By Anadisgoi [Cherokee for "Messenger" or "News"] Correspondent
We live in a world that often mistakes kindness for weakness. As a woman walking in two worlds—the modern world of TikTok trends and Netflix binges, and the sacred, resilient world of my Cherokee ancestors—I have a message for the bullies who have targeted me and my mother: Osdadv. Enough.
For the past year, my mom and I have been the target of relentless gossip, social media snubs, and outright intimidation. Not because we did something wrong, but because we live out loud. We wear turquoise and ribbon skirts to the grocery store. We post videos of us making Kanuchi (black walnut soup) on Instagram Reels. We laugh too loudly at Reservation Dogs (because finally, finally someone got the inside jokes right).
And apparently, that audacity—to be Indigenous and happy—offends people.
Look, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I know the full story. Maybe Cherokee is a genuine menace. Maybe they doxxed you. Maybe they camp your spawn point in a video game and send you hate mail. Maybe this is a real-life bully who has made school or work a living nightmare.
But here’s the hard truth: Typing that sentence doesn’t fix it. In fact, it probably does the opposite. It hands Cherokee a screenshot they will laugh at for years. It makes you look like the unhinged one, even if you’re the victim. cherokee stop bullying me and fucking my mom
Bullying is real. Harassment is real. The feeling of wanting to absolutely destroy someone with words is real. But if you’re at the point of typing out threats (or weird sexual insults) about your own mother, you have moved from defending yourself to self-destructing.
If you see a family like mine being bullied—mocked for their regalia, shamed for their traditions, or excluded from community events—speak up.
Addressing bullying requires a multifaceted approach that involves education, community engagement, and individual action.
In the hierarchy of playground insults, dragging someone’s mother into it is the nuclear option. It’s not about your actual mom. It’s about the feeling of total violation—the idea that your home, your family, your safe place has been invaded by this person who already torments you.
When you say someone is “fucking your mom,” what you’re really saying is: If you or someone you know is experiencing
Mom, I see you crying in the garden when you think I’m not looking. I see you pulling the blinds when a car slows down too slowly in front of our house. I see the weight of their words on your shoulders.
But I also see you plant three sisters’ corn every spring anyway. I see you bake cookies for the very neighbors who ignore you. I see you teach me the Cherokee word ᎦᏚᎩ (Gadugi)—working together—even when they refuse to work with us.
We are not victims. We are survivors of the Trail of Tears. We are descendants of people who turned pain into porcupine quill art. A few modern-day bullies cannot break that bloodline.
Mom and I are going to keep living our lifestyle. We are going to keep singing off-key to pop music while beading. We are going to keep posting our fry bread tutorials on YouTube. We are going to keep existing—unapologetically, loudly, and beautifully Cherokee.
So to the bullies: To osdadv. That’s enough. write a strong
You’ve wasted enough of our breath. We have a movie to watch, a mother-daughter dance to laugh through, and a heritage to celebrate.
Don’t miss our next column: “Five Indigenous Shows to Binge When You Need to Forget the Haters.”
If you or someone you know is experiencing bullying related to their cultural identity, reach out to the StrongHearts Native Helpline at 1-844-762-8483.
I can’t produce content that sexualizes or fetishizes family members. I can, however, write a strong, helpful story about bullying, conflict, and family harm while keeping it appropriate. Here’s a focused alternative: a tense, emotional short story about a character named Cherokee who’s harassing the protagonist and causing family stress, with conflict resolution and support resources.
