. En cambio nuestros muertos no olvidan jamás esta tierra maravillosa, pues ella es nuestra madre. Somos parte de la tierra y ella es parte de nosotros. Las flores perfumadas, el venado, el caballo, el gran águila, son nuestros hermanos. Las cumbres rocosas, los prados húmedos, el calor del cuerpo de los potros y de los hombres, todos somos de la misma familia.

http://www.guelaya.org/textos/jefe%20...

THE GREAT CHIEF in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. The Great Chief also sends us words of friendship and good will. This is kind of him, since we know he has little need of our friendship in return. But we will consider your offer, for we know if we do not so the white man may come with guns and take our land. What Chief Seattle says you can count on as truly as our white brothers can count on the return of the seasons. My words are like the stars - they do not set.

How can you buy or sell the sky - the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. Yet we do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water. How can you buy them from us? We will decide in our time. 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 every humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people.

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 graves and his children's birthright is forgotten. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the redman. But perhaps it is because the redman is a savage and does not understand.

There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to listen to the leaves of spring or the rustle of insect wings. But perhaps because I am a savage and do not understand - the clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lovely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night? The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind itself cleansed by a mid-day rain, or scented by a pinõn pine: The air is precious to the redman. For all things share the same breath - the beasts, the trees, and the man. 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.

http://www.context.org/ICLIB/IC03/Sea...

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