🔥 When Indigenous Faculty Break Their Silence: "We Cannot in Good Faith Recommend That Native Students Attend UA"
Six Indigenous professors risk their careers to protect students from administrator they say is "sowing harm and division"
😽 Keepin’ It Simple Summary for Younger Readers
👧🏾✊🏾👦🏾
👩🏫✉️ Six Native American professors at the University of Arizona have written a letter saying they can't recommend their school to Indigenous students due to issues with an administrator named Tessa Dysart.
The professors claim Dysart has been harmful to Native students, allegedly stopping a Native law student from speaking at an event 🚫🗣️ and making negative remarks about tribal colleges.
They are calling for Dysart's dismissal and the reinstatement of Julian Juan, the former director who protected Indigenous students. The professors are risking their jobs by speaking up, prioritizing student safety over pleasing administrators.
This reflects larger issues at universities nationwide 🌐 where programs supporting Native American students are under threat.
🗝️ Takeaways
🔥 Six Indigenous faculty members publicly demand the removal of Assistant Vice Provost Tessa Dysart for "sowing harm and division."
💔 Faculty say they can't "in good faith" recommend UA to Native students under Dysart's leadership—will refer them elsewhere
⚖️ The letter alleges that Dysart physically silenced a Native law student and lacks experience with Indigenous student support programs
💰 Dysart makes $195,435 annually despite allegedly being unilaterally appointed without a hiring committee recommendation
📱 Faculty demand reinstatement of Julian Juan, the fired NASA director who protected students from unsafe situations
🎭 UA's response claims that Dysart brings a "student-centered approach," while faculty can't recommend the university to students
✊ Letter represents unprecedented collective action by Indigenous faculty protecting community over careers
🌍 Part of a broader assault on Indigenous education programs happening across the country under the Trump administration
When Faculty Break Their Silence: "We Cannot in Good Faith Recommend That Native Students Attend UA"
When six Indigenous faculty members put their careers on the line to publicly denounce a university administrator, you know we've reached a breaking point that goes deeper than institutional politics—we're witnessing the kind of community protection that has kept our peoples alive for centuries.
The desert winds carry stories, mi gente, and today they're carrying the sound of Indigenous voices refusing to stay silent while their students suffer.
Six Native American faculty members at the University of Arizona just did something that takes valor beyond measure—they signed their names to a letter demanding the removal of Assistant Vice Provost Tessa Dysart and the reinstatement of Julian Juan, the Tohono O'odham NASA administrator who was fired for protecting Indigenous students.
Imagínense—professors putting their own job security at risk to defend students who aren't even their own hijos, but who they've claimed as community, as family, as the future of our nations.
This is the kind of fierce protection that runs in our bloodlines, from the mothers who hid children during raids to the maestras who taught us to read in both languages even when it was forbidden.
The Letter That Changes Everything: Faculty Stand with Students
When I read the names on this letter—Karletta Chief, Andrew Curley, Stephanie Russo Carroll, Jameson D. Lopez, Sheilah E Nicholas, and Valerie Shirley—I see more than academic credentials.
I see the kind of Indigenous intellectuals who remember that education was never supposed to separate us from our communities, but to strengthen them. These are faculty members who understand that sometimes you have to choose between institutional comfort and community protection.
Their letter to President Suresh Garimella and Provost Patricia Prelock doesn't mince words: they have "no confidence" in Dysart, alleging she is "sowing harm, distrust, and division within the UA Native community."
But here's the part that should make every parent's heart skip a beat—these professors say they can't "in good faith" recommend that Native American students attend their own university under Dysart's leadership.
¿Pueden creerlo?
Faculty members are essentially telling prospective students to go anywhere else—Arizona State University, Northern Arizona University, anywhere but here—because they can't guarantee their safety and well-being at their own institution.
When professors are willing to hurt their own enrollment numbers to protect students, that's not academic politics. That's amor de la comunidad in action.
The Allegations: A Pattern of Harm
The faculty letter reads like a documentation of institutional violence disguised as administrative leadership. They cite specific incidents that paint a picture of someone who fundamentally misunderstands her role in serving Indigenous communities:
Dysart "physically silenced a Native American female student" during the February Tribal Summit when law student Jacquelyn Francisco tried to speak about UA's land acknowledgment changes
She lacks support for academic panels on the Land Back movement—imagine that, an Indigenous affairs administrator opposing Indigenous land sovereignty
She has no experience with Native American student admissions, retention, and service programs
When asked to leave the NASA space because students felt unsafe, she responded with colonial entitlement: "I can go anywhere I please."
Ay, Dios mío. That last one hits different when you understand the layers.
Indigenous spaces aren't just convenient locations—they're carefully created refuges in institutions that were designed to kill our cultures. When someone says "I can go anywhere I please" in an Indigenous student center, they're invoking the same logic that justified Manifest Destiny. The same entitlement drove boarding school policies.
The faculty members note they can't list additional concerns because they want to "protect the identities of students and staff." ¿Saben qué? When faculty have to protect witnesses like they're dealing with organized crime rather than university administration, something is deeply broken.
The Hiring Process: Red Flags Ignored
Here's where the story gets even more troubling.
The faculty allege that Dysart wasn't even recommended by the hiring committee—she was "unilaterally appointed" by former Provost Joseph Glover, who held his position for only two months before leaving. They claim she gave misleading information during interviews, saying she had longstanding relationships with Native law students when she didn't.
Órale, so we have someone appointed without committee recommendation, who apparently misrepresented her qualifications, now making $195,435 annually to oversee programs serving 2,000 Indigenous students from 200 Native nations.
Meanwhile, Julian Juan, who actually built relationships, created programming, and earned student trust over the years of service, gets fired for doing his job.
It's the kind of institutional racism that would make my abuela throw her chancla at the television if she were watching this unfold on the news. The competent Indigenous administrator gets disappeared while the problematic replacement gets protected and promoted.
Julian Juan's Testimony: "I Can Physically Silence a Student, But I Cannot Advocate for Them"
Juan's response to learning about the faculty letter reveals the psychological toll of fighting institutional racism while trying to serve students. He told the Arizona Mirror that an Indigenous student reported Dysart making derogatory comments about tribal colleges, saying they don't adequately prepare students for "the rigors of a Western university."
¿En serio? An administrator paid to support Indigenous students is trash-talking the very institutions that often provide the most culturally affirming education available to our youth? It's like hiring someone to manage a mercado who thinks all the vendors are selling inferior products.
Juan's Instagram reflection after his termination cuts to the heart of what's happening: "I think the most heartbreaking thing is just in advocating for Native students, I began to see a path forward for me to be pushed out. And what that signals to me is that advocating for students, advocating for Native students is a no-no."
His most powerful observation exposes the twisted priorities: "I can physically silence a student, apparently, but I cannot advocate for them. That's a no-no."
Eso está bien dicho.
In UA's world, you can put your hands on Indigenous students to stop them from speaking the truth, but you can't ask administrators to leave when students feel unsafe. You can dismiss tribal colleges as inadequate, but you can't question why someone without relevant experience is running Indigenous programs.
University Response: Gaslighting as Administrative Strategy
UA's response, as relayed through spokesperson Mitch Zak, reads like a masterclass in institutional gaslighting. They claim NASA "continues as an independent program now led by Associate Vice Provost and Professor Tessa Dysart" and that she's "bringing a more coordinated, student-centered approach."
Student-centered? Students feel so unsafe around her that the faculty can't recommend the university. That's like calling a restaurant "customer-focused" while the health department is posting warning signs.
The university's claim that they're "confident in NASA's new leadership and the positive direction it is taking" would be laughable if it weren't so tragic. When your own faculty are telling prospective students to go elsewhere, that's not a positive direction—that's institutional crisis management.
The Broader Context: Indigenous Education Under Siege
This faculty letter doesn't exist in isolation—it's part of a broader assault on Indigenous education happening across the country.
From the elimination of cultural resource centers to the systematic firing of Indigenous administrators, we're witnessing a coordinated effort to remove Indigenous voices from positions of influence in higher education.
Es como siempre, the pattern repeats across generations. First, they came for our children with boarding schools. Then they came for our languages with English-only policies. Now they're coming for our educational advocates with budget cuts and administrative restructuring.
But here's what gives me hope: Indigenous faculty are fighting back with the same fierce protection that has sustained our communities for centuries. When professors risk their careers to defend students, they're channeling the same energy that drove parents to hide children from government agents, the same coraje that powered our ancestors' resistance.
What This Means for Our Communities
When Indigenous faculty can't recommend their own university to Native students, we're not just talking about one institution's problems—we're talking about the systematic barriers that keep our young people from accessing higher education safely.
Piénsenlo: How many Indigenous students will choose other paths because the very people who should be mentoring them into higher education can't guarantee their safety and success? How many potential doctors, lawyers, teachers, and leaders will we lose because universities prioritize administrative convenience over the well-being of their students?
This is why the faculty letter matters beyond UA's campus. It's a warning to other institutions: if you think you can quietly eliminate Indigenous programs and silence Indigenous voices, you're wrong.
Our faculty, our students, and our communities are watching, and we're not going to stay silent!
The Power of Collective Action
What moves me most about this letter is its demonstration of the power of Indigenous intellectuals working together. These six faculty members didn't just speak as individuals—they spoke as a collective, representing different departments, different nations, but united in their commitment to student welfare.
Eso es la fuerza de la comunidad—the strength of community action that has always been our survival strategy. When one person speaks out, they can be dismissed as disgruntled. When six accomplished faculty members speak with one voice, institutions have to listen.
The letter also represents something deeper: Indigenous faculty claiming their responsibility to protect students, not just educate them. They're modeling the kind of holistic care that Indigenous education has always embodied—understanding that learning occurs in community, that safety fosters growth, and that advocacy is an integral part of teaching.
Moving Forward: What We Can Do
This moment demands action from all of us who care about Indigenous education and student welfare:
Support the Faculty: These professors took enormous risks to speak truth. Share their letter, amplify their voices, let them know the community stands with them.
Contact UA Leadership: President Garimella and Provost Prelock need to hear from the broader community. When Indigenous faculty can't recommend their own university, that's a crisis that demands immediate attention.
Connect the Struggles: This isn't just about UA—it's part of a broader assault on Indigenous rights in education. Support Indigenous student organizations and faculty wherever you are.
Share the Stories: Our communities need to know what's happening. When universities attack Indigenous programs, it affects all of our families, all of our futures.
Remember Julian Juan: His firing started this crisis, and his reinstatement remains a key demand. Supporting Indigenous administrators means supporting Indigenous students.
Seeds of Hope in Community Resistance
As I finish writing this from my home in the borderlands, where the Sonoran Desert meets the dreams of countless families, I'm reminded that resistance is in our DNA, from the faculty members who signed this letter to the students who organized petitions, from the community members offering support to the tribal leaders considering coordinated action—estamos juntos en esta lucha.
The university can fire Indigenous administrators and ignore faculty concerns, but they can't eliminate the bonds of community that connect us across campus boundaries. They can restructure programs and change organizational charts, but they can't restructure the love that drives Indigenous faculty to protect their students like family.
Mi gente, when professors risk their careers to defend students, when communities organize across institutional boundaries, when Indigenous voices refuse to be silenced—that's not just resistance. That's the continuation of survival strategies that have kept our people strong for centuries.
The faculty letter ends with clear demands: reinstate Julian Juan, remove Tessa Dysart, and return NASA to appropriate oversight. But between those lines, I read something deeper—a commitment to Indigenous students that transcends institutional politics, a love for community that's stronger than job security, a vision of education that serves our peoples rather than assimilating them.
La lucha continúa, and today it's being led by Indigenous faculty who remember that education is supposed to liberate, not harm our students. When they speak, we listen. When they act, we follow. When they protect our young people, we stand with them.
Seguimos adelante, together, protecting the future of Indigenous education one student, one letter, one act of courage at a time.
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Reflection Questions
How do you see the connection between these faculty members' actions and traditional Indigenous values of community protection? What would it look like if other Indigenous faculty across the country took similar stands?
When professors can't recommend their own university to students from their communities, what does that tell us about the state of Indigenous education? How can we better support Indigenous faculty who take these risks?
Share your thoughts below—because these conversations don't end with the article, they begin there.
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I wonder whether they'll be fired, and if so, on what grounds. Let us hope that they can retain their academic positions, since they are clearly people with remarkable intergrity.