一篇印第安酋長的動人心弦的演說

一篇印第安酋長的動人心弦的演說　　原載《山茶·人文地理雜誌》第100期 　　 　　作者：印第安索瓜米西族酋長·西雅圖 　　 　　　　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。 　　 　　----------------------------------- 　　 　　　　你怎能把天空、大地的溫馨買下？我們不懂。 　　 　　　　若空氣失去了新鮮，流水失去了晶瑩，你還能把它買下？ 　　 　　　　我們紅人，視大地每一方土地為聖潔。在我們的記憶里，在我們的生命里，每一根晶亮的松板，每一片沙灘，每一撮幽林里的氣息，每一種引人自省、鳴叫的昆蟲都是神聖的。樹液的芳香在林中穿越，也滲透了紅人自亘古以來的記憶。 　　 　　　　白人死後漫遊星際之時，早忘了生他的大地。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、馬身上所散發出的體熱，都是一家子親人。 　　 　　　　華盛頓京城的大統領傳話來說，要買我們的地。他要的不只是地。大統領說，會留下一塊保護地，留給我們過安逸的日子。這麼一來，大統領成了我們的父親，我們成了他的子女。 　　 　　　　我們會考慮你的條件，但這買賣不那麼容易，因為，這地是聖潔的。 　　 　　　　溪中、河裡的晶晶流水不僅是水，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映象，都代表一種靈意，映出無數的古迹，各式的儀式，以及我們的生活方式。流水的聲音不大，但它說的話，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，餵養我們的子女。若賣地給你，務請記得，務請教導你的子女，河流是我們的兄弟，你對它，要付出愛，要周到，像愛你自己的兄弟一樣。 　　 　　　　白人不能體會我們的想法，這點，我知道。 　　 　　　　在白人眼裡，哪一塊地都一樣，可以趁夜打劫，各取所需，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。父親的安息之地，兒女的出生之地，他可以不放在心上。在他看來，天、大地、母親、兄弟都可以隨意買下、掠奪，或像羊群或串珠一樣賣出。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們的城市就覺疼痛。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。晚間，聽不到池塘邊青蛙在爭論，聽不見夜鳥的哀鳴。這種生活，算是活著？ 　　 　　　　我是紅人，我不懂。 　　 　　　　清風的聲音輕輕掃過地面，清風的芳香，是經午後暴雨洗滌或浸過松香的，這才是紅人所願聽願聞的。 　　 　　　　紅人珍愛大氣：人、獸、樹木都有權分享空氣，靠它呼吸。白人，似從不注意人要靠空氣才能存活，像坐死多日的人，已不能辨別惡臭。若賣地給你，務請牢記，我們珍愛大氣，空氣養著所有的生命，它的靈力，人人有份。 　　 　　　　風，迎著我祖父出生時的第一口氣，也送走它最後一聲的嘆息。若賣地給你，務請將它劃為聖地，使白人也能隨著風嘗到牧草地上加強的花香。 　　 　　　　務請教導你的子女，讓他們知道，腳下的土地，埋著我們祖骨骸；教你子弟尊崇大地，告訴他們，大地因我們親族的生命而得滋潤；告訴他們，紅人怎樣教導子女，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；人，屬於大地，萬物相互效力。也許，你我都是兄弟。等著看，也許，有一天白人會發現：他們所信的上帝，與我們所信的神，是同一位神。 　　 　　　　或許，你以為可以擁有上帝，象你買一塊地一樣。其實你辦不到，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，說不定比其他種族失落的更快，若污穢了你的床鋪，你必然會在自己的污穢中窒息。 　　 　　　　肉身因歲月死亡，要靠著上帝給你的力量才能在世上燦爛發光，是上帝引領你活在大地上，是上帝莫明的旨意容你*縱白人。 　　 　　　　為什麼會有這種難解的命運呢？我們不懂。 　　 　　　　我們不懂，為什麼野牛都被戮殺，野馬成了馴馬，森林裡布滿了人群的異味，優美的山景，全被電線破壞、玷污。 　　 　　　　叢林在哪裡？沒了！ 　　 　　　　大老鷹在哪裡？不見了！ 　　 　　　　生命已到了盡頭， 　　 　　　　是偷生的開始。Chief Seattle"s Statement 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 the Earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clear and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memory of 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 the 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 White 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 land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us. This shining water that moves in 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 you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events in the life of my people. The waters murmur is the voice of my father"s father. The rivers of our brothers they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember to teach your children that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness that you would give my 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 graves 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 same, 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 from yours ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand. 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 an insect"s wings. But perhaps it is 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 lonely cry of a whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a 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 the pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed by a midday rain, or scented with the 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 what we have taught our children, that the Earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the Earth befalls the sons of the 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. Whatever befalls the Earth - befalls the sons of the Earth. Man did not weave 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 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 red man and the white. The Earth is precious to Him, and to harm the Earth is to heap contempt on its Creator. 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 slaughtered, the wild horses tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with 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.
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