⚖️ Indigenous Students Drop Legal Bombshell: UA's Budget Cuts Violate Treaty Obligations, Not Just Diversity Goals
Formal letter from all Native organizations reframes cultural center closures as constitutional matter involving tribal sovereignty
😽 Keepin’ It Simple Summary for Younger Readers
👧🏾✊🏾👦🏾
Native American students at the University of Arizona just wrote a really powerful letter ✉️ calling out their school for trying to shut down programs that help Indigenous students succeed. Instead of asking nicely for the school to be more diverse, the students are pointing out that the university was literally built on stolen Native land 🏞️ with money from selling that land, which means they have legal obligations ⚖️ to serve Indigenous communities.
The letter got shared on LinkedIn 📲 and has gotten support from professors and tribal leaders around the world 🌎. This all started because the school fired Julian Juan, a Native administrator who was protecting Indigenous students from another administrator who had physically tried to stop a Native law student from speaking at an event 🎙️. The students are now organizing tribal governments to potentially cut off research partnerships and funding if the university doesn't stop attacking Indigenous programs. 🛑✊🏽
🗝️ Takeaways
🔥 Native American student leaders from all campus organizations signed a formal letter denouncing UA's plan to eliminate seven cultural resource centers
⚖️ Students reframe the issue from diversity/inclusion to tribal sovereignty and treaty obligations, making this a constitutional matter
💣 Dr. Reva Mariah ShieldChief outlines strategy for tribal governments to withdraw research partnerships and funding from UA
🌍 International solidarity emerging with scholars from Australia to Italy calling UA's actions "indefensible" and "atrocious"
📈 LinkedIn post generated 740+ reactions, showing broad support across academic, legal, and Indigenous rights communities
🎯 Letter connects UA's actions to broader pattern of eliminating "treaty responsibilities to Native communities after confiscation of Native lands"
✊ Students demand preservation of cultural centers and reinstatement of fired NASA director Julian Juan
🏛️ "Direct Assault on Tribal Nations": How Indigenous Students Just Changed the Entire Conversation at UA
When Native American student leaders write formal letters denouncing university plans as "direct assaults on tribal sovereignty," you know the gloves have come off. This isn't campus activism—it's Indigenous nations drawing battle lines.
The desert wind carries more than dust these days, compadres. It carries the sound of Indigenous voices refusing to be silenced, the rustle of formal letters that read like declarations of war, and the digital thunder of a resistance movement that has University of Arizona administrators scrambling for damage control like cockroaches when the lights come on.
On May 25, 2025, Native American student leaders across the UA campus dropped a political bomb disguised as a formal letter.
Signed by representatives from every Indigenous student organization on campus—from the Tohono O'odham Student Association to the Native & Indigenous Law Students Association—this isn't your typical student complaint. It's a sophisticated analysis of colonial violence that cuts through administrative doublespeak like obsidian through settler mythology.
"The University of Arizona Native American student body denounce the proposed plan by the University of Arizona to shut down all seven cultural resource centers, including Native American Student Affairs," the letter begins, and from there it gets progressively more devastating. "This would not only cause serious harm to the Native students on campus but also directly attack the sovereignty of Tribal Nations."
¿Órale? These students understand something that apparently escaped UA's highly paid administrators: when you systematically dismantle Indigenous support systems on stolen land, you're not making budget cuts—you're committing acts of colonial violence.
The Letter That Changes Everything: From Diversity Theater to Sovereignty Analysis
What makes this letter extraordinary isn't just its moral clarity—it's the surgical precision with which it dissects the colonial logic of UA. The students don't waste time pleading for inclusion or begging for scraps of diversity. Instead, they reframe the entire debate around tribal sovereignty and treaty obligations.
"Any attempt to eliminate NASA is a direct assault on the Native American student population as well as the Tribal Nations, which this university was founded to serve as part of its land-grant mission," they write, their words carrying the weight of legal and historical analysis that would make constitutional scholars weep with professional jealousy.
But then they deliver the knockout punch: "It seems that the current executive branch of the Federal Government and this University, by its current actions, are attempting to eliminate its treaty responsibilities to Native communities after confiscation of Native lands and place Native communities in a permanent subservient role as appendaged workers, not original Peoples, as the Indian Boarding School system designed it."
¡Chingones! There it is—the truth that makes university administrators squirm in their ergonomic desk chairs while clutching their land acknowledgment scripts. The University of Arizona isn't just another state school making budget cuts. It's a land-grant institution built on stolen Indigenous territory with federal funds generated by selling that stolen land. Every building, every program, every administrative salary—including Patricia Prelock's—is built on that foundation of theft.
The students understand that consolidating seven cultural resource centers into one generic "multicultural center" isn't administrative efficiency—it's the systematic erasure of Indigenous specificity, the same logic that drove boarding schools to "kill the Indian, save the man." Different uniforms, same genocide.
The Digital Uprising: When LinkedIn Becomes a Battlefield
The LinkedIn post sharing this letter has generated over 740 reactions and sparked a comment thread that reads like a masterclass in solidarity organizing. But this isn't just social media activism—it's sophisticated political organizing that's making UA administrators wake up in cold sweats.
Dr. William Broussard, a Vice Chancellor of University Advancement, didn't mince words: "Signed and shared. Your general counsel should know the difference between a 'culture' and a 'sovereignty' even if your state senate majority leader doesn't!" When university administrators from other institutions are publicly calling out UA's legal incompetence, you know the damage control teams are working overtime.
However, the comment that should terrify UA's research enterprise came from Dr. Reva Mariah Shield, Chief Director of Tohono O'odham Studies at Tohono O'odham Community College. She outlined a strategy that reads like economic warfare disguised as academic recommendation:
"I think a better strategy here might be to methodically go to each Arizona Tribe and address their governmental structures and ask for Resolutions opposing this administrative move... Refusals to allow data sharing, research (human or otherwise) subjects on tribal lands, people, or organizations, and the lack of advertising money, buildings, or programs should be withdrawn."
Órale, now we're talking about real power. Dr. ShieldChief understands something that UA's colonial administrators have forgotten: Indigenous communities have sovereignty, and sovereignty means the power to say no. When tribal governments start pulling research partnerships, data sharing agreements, and funding relationships, these budget-cutting administrators might suddenly discover that their "cost savings" come with a much higher price tag than they had calculated.
Universities rely on these relationships for federal grants, data access, and the type of "community partnerships" that appear well in promotional materials. If Arizona's 22 federally recognized tribes start coordinating their withdrawal from UA partnerships, the university's research enterprise could collapse faster than you can say "land acknowledgment."
International Solidarity: The World is Watching
The response hasn't been limited to Indian Country. Dr. Erin O'Donnell from Melbourne Law School wrote: "Absolutely indefensible from the university. Solidarity from Australia." Even Indigenous rights advocates in other countries recognize this assault for what it is—part of a global pattern of settler colonial violence against Indigenous communities.
Chiara Gallese, a postdoctoral fellow working on AI ethics, connected UA's actions to broader patterns of violence: "North America should really stop mistreating Native American people. The crimes they committed against Native Americans are atrocious. There should be more protests for this!"
Exactly. When international scholars are calling UA's actions "atrocious" and "indefensible," the university's PR department is probably updating their résumés. The global Indigenous rights movement is watching, and UA has just painted a target on their own backs.
The Julian Juan Context: How We Got Here
To understand the explosive power of this student letter, you need to know what lit the fuse. Just two days before the letter's release, Julian Juan—a member of the Tohono O'odham Nation and director of Native American Student Affairs—was fired for the crime of protecting Indigenous students from institutional violence.
Juan's termination followed a pattern of retaliation that reads like a masterclass in administrative terrorism. In February 2025, UA administrators physically prevented Navajo and Jicarilla Apache law student Jacquelyn Francisco from speaking at a Tribal Leaders Summit when she tried to criticize the university's quiet removal of diversity language from its land acknowledgment. Students watched their university literally put hands on one of their peers for speaking truth to power.
When Assistant Vice Provost Tessa Dysart—the same administrator who had physically obstructed Francisco—showed up unannounced at a student gathering in April, Juan asked her to leave due to student safety concerns. Her response dripped with colonial entitlement: "This is an open campus, I can go anywhere I please."
As Juan pointed out with devastating precision: "As native people, we don't say that. As native people, we know there are places we can't go or there are places we need to respect."
The university's retaliation was swift and brutal. They demanded Juan schedule a meeting with tribal leaders, promised they would accommodate tribal schedules, then fired him for not meeting their impossible timeline. The message was crystal clear: Indigenous voices are welcome as long as they stick to the script, but challenge administrative authority and you'll be disappeared.
Land Acknowledgments and Liberal Colonialism
Every University of Arizona event begins with the same ritualistic performance: a land acknowledgment so routinely delivered that most people treat it like elevator music—pleasant background noise before the real business of extraction begins.
"We respectfully acknowledge the University of Arizona is on the land and territories of Indigenous peoples. Today, Arizona is home to 22 federally recognized tribes, with Tucson being home to the O'odham and the Yaqui."
Qué bonito, ¿no? Pretty words from an institution that just fired a Tohono O'odham administrator for protecting Indigenous students in their own ancestral territory. They read this acknowledgment while Julian Juan cleaned out his office, and somehow everyone pretended this wasn't the most grotesque performance of cognitive dissonance since the Doctrine of Discovery was dressed up as legal theory.
UA's leadership operates with the kind of breathtaking audacity that makes you wonder if shame is a foreign concept to them. They've perfected the art of looking Indigenous students in the eye while systematically dismantling every support system that keeps those students from dropping out. It's institutional gaslighting elevated to an art form.
The students' letter addresses this hypocrisy head-on: "Under the leadership of Julian Juan, director of NASA, we have seen an explosion in the number of Native American student organizations at the University of Arizona. NASA continues to be the center of campus life for all Native American and Indigenous students and allies."
They're not just defending Juan—they're documenting what UA is destroying. Under his leadership, NASA became more than a support center; it became the beating heart of Indigenous campus life, hosting everything from the Indigenous Peoples Day celebration to the Spring Social Pow Wow.
The students understand that firing Juan and consolidating the cultural centers isn't about budget efficiency—it's about killing Indigenous community on campus.
Why isn’t the UA consolidating all fraternities and sororities into one Greek Club? 🧐
The Broader War: From Oak Flat to the Provost's Office
While this battle unfolds on campus, another war for Indigenous rights is being lost just miles away in the Tonto National Forest, where the Supreme Court recently refused to hear Apache Stronghold's desperate plea to protect Oak Flat from corporate destruction. The parallels are stark—in both cases, Indigenous people are being told that their spiritual and cultural practices must give way to institutional priorities.
It's almost like there's a pattern here, ¿verdad? Whether it's Resolution Copper turning Chi'chil Biłdagoteel into a crater or UA turning cultural centers into generic "multicultural" spaces, the message remains consistent: Indigenous rights are expendable when they conflict with colonial convenience.
The fact that Resolution Copper is owned by foreign corporations—Rio Tinto and BHP, with significant Chinese investment—makes the betrayal even more bitter. We're allowing foreign entities to destroy Apache sacred sites while firing Native administrators who try to protect Indigenous students on campus. The colonizers have gone multinational, but the logic remains depressingly familiar.
The Strategic Brilliance: Sovereignty Over Sympathy
What makes the students' letter strategically brilliant is how it sidesteps the diversity and inclusion framework entirely. They're not asking for inclusion in colonial institutions—they're asserting sovereignty as original peoples with treaty rights that supersede administrative convenience.
By framing UA's actions as attacks on tribal sovereignty rather than diversity cuts, the students force a completely different conversation. Diversity programs can be eliminated with budget justifications, but treaty obligations are constitutional matters that involve federal law and government-to-government relationships.
The letter's reference to UA's "land-grant mission" isn't academic rhetoric—it's legal analysis. Land-grant institutions were literally built with the proceeds from stolen Indigenous territory. The Morrill Act of 1862 granted states the right to sell Indigenous lands for university funding. UA doesn't just sit on stolen land—it was built with money from stolen land.
As the students write with surgical precision: "As a land-grant institution, the University of Arizona was built on lands taken from Tribal Nations and funded by the sale of those lands, creating a lasting obligation to not only recognize but serve Indigenous communities."
That's not a diversity statement—that's a legal brief. And it terrifies administrators because it's absolutely true.
The Human Cost: What UA is Destroying
The student comments responding to this crisis reveal the human cost of what UA is systematically destroying. Current and former students describe NASA not just as a support center, but as the lifeline that kept them enrolled and helped them succeed in a hostile institutional environment.
"Without NASA, I wouldn't have reached the academic achievements I've been blessed to attain," writes one alumnus. Margaret Zavala, a first-generation American Indian Studies major, captures the brutal irony: "As an AIS major and a JEDI minor, it's disheartening that due to the current Trump administration's blatant racism, we will be put on the back burner once again."
JEDI—Justice, Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion. Even the acronyms are being weaponized against the very communities they were supposed to serve. The empire doesn't just strike back—it co-opts the rebellion's language while crushing its leaders.
Most tellingly, prospective students are reconsidering their choices: "I just graduated from Diné College and was hoping for coming back. Now that NASA is ending idk if I wanna come back now." UA's short-sighted cruelty is already costing them the very students they love to brag about in diversity reports.
Perfect strategy, ¿no? Destroy the programs that actually help Indigenous students succeed, then wonder why enrollment drops. It's like burning down the bridge while complaining about the lack of traffic.
The Path Forward: From Resistance to Liberation
The students end their letter with a clear demand that should make UA administrators very nervous: "We call on the University to preserve and empower CRCs, including NASA, as well as retain their directors... Strengthen NASA and empower the current director, Julian Juan."
This isn't a request—it's a declaration of non-negotiable demands backed by the threat of tribal government action. The students understand that their power doesn't come from appealing to institutional benevolence, but from their relationships to sovereign tribal nations that have the legal and political power to make UA's life very difficult.
Dr. ShieldChief's strategy outline provides a roadmap: coordinate tribal government resolutions opposing the UA's actions, withdraw research partnerships, sever funding relationships, and reject data sharing agreements. When 22 federally recognized tribes start acting in coordination, even the most arrogant university administrators pay attention.
The international solidarity building around this issue adds another layer of pressure. When scholars from Australia to Italy are calling UA's actions "indefensible" and "atrocious," the university's reputation takes hits that hurt recruiting, funding, and partnership opportunities globally.
Building the Movement: How You Can Join the Fight
This fight requires sustained support from individuals who recognize that Indigenous rights are human rights and that educational justice is inextricably linked to broader struggles for decolonization. Here's how to get involved:
Support the Students Directly: The letter includes a link for students, alumni, and community members to add their support. Sign it, share it, amplify it across every platform you have access to.
Pressure University Leadership: Contact President Suresh Garimella, Provost Patricia Prelock, and the Arizona Board of Regents. Demand the preservation of cultural resource centers and the reinstatement of Julian Juan. Make it clear that the world is watching.
Support Tribal Government Action: If you have relationships with tribal governments or Indigenous organizations, encourage them to consider Dr. ShieldChief's strategy of coordinated resolutions and partnership withdrawals.
Connect the Struggles: Link this fight to other Indigenous rights battles, from Oak Flat to Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. Show up for Indigenous-led actions in your community.
International Solidarity: Share this story globally. Indigenous rights are human rights, and the international community needs to understand what's happening in American higher education.
Economic Pressure: Research UA's corporate partnerships and funding sources. Pressure them to take stands on Indigenous rights or face public accountability campaigns.
Seeds of Resistance in the Desert
As I write this from the borderlands where the Sonoran Desert meets centuries of resistance, I'm reminded that Indigenous communities have survived 500 years of attempts to destroy them. They've survived boarding schools and termination policies, uranium mining and forced relocation, broken treaties and stolen children.
UA's assault on Indigenous programs is devastating, but it's also awakening a new generation of Indigenous resistance that combines traditional sovereignty principles with contemporary organizing tools. These students understand that their fight isn't just about preserving programs—it's about asserting their fundamental right to exist as Indigenous peoples in relationship to Indigenous land.
The same strength that carried Geronimo through the Apache Wars now carries Indigenous students through hostile administrative meetings. The same wisdom that sustained communities through the darkest periods of colonization now guides efforts to decolonize education. The same love of land and people that has always defined Indigenous resistance now motivates fights against both corporate mining and administrative racism.
The University of Arizona can fire Julian Juan, but they can't fire the truth he represents. They can consolidate cultural centers, but they can't consolidate the communities those centers serve. They can try to silence individual voices, but they can't silence the collective call for sovereignty that echoes from every mountain and desert in this stolen land.
La lucha continúa—the struggle continues. And as long as there are Indigenous students willing to write letters that read like declarations of war, willing to organize across tribal lines, willing to demand sovereignty rather than beg for inclusion, there is hope blooming in the desert like ocotillo flowers after the rain.
Stay Connected and Keep Fighting
The fight for Indigenous rights, educational equity, and decolonization requires sustained attention and collective action. To stay informed about ongoing developments in this battle and other critical issues facing our borderlands communities, consider supporting Three Sonorans by subscribing to our Substack.
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What Do You Think?
The powerful interests trying to destroy Indigenous programs count on public attention moving elsewhere. They count on outrage fading and people moving on to the next crisis. But justice requires persistence, and change requires the kind of sustained pressure that only organized communities can provide.
How do you see this student letter changing the conversation around Indigenous rights in higher education? What would it look like if other tribal governments followed Dr. ShieldChief's strategy and withdrew partnerships from institutions that attack Indigenous sovereignty?
Have you witnessed similar patterns of retaliation against advocates for marginalized communities in your own workplace or community? How can we build solidarity between Indigenous rights movements and other social justice struggles?
Drop your thoughts in the comments below—because the conversation doesn't end with the article, it begins there.
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Damned right: the land WAS stolen!
I'm glad Native American students and alumni are fighting back.
Why would anyone think canceling an organization that supports students and increases Native American enrollment was a smart thing to do?