Letter written in 1886 to the President of the United States by Sioux leader Tatanka Íyotake (Sitting Bull). A text of incredible visionary wisdom.
The white man does not understand our ways. To him one piece of land is the same as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes what he needs from the land. The land is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He abandons the graves of his ancestors, and that does not trouble him. He takes the land from his children and it does not bother him. The grave of his ancestors and the heritage of his children are forgotten. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or shiny pearls. His appetite will devour the earth and leave nothing but a desert behind.
Our customs are different from yours. The sight of your cities hurts the red man’s eyes. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand. There is no peaceful place in the white man’s cities. No place to hear the leaves unfolding in spring or the rustle of an insect’s wings. But perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand. The din only seems to offend the ears. And what is the point of living if man cannot hear the solitary cry of the nightjar or the chatter of frogs around a pond at night? The Indian prefers the gentle sound of the wind rushing over the surface of a pond, and the smell of the wind itself, washed by the midday rain or scented by the pinyon pine.
Air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath; beast, tree, man, they all share the same breath. White man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man who takes several days to exhale, he is insensitive 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 that it gives life to. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also received his last sigh. And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and hold it sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind softened by the meadow flowers.
How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the earth? The idea seems strange to us. If we do not possess the freshness of the air and the shimmer of the water, how can you buy them?
Every part of this land is sacred to our people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every shred of mist in the dark woods, every clearing and every insect hum is sacred in the memory and experience of our people. The sap that flows in the trees carries the memories of the red man.
The dead of the white men forget the land of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this magnificent land, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the earth, and it is part of us. The fragrant flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, they are our brothers. The rocky ridges, the sap in the meadows, the warmth of the pony, and the man; they all belong to the same family.
So when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wants to buy our land, he is asking a lot of us. The Great Chief sends word that he will set aside a place for us so that we can live comfortably among ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children. We will therefore consider your offer to buy our land. But it will not be easy. Because this land is sacred to us.
The sparkling water that flows in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you land, you must remember that it is sacred and that each spectral reflection in the clear water of the lakes speaks of events and memories of the life of my people. The murmur of the water 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 show the rivers the tenderness you would show a brother.
We will therefore consider your offer to buy our land. But if we decide to accept it, I will make one condition: the white man must treat the animals of this land as his brothers.
We are savages and we know no other way of life. We have seen a thousand bison rotting on the prairie, abandoned by the white man who had shot them from a passing train. We are savages but we do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the bison, which we kill only to survive.
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 made of the ashes of our ancestors.
In order for them to respect the earth, tell your children that it is enriched by the lives of our people. Teach your children what we have taught our own, that the earth is our mother. Whatever happens to the earth, happens to the children of the earth. If men spit on the ground, they spit on themselves. If they dirty the earth, they dirty 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 that unites one family. All things are connected.
Whatever befalls the earth befalls the children of the earth. It is not man who is the weaver of the web of life: he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him, like two friends, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. After all, we may be brothers. We shall see. There is one thing we know, which the white man may some day discover, our God is the same God. You may think you own Him as you own our land, but you cannot. He is the God of man, and his mercy is equal on the red man and the white. This land is precious to him, and to harm the land is to heap contempt on its creator. The whites too will disappear; perhaps sooner than all the other tribes. Contaminate your bed, and you will suffocate one night in your own detritus.
But in dying you will shine brightly, ardent with the strength of the God who brought you to this land and who for some special purpose made you dominate this land and the red man. This destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand why the buffalo are all but slaughtered, the wild horses tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many men and the sight of hills in full bloom tarnished by talking wires. Where is the buffalo? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone. Where are the animals? Gone. Where is the beauty of the earth? Gone.
Your rapacious spirit will make you disappear. Our spirit will make us appear weak. But one day the idea of respect for the earth will be reborn because the end of life is the beginning of survival.
Rebounds:
Translated by TerKo with the help of a free translation tool.