Perhaps you think the creator has sent you here to dispose of us as you see fit
if i thought you were sent by the creator
I might be induced to think you had a right to dispose of me


Do not misunderstand me, but understand me fully with reverence to my affection for the land
I never said the land was mine to do with as i choose
the one who has a right to dispose of it is the one who has created it

I claim a right to live on my land and accord you the privilege to
return to yours




brother we have listened to your talk
coming from our father the great white Chief at Washington
and my people have called upon me to reply to you


and in the winds which pass through these aged pines
we hear the moanings of there departed ghosts
and if the voice of our people could have been heard that act
would never have been done






but alas though they stood around they could neither be seen
nor heard, their tears feel like drops of rain.

I hear my voice in the depths of the forest, but no answering voice comes back to me, all is silent around me
my words therefore must be few
I can now say no more

he is silent
for he has nothing to answer
when the sun goes down









link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4n81nXpWgO8&feature=related


music by Robbie Robertson & The Red Road Ensemble


Photography by Edward S. Curtis





In Solidarity with the struggle of the First Nations