As Individual Fingers We Can

What White Woman, However Lonely, Was Ever Captive Or Insulted By Me? Yet They Say I Am A Bad Indian.

Hear Me People: We Have Now To Deal With Another Race - Small And Feeble When Our Fathers First Met Them, But Now Great And Overbearing. Strangely Enough They Have A Mind To Till The Soil And The Love Of Possession Is A Disease With Them. These People Have Made Many Rules That The Rich May Break But The Poor May Not. They Take Their Tithes From The Poor And Weak To Support The Rich And Those Who Rule.

I Have Killed, Robbed, And Injured Too Many White Men To Believe In A Good Peace. They Are Medicine, And I Would Eventually Die A Lingering Death. I Had Rather Die On The Field Of Battle. Look At Me, See If I Am Poor, Or My People Either. The Whites May Get Me At Last, As You Say, But I Will Have Good Times Till Then. You Are Fools To Make Yourselves Slaves To A Piece Of Fat Bacon, Some Hard-tack, And A Little Sugar And Coffee.

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.

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?