Why Colleges Are Cutting More Than 100 Programs at Once—and What It Means for Your Teen’s List
Jules stabbed a leftover chicken strip and pointed at her laptop. “Look,” she said. “This school has a sustainable-design major, an organic farm, and a studio art minor. It’s, like, made for me.”
It was a Tuesday night in October. The dishwasher was running, the recycling bin was overflowing with college mail, and my junior had finally stopped treating her college list like a homework assignment and started treating it like a future. I hated timing, but my phone had just shown the headline: three U.S. colleges had cut 113 programs in 10 days.
“Made for you right now,” I said.
She gave me the look. “What does that mean?”
I turned the phone toward her. She read, frowned, and said, “Wait, are those schools closing?”
“No,” I said. “They’re staying open. They’re just removing a lot of majors, minors, concentrations, and graduate tracks at once.”
Like most people, Jules pictured college cuts the way I used to: one small program phased out after years of low enrollment, with plenty of warning. That still happens, but it is no longer the whole picture. This October, the announcements came in clusters. A family could tour a Friday class, eat in the dining hall, love the professor, and open an email the next week saying the program was under review.
She clicked back to the admissions page. “So this major could just disappear?”
I did not want to scare her, but I also did not want to lie. “It could,” I said. “That doesn’t mean it will. It means we ask different questions before you fall too hard.”
I thought of Danny, the son of a friend of mine. He had enrolled at a small college for digital animation. The tour featured a new computer lab, a senior film festival, and a professor who had worked on recognizable projects. By his sophomore year, that professor had left, two required courses were being taught by adjuncts, and students received an email saying the major might be suspended.
Danny had options, but none felt clean. He could finish through a “teach-out” plan, which meant piecing together independent studies and online courses. He could transfer, but some studio credits did not transfer the way his admissions counselor had implied. He ended up at a state school, added a computer science minor, and is likely looking at an extra semester. He is fine, but he is more cautious now, and his parents are still angry about the loans they took out for the original plan.
The issue is not that colleges should never change. Workplaces shift, enrollment shifts, and some programs genuinely become outdated. The issue is that families still plan as though the course catalog is a four-year contract. Teenagers especially tend to experience a niche major as proof that someone sees their specific identity: the sustainable designer, the audio producer, the marine biologist, the Latin teacher. When that program vanishes, it can feel like a personal rejection even when it is mostly a budget decision.
Jules leaned back in her chair. “So what do we do?”
I pulled her spreadsheet closer. Instead of adding only columns for size, distance, and merit aid, we added one called “program stability.” It sounded boring, which was the point. This was not about killing excitement; it was about giving excitement some guardrails.
We started with the program page itself. I had her count the full-time faculty, not just the famous names in the admissions video. Then I told her to search the college newspaper and the school’s website for the program name plus “program review,” “suspension,” “teach-out,” or “faculty cuts.” A single old opinion piece did not mean disaster. A pattern of departing faculty, vacant positions, or declining sections was worth asking about.
When she emails admissions or the department, she will use plain language:
“Can you tell me how many full-time faculty are in this major and whether any have left in the past two years?”
“Does the department have a current teach-out plan? If the major is suspended before I graduate, how are required courses, advising, internships, and merit aid handled?”
“Which introductory courses in this major also count toward broader majors like environmental science, computer science, psychology, or business?”
If a representative cannot answer, that is not automatically a warning sign, but it means the answer should come in writing before she deposits. I also told her to ask the same question of a current student, not just the tour guide. Student newspapers and Reddit threads can be dramatic, but they often mention rumors before official announcements.
Then we looked at backups. For sustainable design, we mapped environmental science plus studio art, landscape architecture through a transfer pathway, and a state university’s environmental design program. The goal was not to make her abandon the major. The goal was to make sure she would not lose four years if one department shrank.
I use a shorter version of this exercise when I meet with students during advisory. I give them twenty minutes and a college on their list. They find the faculty count, the student newspaper, the net-price calculator, and one broader major that shares introductory courses. Some roll their eyes at first, but they calm down once they realize uncertainty is not the same as helplessness. They are gathering information, not predicting doom.
Families can also keep the list structurally honest. Every student should have at least one affordable option where they would be happy without a narrow major. General-education courses should be chosen with transfer pathways in mind, and syllabi should be saved in a folder. That sounds tedious, but it is much easier than arguing over credit equivalencies after a program has already been cut.
If a program is eliminated after enrollment, families should ask for the teach-out agreement, a degree audit, and a written list of course substitutions. They should ask whether merit scholarships continue if the student changes majors, whether the college will partner with another school for required courses, and what transfer support is available. They should not rely on a verbal promise from orientation.
Jules kept the sustainable-design school on her list, but she moved it from “dream” to “need more info.” She also added a state university she had initially ignored because it felt too big. Its environmental science program had a field station, multiple full-time faculty, and a transfer agreement with a design program she liked. She did not gasp with relief. She just said, “Okay, that one might not be terrible.”
That is where things stand now. Her list is still messy. Some brochures still make a campus look like a summer camp with libraries. We do not know which programs will exist in two years, which departments will shrink, or which school will feel right when she walks across the quad. But the spreadsheet now has better questions, and that is enough for a Tuesday night in October.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » Why Colleges Are Cutting More Than 100 Programs at Once—and What It Means for Your Teen’s List