If I agree to dispose of any part of our land to the white people I would feel guilty of taking food away from our children's mouths, and I do not wish to be that mean.
Is it wrong for me to love my own? Is it wicked for me because my skin is red? Because I am Sioux? Because I was born where my father lived? Because I would die for my people and my country?
Every seed is awakened, and all animal life.
Behold, my friends, the spring is come the earth has gladly received the embraces of the sun, and we shall soon see the results of their love!
When I was a boy, the Sioux owned the world. The sun rose and set on their land they sent ten thousand men to battle. Where are the warriors today? Who slew them? Where are our lands? Who owns them?
What white man can say I never stole his land or a penny of his money? Yet they say that I am a thief.
The white man knows how to make everything, but he does not know how to distribute it.
Let us put our minds together and see what life we can make for our children.
There are things they tell us that sound good to hear, but when they have accomplished their purpose they will go home and will not try to fulfill our agreements with them.
It is through this mysterious power that we too have our being, and we therefore yield to our neighbors, even to our animal neighbors, the same right as ourselves to inhabit this vast land.
They claim this mother of ours, the Earth, for their own use, and fence their neighbors away from her, and deface her with their buildings and their refuse.
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