1852年時，酋長西雅圖的一封信，今日的西雅圖是以他為名，這封信的內容原本是一場演說，他用自己部落的方言，經第三者翻成原住民共同的一種語言，再翻成英文，由亨利.史密斯記錄下來，內容值得今日的我們深思。
1852年時，美國政府問酋長西雅圖，要求購買印地安部落的土地，以供美國的新移民 移居之用，而酋長西雅圖的回信寫了 :
「在華盛頓的總統寫信給我，他表達要買我們土地的意願，但是，你怎麼能夠買賣天空? 這種概念對我們而言是很陌生的。我們並不擁有空氣的清新，也不擁有流水的亮麗，因此，你怎麼能夠買他們呢?
地球的每一吋大地對我們的人民而言，都是很神聖的，每一根燦亮的松針，每一片海灘、黑森林中的薄霧，每一片草地，每一隻嗡嗡作響的昆蟲，所有的這些生物，一枝草，一點露，在我們人民的記憶及經驗中都是聖潔的。
我們可以感受到樹幹裡流動的樹液，就像自己感受到身體內流動的血液一樣，地球和我們都是對方身體中的一部份，每一朵充滿香味的鮮花都是我們的姐妹。熊、鹿、鷹都是我們的兄弟，岩石的尖峰、青草的汁液、小馬的體溫，都和人類屬於同一個家庭。
小溪和大河流著閃爍的流水，那不止是水而已，那是祖先的血液，如果我們把土地賣給你，盼你不要忘了他們都是神聖的。清澈湖泊上朦朧的倒影，映照出我們民族生活中的每一椿事件及回憶，如同善待自己的兄弟一般。
所有的河流都是我們的兄弟，他們滋潤了我們。河水載負我們的獨木舟，河水餵食了我們的子孫，你必須善待河流，如同善待自己的兄弟一樣。
如果，我們將土地賣給你，不要忘記空氣是我們的珍寶，空氣給與所有的生命分享了它的靈魂，給我們祖父第一口空氣的風，也接收了他最後一口氣，風也給予我們孩子生命的靈魂，因此，在土地賣給你們之後，你必須保留它的獨立和神聖，人們能夠在此地品嚐到充滿花甜香氣息的風。
我們曾經教給我們孩子的一切，你願意繼續告訴你的孩子嗎? 你會教導他們 : 大地就是我們的母親，降臨到大地上的一切，也會發生在它的子孫身上。
這是我們已知的 : 人類並不擁有大地，人類屬於大地，就像所有人類體內都流著鮮血，所有的生物都是密不可分的，人類並不自己編織生命之網，人類只是碰巧擱淺在生命之網之內，人類試圖要去改變生命的所有行為，都會報應到自己身上。
你們也許認為， 因為你們所擁有的神， 可以占有我們的土地。神是眾人的神， 祂的慈悲是平等地分享給所有生物。 大地對祂而言是珍貴的，對大地的傷害， 是對造物主的輕蔑。對大地傷害越多，表示你輕視造物者的程度愈深。
你們的目的對我們而言是一個謎，世界會變成什麼樣子呢?
如果所有的水牛都被屠殺了，所有的野馬都被馴服了，
當所有森林中秘密的小角落都被人侵入，
當所有果實櫐櫐的山丘都插滿了電線桿時，世界會變得怎麼樣呢 ?
灌木叢要長到哪兒呢 ? 消失了，老鷹會去哪裡呢? 消失了 !
如果生活中沒有了飛奔的小馬及狩獵，會變成什麼情況呢 ?
那不是生活而只是求生存。
如果，最後一個原住民的自然天性消失了，如果他對過去的記憶只是一片飄過草地的雲所造成的陰影，這時，河岸和森林仍然存在嗎? 這時，我的子民仍能保有他們祖先的精神嗎?
我們看待這片大地的心情，如同新生兒敬愛母親的心情，如果我們將大地賣給你，請和我們一樣愛這片大地，像我們一樣的看顧祂，要在你心中常保對大地的記憶，在你心中常存大地原狀，並將大地的原狀保留下來給你的子孫，並像神愛護我們一樣的愛護大地。
你和我們一樣，是這片大地的一部份，這片大地對我們是珍貴的，祂對你也是珍貴的，我們確知一件事 : 上帝只有一人，人類只有一種，不論白人或紅人，都不應被區分，我們畢竟應該是兄弟。」
西雅圖酋長的宣言英文版
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 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 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 water's murmur is the voice of my father’s father.
The rivers of our brothers 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 your 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 a 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 a 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 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 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.
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