Across the United States, a quiet but mounting crisis is reshaping what students study and what colleges offer. In a pattern that reads like a cautionary tale for education systems worldwide, major programs—especially in the humanities and other non-professional fields—are disappearing or being scaled back as universities grapple with tighter budgets, shifting political winds, and enrolling shortfalls. In one coastal Massachusetts program, a Boston University satellite campus on Cape Cod announced it was ending in-person studies, a decision validated by dwindling enrollment and the harsh math of keeping courses viable. The human story behind that closure is stark: students who chose a future in social work, therapy, or other helping professions now face the unsettling prospect of either finishing online, transferring, or walking away from a years-long investment in a local community.
The question this trend raises is not merely about payrolls and course catalogs, but about the broader purpose of higher education in a time of economic strain and political scrutiny. Nationally, universities are contending with fiscal pressures that force hard choices about what to teach and how to teach it. Several states have begun enacting laws that steer funding toward degrees with higher immediate post-graduation earnings, and federal climate in higher education has grown fraught with controversy, shifting the incentives for campuses to protect or prune certain programs. In this climate, programs with lower enrollment or lower short-term financial return are particularly vulnerable, even when they play a crucial role in forming critical thinkers, engaged citizens, and culturally literate professionals. The result is a potential narrowing of academic horizons at a moment when societies most need broad, adaptable knowledge to navigate complex social issues and global challenges.
Backstory and the data are instructive. Within the last year alone, Clark University in Worcester trimmed several majors—from French and francophone studies to comparative literature and studio art—while Berklee College of Music in Boston ended its contemporary theater program, and Lesley University in Cambridge signaled cuts in sociology and political science, among others. Outside Massachusetts, Utica University in New York and Rhode Island College have followed similar paths, underscoring that the phenomenon is national in scope, not isolated to a single institution. In parallel, some states have introduced accountability measures that link degree programs to graduates’ earnings, creating a de facto test of value that can steer students toward certain fields. The broader implication is clear: as markets and policymakers demand more direct returns on education, the philosophical and cultural value of broad-based study is being weighed against immediate economic metrics.
For individual students, the impact can be existential. Joanna Hennigan, a mother pursuing a master’s in social work on a cape-side campus, chose the program because it was the closest in-person option near her home and because of her personal experiences with postpartum mental health challenges. When the Cape Cod, Bedford, and Fall River cohorts were told the program would end, she felt a personal and communal loss—a therapist who could serve a specific community would be denied the opportunity to train locally. She organized a petition that drew hundreds of signatures, pleading for the chance to complete the degree and for the institution to reconsider the speed and scope of its decision. Her story illustrates a broader tension: students invest time, money, and trust in a particular path only to discover that the pathway itself is at risk in ways they did not anticipate.
Experts describe the current moment as unusually precarious. Lynn Pasquerella, a leading voice in American higher education and the president of the Association of American Colleges and Universities, notes that the confluence of economic volatility, shifting federal policy, and heightened scrutiny of research funding has created a unique pressure point for campuses. The result, she says, is a growing sense of urgency as universities cut to survive, and as they do, they must balance the desire to preserve vital scholarly work with the imperative to stay solvent. It’s not simply a matter of trimming “luxuries” but of rethinking core missions under new constraints. The problem, according to Mary Churchill, associate dean at Boston University’s Wheelock College of Education and Human Development, is that when economic storms hit, institutions often respond with a surgical belt-tightening that can erode the liberal arts foundation that once defined many campuses. The fear is that humanities education, which teaches critical thinking, empathy, and context, could be among the casualties, diminishing the broader cultural and civic competence of future generations.
The human consequences extend beyond any one campus. When departments disappear, communities lose a formal channel to develop local talent and address regional needs. Critics worry that the reduction of humanities and social sciences narrows the lens through which students understand society, power, history, and culture. The case for humanities is not only about self-expression or cultural preservation; it is about producing citizens who can reason about ethics, policy, and inclusion in a diverse society. Even when students can complete their studies elsewhere, the disruption affects cohort cohesion, clinical or fieldwork opportunities, and the mentoring networks that often shape professional trajectories. In some instances, students are offered pathways to finish degrees online or through hybrid arrangements, but the experience—close and in-person learning with a local focus—can be markedly different.
The sentiments in this conversation are nuanced. Alvarez-Hernandez, an assistant professor at a major university, observes a troubling trend in cancellations that intersect with debates over diversity, equity, and inclusion programs. He notes that a portion of the churn appears linked to more than economic calculation; it is also entangled with cultural and political currents that prompt institutions to reassess or retreat from certain scholarly avenues. Yet even among those who fear a broader narrowing of study, there is recognition that universities must adapt to changing realities. Some institutions, including the one associated with Hennigan, are attempting to preserve value by refocusing curricula around strategic areas believed to be most relevant to a changing world—areas like health and human behavior, climate and environment, and media arts and design. The aim is to maintain intellectual breadth while ensuring the institution remains financially viable, a balancing act that resonates with Thai audiences who value both practical outcomes and culturally anchored learning.
What does this mean for Thailand? The Thai higher education ecosystem has stressed the importance of science, technology, engineering, and mathematics to power economic development and compete in a global market. Yet Thai universities are also expected to cultivate critical thinking, ethics, and an understanding of social dynamics—areas that humanities and liberal arts traditionally nurture. If Thai institutions face similar fiscal stresses, the tension between enrolling students in high-ROI programs and preserving a broad-based education could become more pronounced. The Thai public, including families who send their children to universities, often weigh a degree’s career prospects against personal passions and community needs. In Buddhist-influenced Thai culture, education is frequently seen as a path to merit and social harmony, not merely as a ticket to a paycheck. Balancing these values with budget realities will require thoughtful policy design, robust industry partnerships, and creative educational models that preserve core humanistic competencies while expanding access to in-demand skills like health care, cybersecurity, and environmental management.
Beyond the immediate policy decisions, the trend raises cultural questions about what a university should be in the 21st century. If a significant portion of majors continue to wane, how will students develop the capacity to think across disciplines, to negotiate complex social problems, and to participate meaningfully in democratic processes? The answer will likely require a mix of strategies: cross-campus collaborations that pool resources to sustain small majors, more online and hybrid options to reach nontraditional learners, and targeted investments that ensure essential fields of study do not vanish when market forces tighten. The question for Thai educators and policymakers is how to cultivate the resilience of a university system that honors tradition while embracing innovation. It is a question that touches family choices, city planning, and even the role of temples and community centers as informal hubs for lifelong learning.
Looking ahead, the institutions most likely to weather this storm are those that reinvent rather than retreat. The BU case shows a path forward: teach out the existing programs with careful attention to current students, while building new, flexible curricula that align with contemporary needs. The emphasis on health, environment, and digital design suggests a modular approach that can accommodate shifting enrollments without sacrificing depth. For Thai systems, this translates into possible investment in modular programs, stronger ties to industry for internship and employment pipelines, and a renewed commitment to a well-rounded education that retains its relevance across a rapidly changing economy. The human dimension remains central: students like Hennigan deserve the opportunity to complete their studies in a setting that fosters clinical competence, community service, and professional identity, even as institutions recalibrate to a constrained financial landscape.
In the end, the trend offers a practical, if sobering, lesson for Thailand and other nations: education policy must anticipate not only today’s budget pressures but also tomorrow’s workforce needs and cultural responsibilities. Protecting a diverse range of majors—especially those that cultivate critical thinking, ethical reasoning, and social awareness—requires deliberate policy design, steady funding, and innovative delivery models that can withstand economic cycles. Families may still navigate the tension between immediate earning potential and long-term personal development; universities must provide transparent pathways that honor both responsibilities. The current moment invites careful, compassionate leadership—leaders who can honor tradition while steering institutions toward sustainable futures, a balance that Thai society, rooted in community and shared responsibility, is uniquely poised to pursue with humility and resolve.