Mr. Speaker, I want to thank the gentleman from Michigan and my good friend from New Jersey for the management of this proposed legislation. Mr. Speaker, I rise in support of Senate Joint Resolution 41, as offered by the good Senator from…
Mr. Speaker, I want to thank the gentleman from Michigan and my good friend from New Jersey for the management of this proposed legislation.
Mr. Speaker, I rise in support of Senate Joint Resolution 41, as offered by the good Senator from the State of Colorado, Mr. Campbell; and I would like to take this occasion to commend Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell and Senator Daniel Inouye on the historic opening of the National Museum of the American Indian.
The museum's opening and the other celebratory events of this week represent a culmination of over 15 years of dedicated work by Senator Ben Campbell and Senator Daniel Inouye to establish a national museum that acknowledges and honors the history, the achievement, and the arts and the culture of Native Americans.
This museum also symbolizes the courage and determination of Native Americans to persevere in the face of over 500 years of hardship and adversity. The National Museum of the American Indian is a true national treasure, a living legacy to the vitality and creativity of the first Americans of our Nation, a treasure that would not exist today without the vision and the efforts of Senator Ben ``Nighthorse'' Campbell and Senator Daniel Inouye.
Senator Campbell has worked tirelessly on behalf of Native Americans throughout his distinguished career. He introduced important legislation for native communities on issues as divergent as economic development, job training, trust reform and health care. Senator Campbell has also introduced resolutions honoring the contributions of Native American veterans to the United States and designating November 2003 as National American Indian Heritage Month. Senator Campbell has been a leading voice in establishing Native American policies and addressing the numerous challenges facing the Native American people, and his voice will be sorely missed when he retires at the end of this congressional session.
Senator Inouye has a tremendous reputation among the American Indian community. He deserves high praise for his countless contributions to the health and the well-being of our Nation's native people. Senator Inouye has been actively involved in the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs since 1978, playing a key role in establishing the committee from a select committee to a standing committee in order to better address long-neglected issues affecting our Native American community.
Senator Inouye has introduced legislation recognizing tribal sovereign authority, supporting native health care, and in conjunction with Senator Campbell, authorizing the construction of the National Museum of the Native American Indian.
Mr. Speaker, I also commend the Native American Caucus here in our own Chamber, led by my colleagues, the gentleman from Michigan (Mr. Kildee) and the gentleman from Arizona (Mr. Hayworth) for their outstanding leadership on issues of concern to the Native American community. For 16 years I have proudly supported the Native American Caucus as it advanced the interests of Native Americans in Congress, in the ongoing mission to improve the relationship between the United States Government and the Native American tribes to one of dignity and mutual respect.
Mr. Speaker, when I think of the American Indian museum, I think of the many trials and tribulations and suffering of the Native Americans. I am reminded of their generosity and humanity to teach the first pilgrims how to farm and to save the first Europeans from starvation. I am reminded of the forced removal of the Cherokees on the infamous ``Trail of Many Tears,'' and the moving surrender speech of Chief Joseph, who said, ``My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more, forever.''
Mr. Speaker, when I think of the American Indian Museum, I am reminded of the great speech by Chief Seattle, a member of the Squamish-Dowamish tribe in the State of Washington, and I will submit the text of Chief Seattle's speech for the Record. Chief Seattle's speech was a moving and most profound and keen observation on the relations between Native Americans and our country; profound, in that his insights were prophetic and accurate. I want to share with my colleagues an excerpt of Chief Seattle's speech, and I quote.
``Every part of this country is sacred to my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or some sad experience of my tribe. Even the rocks, which seem to lie dumb as they swelter in the sun along the silent shore in solemn grandeur thrill with memories of past events connected with the fate of my people. The very dust under your feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours because it is the ashes of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich with the life of our kindred.''
Mr. Speaker, as my good friend and colleague, the gentleman from California (Mr. Baca) alluded to earlier, the unmet social, political, educational and health care needs of some 4.1 million Native Americans is still an embarrassment, at least in this Member's opinion, and is not a record of which our national government can be proud. Yes, we are giving assistance, but never enough to do the job. I, for one, am puzzled by our Nation's inability to provide the necessary resources to assist our Native American community
with the very serious problems affecting them, especially health care and education.
Today, Mr. Speaker, the opening of the National Museum of the American Indian is a celebration of the Native American contributions to our national identity as well as a testament to the drive and determination of our congressional leaders who fought to make this museum a reality. Again I applaud the efforts of Senator Ben ``Nighthorse'' Campbell and Senator Daniel Inouye for their leadership and initiative, and I am hopeful that Congress will now act to give our Native American community a voice in government, hopefully for generations to come.
Mr. Speaker, I urge my colleagues to support Senate Joint Resolution 41.
Mr. Speaker, the speech of Chief Seattle, referred to above, follows:
Chief Seattle's Speech
As Translated by Dr. Henry Smith--Seattle, Washington Territory, During
Treaty Negotiations--1854
Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion upon our
fathers for centuries untold, and which to us looks eternal,
may change. Today is fair, tomorrow it may be overcast with
clouds.
My words are like the stars that never set. What Seattle
says the Great Chief at Washington can rely upon with as much
certainty as our paleface brothers can rely upon the return
of the seasons.
The son of the White Chief says his father sends us
greetings of friendship and good will. This is kind, for we
know he has little need of our friendship in return because
his people are many. They are like the grass that covers the
vast prairies, while my people are few and resemble the
scattering trees of a storm-swept plain.
The Great, and I presume, also good, White Chief sends us
word that he wants to buy our lands but is willing to allow
us to reserve enough to live on comfortably. This indeed
appears generous, for the Red Man no longer has rights that
he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, for we are
no longer in need of a great country.
There was a time when our people covered the whole land as
the waves of a windruffled sea covers its shell-paved floor.
But that time has long since passed away with the greatness
of tribes now almost forgotten. I will not mourn over our
untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers for
hastening it, for we too, may have been somewhat to blame.
When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary
wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, their
hearts, also, are disfigured and turn black, and then their
cruelty is relentless and knows no bounds, and our old men
are not able to restrain them.
But let us hope that hostilities between the Red Man and
his paleface brothers may never return. We would have
everything to lose and nothing to gain.
True it is, that revenge, with our young braves 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 great father, Washington, for I presume he is now our
father as well as yours, since George has moved his
boundaries to the North--our great and good father, I say,
sends us word by his son, who, no doubt, is a great chief
among his people, that if we do as he desires he will protect
us.
His brave armies will be to us a bristling wall of
strength, and his great ships of war will fill our harbors so
that our ancient enemies far to the northward--the Simsiams
and Hydas--will no longer frighten our women and old men.
Then he will be our father and we will be 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 arms
lovingly around the white man and leads him as a father leads
his infant son--but He has forsaken his red children. He
makes your people wax strong every day and soon they will
fill all the land; while my people are ebbing away like a
fast receding tide that will never flow again. The white
man's God cannot love His red children or He would protect
them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help.
How, then, can we become brothers? How can your Father
become our father and bring us prosperity and awaken in us
dreams of returning greatness?
Your God seems to us to be partial. He came to the white
man. We never saw Him, never heard His voice. He gave the
white man laws, but had no word for His red children whose
teeming millions once filled this vast continent as the stars
fill the firmament.
No. We are two distinct races, and must ever remain so.
There is little in common between us.
The ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their final
resting place is hallowed ground, while you wander away from
the tombs of your fathers seemingly without regrets.
Your religion was written on tablets of stone by the iron
finger of an angry God, lest you might forget it. The Red Man
could never remember nor comprehend it.
Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors--the dreams
of our old men, given to them 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 homes of their nativity
as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb. They wander far
away beyond the stars, are soon forgotten and never return.
Our dead never forget the beautiful world that gave them
being. They still love its winding rivers, its great
mountains and its sequestered vales, and they ever yearn in
tenderest affection over the lonely-hearted living, and often
return to visit and comfort them.
Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever
fled the approach of the white man, as the changing mist on
the mountain side flee before the blazing morning sun.
However, your proposition seems a just one, and I think
that my folks will accept it and will retire to the
reservation you offer them, and we will dwell apart and in
peace, for the words of the Great White Chief seem to be the
voice of Nature speaking to my people out of the thick
darkness that is fast gathering around them like a dense fog
floating inward from a midnight sea.
It matters little where we pass the remainder of our days.
They are not many. The Indian's night promises to be dark. No
bright star hovers above his horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan
in the distance. Some great Nemesis of our race is on the Red
Man's trail, and wherever he goes he will still hear the sure
approaching footsteps of the fell destroyer and prepare 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 all
the mighty hosts that once filled this broad land or that now
roam in fragmentary bands through these vast solitudes or
lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, win
remain to weep over the graves of a people once as powerful
and as hopeful as your own!
But why should I repine? Why should I murmur at the fate of
my people? Tribes are made up of individuals and are no
better than they. Men come and go like the waves of a sea. A
tear, a tamanamus, a dirge and they are gone from our longing
eye forever. Even the white man, whose God walked and talked
with him as friend to friend, is not exempt from the common
destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see.
We will ponder your proposition, and when we have decided
we will tell you. but should we accept it, I, here and now,
make this the first condition, that we not be denied the
privilege, without molestation, of visiting at will the
graves of our ancestors and friends.
Every part of this country is sacred to my people. Every
hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been
hallowed by some fond memory or some sad experience of my
tribe. Even the rocks, which seem to lie dumb as they swelter
in the sun along the silent shore in solemn grandeur thrill
with memories of pass events connected with the fate of my
people, the very dust under your feet responds more lovingly
to our footsteps than to yours, because it is the ashes of
our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the
sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich with the life of our
kindred.
The sable braves, and fond mothers, and glad-hearted
maidens, and the little children who lived and rejoiced here
and whose very names are now forgotten, still love these
solitudes and their deep fastnesses as eventide grows shadowy
with the presence of dusky spirits.
And when the last Red Man shall have perished from the
earth and his memory among white men shall have become a
myth, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my
tribe and when your children's children shall think
themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the
highway, or in the silence of the 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
shall be silent and you think them deserted, they will throng
with the returning hosts that once filled and still live 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.