What Woodrow and Annie Built — why I’m still fighting

A Kituwah Punk Commentary

The grandparents never used the word Kituwah or Cherokee to describe themselves. They didn’t need it. Woodrow and Annie Littledeer raised 10 children — sometimes 11 — under one roof, on very limited income, without perfect English, against cultural barriers most people can’t imagine. They kept everyone fed, cared for, and together. That spirit wasn’t something they practiced or performed. It was their every way of life. The daily, unspoken work of carrying each other — that is the Cherokee culture we’re losing.

Everything I do traces back to that house.

They never measured success in money, and they never held an office. Their wealth was people. My aunt, my uncle, my step-dad — none of them ever sat me down and lectured me on how to live. They lived, and let me watch. My mother and her sisters aren’t just stories of resilience; they’re entire books. Kids don’t learn grit from speeches. They learn it from watching how you respond when things get hard. They follow your examples, not your advice.

So let me say plainly who I fight for: the people.

All of them.

Not one tribe. Not one affiliation. Not one enrollment card. Cherokee Nation citizens, United Keetoowah Band of Cherokee Indians in Oklahoma members, Eastern Band — and every family beyond Indian Country that depends on being able to question the government that claims to serve it. We stand up for our communities, Native or not. My family is made of three nations. My immediate family is composed of both. We are the same people, and what affects one of us affects all of us.

I was fired for factual reporting after being censored for speaking up about a federal funding freeze that hit all of Indian Country. That violated my rights as a journalist and the UKB Constitution and By-laws. But that’s three lines of this story, and that’s all it deserves — because the loss was never mine. When power silences the press, the people lose their voice. I just lost a paycheck.

Free press isn’t a luxury. It’s bedrock. Scratch out the word “press” and write in “sovereignty,” because they live or die together. If people can’t question their government, what they have isn’t sovereignty — it’s a slogan dressed up for the next press release.

Sovereignty belongs to the people, not those who temporarily sit in power.

Read it again. Sovereignty belongs to the people, not those who temporarily sit in power.

It survives only on hard terms. Sovereignty dies first in the minds of its people — forget your laws, your language, your power to decide, and it’s already gone. Constitutions and treaties mean nothing without the will to enforce them. Participation is the price: sovereignty isn’t bestowed by leaders, it’s upheld by the people, and the sidelines are surrender.

Retire gadugi as a PR slogan and do the real thing. Woodrow and Annie lived it without naming it. Too many officials name it without living it. Working together doesn’t check enrollment first. It doesn’t stop at a council chamber door or a nation’s border. Divided, outsiders write our rules. Together — Cherokee Nation, UKB, Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, every nation, every neighbor — we write our own.

People over government. Understand the politics, but never forget the people. Anyone who stands up for government over people should make you think hard about who they’re really serving.

My sons, ᏌᏪᎩ and ᏍᏏᏉᏯ, are too young to fully understand all this. But they’re watching, and they’re trying — and that’s all I can ask.

We fight for the people. We speak up for the people. No matter the affiliation. No matter the roll number. For Woodrow and Annie. For ᏌᏪᎩ and ᏍᏏᏉᏯ. For your grandparents and your children. For those who came before us and those who will come after us — all of us.

This isn’t the end. Not by far. Wado/sgi.

#icandothisallday

By Troy Littledeer.

Troy Littledeer is a Keetoowah Cherokee journalist and photographer and a member of the United Keetoowah Band of Cherokee Indians in Oklahoma. Publisher of Giduwa Cherokee News and Kituwah Punk, he covers tribal governance, sovereignty, and community impact across Indian Country from Adair County, Oklahoma. A 2025 IJA Tim Giago Free Press Award recipient and 2019 Oklahoma Press Association photography award winner, he has reported on federal Indian law, government accountability, and the communities that depend on both. His journalism answers to one standard: people over government, every time.