AUTHENTIC TEXT OF CHIEF SEATTLE'S TREATY ORATION 1854
Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion upon my people for centuries untold, and which to us appears changeless and eternal, may change. Today is fair. Tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the stars that never change. Whatever Seattle says, the great chief at Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the return of the sun or the seasons. The white chief says that Big Chief at Washington sends us greetings of friendship and goodwill. This is kind of him for we know he has little need of our friendship in return. His people are many. They are like the grass that covers vast prairies. My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain. The great, and I presume -- good, White Chief sends us word that he wishes to buy our land but is willing to allow us enough to live comfortably. This indeed appears just, even generous, for the Red Man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, as we are no longer in need of an extensive country.
There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory. I will not dwell on, nor mourn over, our untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers with hastening it, as we too may have been somewhat to blame.
Youth is impulsive. When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, it denotes that their hearts are black, and that they are often cruel and relentless, and our old men and old women are unable to restrain them. Thus it has ever been. Thus it was when the white man began to push our forefathers ever westward. But let us hope that the hostilities between us may never return. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Revenge by young men is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose, know better.
Our good father in Washington--for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since King George has moved his boundaries further north--our great and good father, I say, sends us word that if we do as he desires he will protect us. His brave warriors will be to us a bristling wall of strength, and his wonderful ships of war will fill our harbors, so that our ancient enemies far to the northward -- the Haidas and Tsimshians -- will cease to frighten our women, children, and old men. Then in reality he will be our father and we his children. But can that ever be? Your God is not our God! Your God loves your people and hates mine! He folds his strong protecting arms lovingly about the paleface and leads him by the hand as a father leads an infant son. But, He has forsaken His Red children, if they really are His. Our God, the Great Spirit, seems also to have forsaken us. Your God makes your people wax stronger every day. Soon they will fill all the land. Our people are ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide that will never return. The white man's God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers? How can your God become our God and renew our prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness? If we have a common Heavenly Father He must be partial, for He came to His paleface children. We never saw Him. He gave you laws but had no word for His red children whose teeming multitudes once filled this vast continent as stars fill the firmament. No; we are two distinct races with separate origins and separate destinies. There is little in common between us.
To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tablets of stone by the iron finger of your God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could never comprehend or remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors -- the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.
Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered vales and verdant lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them.
Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fled the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the morning sun. However, your proposition seems fair and I think that my people will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them. Then we will dwell apart in peace, for the words of the Great White Chief seem to be the words of nature speaking to my people out of dense darkness.
It matters little where we pass the remnant of our days. They will not be many. The Indian's night promises to be dark. Not a single star of hope hovers above his horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Grim fate seems to be on the Red Man's trail, and wherever he will hear the approaching footsteps of his fell destroyer and prepare stolidly to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter.
A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of the descendants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to mourn over the graves of a people once more powerful and hopeful than yours. But why should I mourn at the untimely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We will see.
We will ponder your proposition and when we decide we will let you know. But should we accept it, I here and now make this condition that we will not be denied the privilege without molestation of visiting at any time the tombs of our ancestors, friends, and children. Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves, fond mothers, glad, happy hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season, will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits. And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land. The White Man will never be alone.
Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of worlds.
(Appeared in the Seattle Sunday Star on Oct. 29, 1887, in a column by Dr. Henry A. Smith.)
哈哈。老阎你小时候物价和我小时候差不多啊,还是那时候物价稳定。
还得替体育老师代课(给你开玩笑)。是我在文章里忘了写那是以千美元为单位,所以,看字面以100美分为单位你是对的。我没标注单位(千美元),因为根据习惯,大数据(GDP、债务、银行储备基金、国家财政收入、国家预算等等)都是以千美元为单位,而不是以100美分为单位。我小时候生产队结算都是以分钱为单位,因为一个劳值8分钱,有的生产队一个劳值9分钱,那就比8分钱的先进,令人羡慕,便佩服那个生产队的队长。不能以元为单位,说0.08元太麻烦了。火柴2分钱一盒,冰棍3分钱一颗,切开做本子的白纸4分钱一张,一个鸡蛋卖8分钱,豆芽8分钱一斤。也有论毛的,一斤羊肉6毛五,猪肉8毛五。后来就论块了,大学时每个月生活费给18块五。我回国发现,钢蹦子没有了,都是以块为单位了。比如一块钱两根油条,估计买一根也得一块钱,因为没有毛票流行了。
1后面6个零是米林;1后面9个零是比林;1后面12个零是吹林。一个吹林是一兆,也叫万亿。
这应该是670亿吧?或者说67个billion.
私人银行控制央行的优点才是美国成立美联储的最科学最合理的内核。这些贵族要比政府的政客们可靠多了。这是为何美国发行的货币总是与美国的GDP比例挂钩,而中国发行的人民币早已超过美元和欧元总和的原因,因为政府官员可以随便印钱,而贵族要为美国的长期利益着想,这跟政客只为本届着想高下立判。搞不懂这一点而反对美联储由私人组成的,才是糊涂虫。
美联储持有国债,企业债或进行债券市场操作,都会有利息收入,但这利息的96%必须上交给财政部,所以美联储的股东便没有赚什么钱。他们印钞买国债的印钞数量也是对应国债的数量,国债数量要由国会批准,过程都是透明的。买债相当于增加基础货币,发钞的数量是以债务记在账上,当国债到期回购债务就冲销了。并不是像外界传说的那样是私人银行控制了美国的央行。
not really. you can say: "The dead is dead."
所以,“The dead” 表明单数和复数都可以。比如,你可以说 The dead are ..., (表明复数);你也可以说 The dead is ... (表明单数)。用于单数时表明普遍意义或现象,用于复数时多表示具体的人群或动物群。
您不是在跟我开玩笑?
有一个老电影《The dead are alive>>. Dead, 可以是单数,也可以是复数。英语里有些单数与复数是用同一个单词。
不过,谢谢你看得如此认真如此仔细。
我曾经有过一个经历。一天在商店买鸡蛋,看得一个人挡着我,他在那里挑鸡蛋,就是害怕里边有裂口的。我只好等着他,等啊等,看他手里拿着一盒鸡蛋,三排,共18个。但见他把每个鸡蛋都拿起来仔细查看,转一圈查看。我简直不敢相信!那么认真。那是23年前了,那时的鸡蛋便宜到一盒99美分。我不高兴,我做过小买卖,对这类挑挑拣拣的人有天然的厌恶心理。我便往前挤,等于把他挤走,那个店放鸡蛋的地方小,我想把他挤到旁边。可他一回头我俩愣在了那里。他是我的牙科医生。有1米9到2米高,很瘦很瘦的白人医生。他不得不把鸡蛋放下跟我握手。我感觉很尴尬,不想聊天只想走开。我走开后回头发现他在继续检查他没检查完的那盒鸡蛋。我仔细想,他一个医生,不会缺鸡蛋钱吧?反复想,最后的结论是:他有职业病,他误以为他是在检查牙齿,要一个一个地查看是否有牙洞。所以,我猜想你肯定搞过文字编辑吧?
“美国人心目中无时不在的假想敌情结”。很有同感!我去过几个国家,不是走马观花式的旅游,而是工作和生活较长的时间。发现美国人是最有戒心的 不大气的。是否因为他们是五月花的后代,在抢到的土地上 心有余辜 生怕别人也来抢他们 所以就有玻璃天花板和戒备心。
网站随时给出联邦缴的利息。去年5600亿左右。
美国政府发放贷款,由美联储印出相应数量的钱给政府。美联储不是美国联邦政府的,是在Delaware 州注册的私人公司,由300家私人组成的公司。美联储的网站上没给出每年每家收入是多少,我看过有人给算过,大约每家每年一百万左右的收益。不是你认为的是零利率,美联储这个公司的300家白借钱给美国政府?你查查看。我十年前看的,因为内容太多,没太注意零利率白借钱给政府那一段。
美联储的主席和管理层是美国政府选出来的,但公司是300家私人的,其中很多英国人。不是说在美国的英国后裔,而是现在还在英国的英国公民。就是当初他们合资干的,可能都属于英国贵族或银行家,一代代传下来了。人家私人公司零利率白借钱给联邦政府?不大符合资本主义社会规则。当然,由于美联储是央行性质,管理层由政府决定,也说不定有规定。但把美联储看成是政府的,那是错的。财政部只能发放贷款,无权印钱,美联储根据财政部发放的贷款额印出钞票给财政部。只有当贷款卖出价影响到贷款利息过高时,美联储才自己出手买贷款。一旦有机会就立刻卖出去换回美元给财政部。美联储到底有多少负债,只有美联储知道,总统和国会想知道美联储的所有负债表,美联储没答应。因为是人家私人公司,有隐私权。
在尼克松之前,美联储印的美元数是根据美联储的黄金储备数来定,那时联邦政府没有债务,美国那时是债权国,美元只与黄金挂钩。这是成立美联储时的情况一直延续到尼克松当政。尼克松把美元与黄金脱钩,但没有同时解散美联储然后成立政府自己的央行。这就等于政府发放贷款,根据贷款的数额,决定美联储印多少钱,与美联储有多少黄金储备无关了。美联储大量购买政府的债券是从2009年金融危机后,叫QE。要让这300家私人公司零利率白借钱给政府,有点匪夷所思。因为收购长期债券时是公开报出了利息的,记得是把长期债券买进,卖出短期债券,等于拧巴一下。长期与短期的有息差。跟外面买卖的是一样的年利息。由于我没在这方面花功夫,只是知道个大概。所以,如果你认为我说的不对,告诉我。谢谢。
无论如何,此文悲壮 发人深省。
本人对一些小事件不敢兴趣
“彭丽媛戎装出任新职 中国文联副主席”,这个也太明晃晃了吧?请问这个怎么看?
他不是告诉你了?是从圣经读来的历史。圣经创世纪在他眼里是历史。细菌的细胞是怎么造出来的?细胞是怎么构成的?这些最基本的东西都不讲,还造人呢。就好比说你会造汽车,可你不知道汽车的基本构件都有哪些,你连轴承都不知道,就说汽车是你发明的。我还没上学的时候就玩弄那些比我还大一两岁的傻玩伴们说我昨晚造了俩星星,一个叫牛郎一个叫织女,你们晚上往天上看就能看到。他们都信以为真。类似的故事多了去了,直到初中时在上学的路上我还告诉同学们:“我昨晚发明了个小炸弹,把屋里的蚊子都炸死了。”他们都信以为真。他们崇拜了我后,我再说什么他们都不会动脑子考虑我玩弄他们的那些跟神话故事一样漏洞百出的言论是否有破绽了。就好比李大师说他推迟了地球爆炸30年,他的学员们信以为真。
达赖在西藏时讲给他的信徒他拉的屎是大香,他的崇拜者们每天都排队等着他拉屎后分给他们吃,他们就喊香啊香。你要让达赖自己亲自吃他自己拉的屎,他绝对不干的,因为他清楚那是骗人的鬼话。但科学研究表明,当达赖的信徒相信了达赖所言后,他们在吃他的屎时的确是香的。就好比我在评论里说的,李大师的弟子被公安警棍暴打时的确感受不到疼,非但如此,还会增加多巴胺的释放而感觉舒服。但如果打李大师本人,因为他知道那是鬼话,就会真的疼。这是科学研究的结论。
高智商的上层人物里,毫无疑问都把圣经故事当成类似李大师的骗人神话故事而已。只有智商低下的傻子才会拿神话故事当真。李大师的弟子被国安暴打时说不疼,科学证明他们真的感觉不疼,那是因为他们相信大师教导他们的受难是修炼升华的过程。如果你用警棍真的去打李大师本人,他疼得嗷嗷叫。这个道理你是永远搞不懂的。
但美国人的忧患意识和假想敌情结,应该不是来自西雅图酋长的演说。
当初以色列人按照上帝的指引进入迦南美地的时候,那地的原住民迦南人和亚摩利人,原是要被斩尽杀绝的,比印地安人惨多了。上帝对以色列民说,这地是我赐给你们的,你们有无条件的所有权,但是我给你们设定有条件居住权。听我话的,遵行我律令的,你们就可以永远居住在这块地上,而且丰衣足食,子孙绵延;如果你们违背我的律法,转而去侍奉别的大神,胡搞一气,那我就会把你们赶出去。
熟悉圣经的人都知道,上帝在带领以色列人从约旦河东面进入迦南美地的同时,却带领另一族人从西面的海上进入迦南美地。这伙人就是后来的巴勒斯坦人。以色列人当初是何等的强势,可是谁都没有想到,一千年后,他们自己却被亚述人、巴比伦人、希腊人、罗马人轮流征服,彻底驱赶,以至在二战中差一点被灭种。
美国是基督教国家,基督徒们熟悉这一段圣经故事的人,远比熟悉西雅图酋长演说的人多。
I-5高速旁边的确有好多土著保护区,应该和这段历史有关吧。
另外:土著人不可能有这样的英文文笔,肯定是白人写的,土人山寨的。
不过,既然美国人从小学习这篇从印第安人心底涌出的文字,怎么有些人到现在还不明白“印第安人的墓地是神圣的”这一浅显的道理呢?石油公司铺设油管绕开印第安人的墓地,多花点钱不行吗?
不过,我还是没有被说服。美国人的忧患意识强吗?有中国人强吗?我咋觉得他们没啥忧患意识呢。
所以之前八年的民主党政府已经开始严肃面对这一潜在的战略威胁,部分国内媒体幻想川普上台后会因为奉行孤立主义而彻底放弃和中国的对抗,恐怕过于乐观了。川普很可能是个非常难缠的对手。