A propósito de la continuación de la destrucción del planeta: Aprobación del proyecto Hidroaysén
Everything is attached. All that hurt the Earth also hurt the children of the Earth "(letter from Sioux Chief wise)
This system is sick of the new order of power. Not just the privatization of state every day that passes from the capital to extend its centrality to the country regions. Do not just lie to the public through a communication platform to misinform and distort the issues of social relevance. not enough to provide education to corrupt youth that conditions in the dark and prepares to undergo a system of slave life, alienating labor with an uncertain future, which has no loyalty to anyone. Not enough to privatize higher education in order to prepare seudomaquinas. Not enough to deliver a painful health system and insufficient for all the poor. His ambition does not stop at the opportunity to destroy the environment in pursuit of their economic interests and expansionist. Not interested in sabotaging the nature's legacy for future generations.
We are living the era of indiscriminate abuse of power over natural resources ever in the history of mankind, it continues this way, will lead to environmental impact and generate a negative externality on the large scale environment. Still doing the same all over the planet for a long time. They are responsible largely on the global damage, poverty and wars in other words just to confuse and divide us hate. We deal with fear, oppression, hunger and ignorance.
Looking back on the destruction of the planet, in 1854 the fourteenth president of the United States, Franklin Pierce (1853-1857) made an offer to buy some land belonging to the Sioux people give them in exchange for a reservation. The letter of reply from the Chief Sioux Seathl is a beauty and lyricism which, still today, I leave this gem can shake the coldest of men.
@ Michelle Valencia G. - 11.05.2011
Seathl Sioux chief Letter to Franklin Pierce, president of the United States -1854
the fourteenth president of the United States, Franklin Pierce (1853-1857) made an offer to buy some land belonging to the Sioux people give them in exchange for a reservation. The letter of reply from the Chief Sioux Seathl is a beauty and lyricism which, still today, shake the coldest of men
"The Great Chief in Washington sends word, want to buy our land. The Great Chief also sends words of friendship and happiness. This is kind from you, since we know that he has little need of our friendship. But we will consider your offer, because we are confident that if we do not act well, the white man will come with their guns and take our land. The Great Chief in Washington can count on the word of the great chief Seathl as our white brothers can count on the return of the seasons. My words are like stars, nothing hidden.
How can you buy or sell the sky and the heat of the earth? This idea is foreign to us. If until now we do not own the freshness of the air Glow water how can you buy us? We will decide in our time. Every part of this land is sacred to my people. Each shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every corner of the dark woods, every clearing and buzzer insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the Reds.
The white man's dead forget the country of origin when they take their walks among the stars, whereas our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red. We can never forget her because she is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters; deer, horse, the great eagle: these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the wet meadows, the body heat of the horse and man, all belong to the same family. Therefore
when the great white chief in Washington sends the message that you want to buy our land, we are asking too much. Even the big boss tells us to reserve a place where we can live comfortably with us. He is our father and us children. We therefore consider its offer to buy our land. This is not easy, because this land is sacred to us.
The crystal clear water flowing through rivers and streams is not only water, but also represents the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land you must remember that it is sacred, yet must teach their children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear waters of the lakes tells of events and memories of the lives of our people. The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father.
The rivers are our brothers they quench our thirst, they carry our canoes and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember and teach their children that the rivers are our brothers and so are yours, and therefore they should be treated with the same gentleness with which you treat a brother.
We know that the white man does not understand our way of life. He can not distinguish between a piece of land and another, since it is a stranger who comes at night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his sister, but his enemy and, once conquered, moves on leaving behind the graves of his parents not care. Les
land kidnaps their children. Does not care. Both the grave of their parents as their children's heritage is forgotten. He treats his mother the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, operated and sold like sheep or beads. His appetite will devour the earth leaving behind only a desert.
I do not know, but our way of life is different to yours. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red. 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, and no place to hear how open the leaves of the trees in the spring or how insects flutter. But perhaps this must be because I am a savage who does not understand. The noise seems to insult the ears. And, after all, what good is life if the man can not hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the night frogs around the pond? I am a red man and do not understand. We prefer the soft whisper of wind on the surface of a pond and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed by the midday rain, or scented by pine aromas.
The air is invaluable for a red skin, and that all beings share the same breath: the beast, the tree, man, we all breathe the same air. The white man does not seem aware of the air you breathe, like a dying man dying for many days is numb to the stench. But if we sell our land must remember that the air is invaluable, that the air shares its spirit with the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather's first breath of life, also receives his last sigh. And if we sell our land, you should keep them as something apart and sacred as a place where the white man can taste the wind scented flowers of the prairies.
therefore consider its offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will set conditions: the white man must treat animals in this land as his brothers. I am a savage and do not understand any other way of life. I've seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairies, shot by the white man from a train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill only to survive.
What would the man without the beasts? If all were exterminated, the man die from a great loneliness of spirit, because what happens to animals will also happen to man. Everything is linked. All that hurt the Earth also hurt the children of the Earth. Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat. Our warriors have felt shame. And after the defeat they turn their days in sorrow and foul their bodies with food and strong drinks.
matters little where we spend the rest of our days. There are not many. A few hours, a few more winters, and none of the children of the great tribes that once existed on this land or in small bands that roamed the forests will remain to mourn at the tombs of a people that once was powerful and so full of hope. One thing we know and that the white man may one day discover. Our God is God himself. You may think that now you own it, and you want to become master of our land. But you can not. He is the God of Man. And his compassion is equal for the white man to the red man. This earth is precious to Him and to harm Earth is amonontonar contempt for his creator. The whites too shall pass-perhaps faster than other tribes. Continue soiling his bed one night and end up suffocating in their own waste. When the buffalo are all slaughtered, wild horses all tamed and the secret recesses of the forests are filled with the scent of many men and the view of the mountains be filled with talkative wives, where is the thicket? Missing where is the eagle? Missing. That is, goodbye to what grows, goodbye to the swift, good-bye to the game. Will be the end of life and the beginning of survival. We might understand if we knew what the white man dreams, what hopes they describe their children in the long winter nights., What visions burn your mind so that they might want in the morning. But we are savages. White man's dreams are hidden for us, and because they are hidden, we will go our own way. If we accept, is to secure the booking that we have promised. There might be able to live the few days that remain, as is our desire.
When the last red man of the earth and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud across the prairie, these shores and these grasslands still contain the spirits of my people, because they love this earth as the newborn loves the beat mother's heart. If we sell you our land, love it as we have loved. Take care of it as we have carefully. Retain in their minds the memory of the land as it was when it is delivered. And with all his might, with all his might, keep them for their children and love it, just as God loves us all. One thing we know: our God is the God of you, this earth is precious to Him, and the white man can not be excluded from a common destiny. "Illustrious
1854 Sioux Chief