“To tell the truth is to become beautiful, to begin to love yourself, value yourself. And that's political, in its most profound way.” —June Jordan
Dear AWE Students,
I’m writing this open letter with a tender heart. Many of you have reached out since I was removed from teaching our final class in the grief and loss module, and I want to share what has happened, how I’m holding it, and what might come next. This letter includes my full statement, reflections, and the email I sent to the AWE team. This is my experience, naturally AWE and each of you will have your own.
This past weekend, I was removed from teaching the final class of your grief and loss module. The reasons shared with me were that naming the genocide in Palestine and using a politicized approach to grief were considered "unprofessional," insensitive, and "incompatible" with their learning environment. I was told that my brief mentions of Palestine were not “conducive to diverse student experiences.”
From what I understand, Zionist perspectives are being treated as a form of “diverse student experiences.” Much of what was said in our final meeting echoed Zionist rhetoric. I was told directly that my “love for Palestinians” was getting in the way of my teaching. That using the word genocide was “too nuanced.” That I was "the issue."
In their removal email they wrote: “You expressed that politicized grief is central to your work and that you had communicated this in the process of creating your syllabus – and it is true that you named “Politicized Grief Tending & Soul Activism” as a bullet point in your first class only, but we were not under the impression that this particular topic would be continued to be spoken about in the way that you did in each of your classes.”
I was invited to teach grief and loss and did so through the politicized lens I’ve always named publicly. This is the heart of my work. I prepared four two-hour sessions for a cohort that was described as advanced, and I approached my teaching with that depth in mind. I brought live writing and embodiment practices, grief-informed frameworks, and three written grief rituals. I adjusted to the group’s pace, invited feedback, and created space for questions. Your inquiries, reflections, and micro-ritual responses were all beautiful.
If any student, particularly those uncomfortable with my naming of Palestine, had shared their grief or discomfort, I would have welcomed it with care. None did. Many offered deep gratitude for the teachings.
This removal wasn’t expected, but it isn’t unfamiliar. I can name colonization, climate collapse, and even whiteness without pushback. But naming the genocide in Palestine is often met with censorship. This is part of a global pattern where educators, artists, and activists are being censored, fired, doxxed, or even detained for speaking grief rooted in justice.
Debating whether what’s happening in Palestine qualifies as genocide, particularly in a grief space, is not only missing the point, it’s a form of soul severance. The grief is real. The death toll is real. The starvation is real. The burning children are real. The displacement is real. The ecocide is real. And they’re happening right now, in front of our eyes. That should be enough. I use the word genocide, not only because it meets the international legal definition and reflects the scale of destruction unfolding, but also because it’s the word my Palestinian, Indigenous, and Jewish friends and colleagues have asked me to use. To fixate on a single word is disingenuous and a distraction from the heartbreak.
Grief is geopolitical. It is shaped by empire, domination, and violence. It is not separate from colonization, genocide, ecocide, and supremacy culture. It is born from them. And, settler colonialism is a global framework. Palestine is on the frontlines of imperial violence right now. Indigenous peoples have been on the frontlines since empire began.
Zionism is a political ideology that supports the creation and maintenance of a Jewish ethnostate at the expense of Palestinian lives, land, and sovereignty. It’s not a neutral or pro-Jewish position; it is entangled with fascism, colonialism, and climate collapse. It is a political project that has caused and continues to cause immeasurable harm.
I cannot support Zionist views, just as I cannot support anti-Semitism, anti-Blackness, anti-Indigeneity, or anti-queerness. If "diversity" requires tolerating ideologies rooted in supremacy and occupation, I cannot comply.
What I can hold is deep grief from ancestral trauma, the Holocaust, displacement, and diaspora; the heartbreak of seeing one’s suffering weaponized to justify another’s oppression. I can hold that grief with reverence and care. But I will not hold space for Zionist entitlement that demands silence and calls erasure "safety."
We will not reach collective liberation by confusing inclusion with complicity. We get there by naming what hurts, by holding truth, and by grieving in ways that disrupt and dismantle systems of harm.
I remain open to offering a final class independently if there’s interest in a space where we can name what happened and tend grief together. I’d love to hear what kind of support would feel most nourishing or needed for your cohort.
Below are links to two social media posts I’ve made in response to this, as well as the letter I sent to AWE on May 24th, after receiving confirmation that I would not be teaching your final class.
Please know that whatever you're holding—grief, confusion, holy outrage, heartbreak, overwhelm—you are not alone. This is a time for truth-telling, soul, and courage.
In sorrow and solidarity,
Holly Truhlar
Post 1: https://www.instagram.com/p/DKJFXk5MVft/?img_index=1
Post 2: https://www.instagram.com/p/DKLJsUvt2Jn/?img_index=1
Dear [name redacted for privacy] and AWE Team,
Thank you for your message and for confirming that I will not be teaching the final class. I understand that our contract has now concluded.
Given this conclusion, I request that the class recordings not be shared beyond what has been disseminated to current students, and that all of my teaching materials be removed from your network. Please confirm once this has been completed—ideally with screenshots or images for my records—as I was abruptly removed from the class network and no longer have access to the platform to verify it myself.
I make this request because without your structural support, it is not safe for these resources to remain accessible in your system, particularly in a time when educators and facilitators in the so-called United States are being publicly threatened, doxxed, fired, or worse for naming genocide and systems of supremacy. I know individuals who have been silenced or even taken into custody for expressing views aligned with mine. This is also my original body of work, and given how this has been handled, I no longer consent to it being affiliated with your school.
Given my public profile, it would also be helpful to know how you are communicating my removal to the student body and beyond. I would appreciate transparency on this. After receiving mentorship around the situation, I want to be clear that I will speak honestly and directly with anyone who reaches out to me about this, particularly because some of what has been said or implied impacts both my reputation and the integrity of my work.
I want to reiterate that from my perspective, and based on the feedback I’ve received from several of your students, my approach was not unprofessional, inappropriate, or uncaring. The term “unprofessional” carries a long, colonized history of scapegoating and silencing, particularly for those of us who live at the margins or speak from politically dissident perspectives. While I am not perfect and remain open to specific feedback around harm or moments of missed attunement, I know that my teaching was trauma-informed, carefully structured, and rooted in years of study, practice, and elder-guided lineage. I offered writing micro-rituals, grief-informed frameworks, embodiment practices, three grief rituals, and ample space for student reflection and feedback. I checked in about pacing and adjusted in response to the group. I also directly expressed in our conversation that if any student, including those who gave feedback about my naming of Palestine, had brought in their grief or experience, I would have welcomed it and held it with care.
To be clear, the overwhelming majority of your communication about this, both in writing and in conversation, has focused on my brief acknowledgments of the genocide in Palestine. I was told that my “love for the Palestinian people” was inappropriately expressed, and that I should refrain from using the word genocide. Based on this, I believe this is the main reason I was removed from the course. I have documentation from our email exchanges and meeting notes that supports this conclusion.
The most grief-full part of this for me is that it has prevented your students from engaging with valuable and timely material, teachings that many of them were eager for, and that are so deeply needed in this moment. This decision echoes larger patterns of institutional harm, where critical, justice-rooted work is suppressed at the expense of collective learning, courage, and growth. And it continues patterns of harm toward Palestinians, Jewish people, Indigenous people, and all those who are being oppressed under the weight of fascism, Zionism, and Empire.
My hope is that you listen to the entirety of the students who were in my class, and respond to their feedback and needs, as they will need support in this situation.
I was invited to teach about grief and loss, and I did so through a politicized lens that I have always named publicly and transparently. This was not unexpected content, it is the living heart of my work. I remain committed to politicized grief tending as a necessary, courageous, and liberatory practice in these grief-soaked times.
I’m still discerning how else I may want to move forward and will reach out if any further needs or requests arise.
Thanks,
Holly Truhlar
Well-written and important reflections on how we can manage our addictions to intense states (aka “fragility” and others) resulting in harm, avoidance, dissociation, trauma victim narratives and unending cycles of non-learning. Bless you and bless your work, may it move us towards liberation and away from needless suffering.
“What I can hold is deep grief from ancestral trauma, the Holocaust, displacement, and diaspora; the heartbreak of seeing one’s suffering weaponized to justify another’s oppression. I can hold that grief with reverence and care. But I will not hold space for Zionist entitlement that demands silence and calls erasure "safety."”
I’ll be holding onto this quote as I lead my first grief ritual this weekend. It’s an important distinction and helps me reorient to empathy, not complicity.