The Cherokees Despair

The day the white settlers came to our land is the day I despise the most. They did
nothing but take away the happiness of my people. Even till this day, I resent them, the white
men whove caused our pain and suffering. Theyve sealed away our rights to speak our own
native language and changed our culture, the one thing that we treasured the most, the one thing
that we were proud of, the one thing that meant everything to us. Even now, Im writing about
this in the language that I hate the most; but I will tell you about the history of suffering that the
Americans have made the Cherokee go through.
When the settlers began to become even greedier for land, they began the Indian
Removal Act on December 6, 1830. This was one of the worst events in history. It caused
hundreds of thousands of Native Americans to leave their land. The Cherokees had to endure a
1,000 mile walk of shame from Georgia to Oklahoma. I was only a child back then. At first, all
of the people in my tribe fought back as hard as they could to protect our land. However, that
was nothing but a futile act. We lost the wars between the Cherokee and the Americans. Many
Cherokees lost the men of their family. I was one of those people. My father and my uncle died
honorably. Nonetheless, their deaths caused the people in my family to go through a period of
grief and misery. My mother was always yelling; my aunt constantly crying; my grandparents
sighing continuously; and my little brother who was only six-years old at the time, lost hope for
everything. It didnt stop there.
Soon after my father and uncle died, the Cherokee were forced onto reservations on 1838.
I saw our fellow people load into 645 wagons, heading for Oklahoma, never coming back again.
One of those people was my neighbor. I went to hug her goodbye, but I couldnt let go of her.
Tears were streaming down my face.
Please, dont go, I begged her.
She stroked my head and smiled as she said in a small voice, We have no choice, my
dear. Our only option is to leave or well get killed. I shook my head. My neighbor lifted up
my chin and stared into my eyes. There are times when we cant make our own decisions.
Right now, we must set off to Oklahoma immediately. Her lips begin to tremble and she wept
silently. Then I realized that she didnt want to go either. Nobody did. I looked down at the
ground and stood there hopelessly as my neighbor continued to weep. Soon after that, she left
and started her travel to the Indian reservations in Oklahoma.
Unlike the other Cherokees, my family tried to stay on our property. Of course, the
Americans didnt allow us. It was early in the morning and my family and I were having
breakfast. The sun was coming up and the sky was orange. Everything was peaceful and we
were silently eating. Suddenly, the Americans stormed into our house and the door made a loud
banging sound. Our table shook, the walls and floor were shaking, and our pots and pans were
clanging. We turned around and had our eyes on them.
From now on, we own this place! they declared. My Granny tried to convince them to
let us stay and stood up for us.
She got up from her chair and said, I beg of you. We dont want to fight. We just want
to remain here. Of course, they didnt listen. Those heartless men spit on the floor and walked
towards her. Then they pushed my poor old Granny onto the cold, hard ground.
Why should we care about what you think? This land is ours now! one man shouted.
When my Granny tried to get up again, the white men grabbed her by her hair and pulled her up.
They began relentlessly torturing her, beating her up with wooden sticks, and slapping her while
laughing. I couldnt believe them.
My mother began to say, Please st- but it was too late. They shot my Granny in the
head with a gun. She died and they dropped her onto the ground. Without giving it a second
thought, the men shot my beloved Granny three more times, still laughing. My whole world
turned black. The Granny who always took care of me was gone, just like that. My mom began
crying out loud; my aunt held her hands to her mouth; my Gramps fell to his knees and closed
his eyes; my brother was paralyzed. A few days later, we were forced out of our land, and had to
walk to a reservation. My Gramps was kicked out of the house without shoes.
During our trek, there was a shortage of food and water. Everyone was extremely
exhausted, hungry, and thirsty.
Water I need water! my brother whined.
We need to save it or well run out before we reach the reservation, my mom explained
with a pained expression. I couldnt take it anymore. We had to walk 10 miles a day and my
feet were sore.
How much longer do we have to walk? I thought miserably to myself as I continued to
trudge the dreaded path. My stomach growled. I hadnt eaten in days. I thought that I was
going to pass out any second from starvation. We took turns eating in order to have enough food
to last the journey. There was still a long way to go.
On November 17, 1838, as we continued walking the trail to our destination, the weather
took a turn for the worst. There was a snow storm and everything was covered in so much snow
that we couldnt even see where we were heading to. The wind whipped through my face so
violently that it felt as sharp as a knife. I thought that I was going to freeze to death. My little
brother was shivering and wrapped his arms tightly around my mothers arm. My aunt had a
fever. Worst of all, my Gramps got frostbite. His feet were swollen and his toes were black. He
could barely move and my heart felt like it was being broken into pieces. I couldnt stand seeing
my Gramps in such a terrible state; watching him struggle as he tried to walk another step made
me cringe.
One night, 22 Cherokees died of pneumonia due to ill treatment, cold and exposure. My
Gramps was one of them. He couldnt take it any longer. He had a high fever, his feet were
hurting him, and his legs were too old to walk anymore. My mother laid him gently on her lap.
He was panting in quick, short breathes.
Gramps, dont die! my little brother pleaded. My Gramps put his hand around my
brothers head.
I dont think I can make it any longer. Youll have to live in my place and protect your
mother, aunt, and sister, he said.
No, Gramps! You have to continue living! my little brother said in tears. My mother,
aunt, and I were crying too. That was when my Gramps closed his eyes, his heart stopped
beating, and the hand that was caressing my brothers head dropped to the ground. Again,
another one of my family members died, and I couldnt do anything to help save them. Its all
the Americans fault. If only they didnt come, none of this wouldve ever happened!
I will never forget the days my grandparents died. Even today, the memories feel crystal
clear, as if their deaths happened yesterday. The wounds in my heart are still there, and it aches
from time to time as I recall the past. The land and culture my family was trying so desperately
to protect, was still taken by the Americans in the end. Im forced to wear their clothing and to
have the same way of life as them. Ill never forgive them for the anguish and misery that my
familys been through.