A Logical Gap Behind Attacks on the Humanities

Researchers across the country who had been awarded prestigious grants from the National Endowment for the Humanities recently learned that their awards had been canceled. As Department of Government Efficiency reductions sweep through critical government agencies, higher education has been a clear target—not only through cuts at federal agencies like the NEH, but also through pressure levied on institutions like Columbia and Harvard Universities and, horribly, through Immigration and Customs Enforcement detainments that seem to take aim at politically engaged scholars like Rümeysa Öztürk. This targeting builds on decades of disinvestment—underfunding, fewer faculty lines and program closures—that have left humanities education fragile, and therefore vulnerable.

But the arguments used to justify both the active dismantling and the long-term disinvestment fundamentally contradict each other. One argument imagines the humanities to be both powerful and dangerous, while the other sees humanities education as irrelevant and a waste of time. Both cannot simultaneously be true. The tension between them reveals the real driver: a pervasive fear of critical thought and the social change it may foster.

As a humanities scholar who works with institutions nationwide to develop meaningful, equitable programs in higher education, I’ve watched countless colleges and universities grapple with the implications of this fear. Over the past decade, the claim of irrelevance has been used to justify budget cuts and program closures. Last year, Boston University suspended doctoral admissions to the humanities and social sciences. In 2023, West Virginia University eliminated numerous humanities programs and faculty lines—the cuts included all of WVU’s foreign language degree programs—with many other institutions considering similar measures.

Those who support these actions tend to cite declining numbers of humanities majors as evidence that students don’t care about the subject matter, or that they think a humanities degree is a financial dead end. However, even the economic piece of this argument is not borne out by the data. Recent research from the American Academy of Arts and Sciences shows strong state-by-state employment trends for humanities graduates, with advanced degree holders earning a median salary of about $84,000. Their research shows that a remarkably high 87 percent of all humanities majors feel satisfied with their careers—and that percentage climbs to 91 percent for advanced degree holders.

The rhetoric may be false, but it is nonetheless dangerous. It is true that humanities majors are trending downward—but why? We know that students do care about humanities topics. Every instructor I talk to reports high levels of student engagement in humanities courses. It’s not lack of interest, or economic realities, but intentional disinvestment that erodes the humanities and leads to program closures. That disinvestment serves as a self-fulfilling prophecy, as students invariably notice which parts of the university landscape are prioritized; it’s visible in buildings, in classroom spaces and in faculty offices. Students may hear messages from parents or from the media that nudge them in other directions. The resulting decreased enrollment fuels legislative actions and budget cuts that undermine the potential of humanistic inquiry and education.

The other line of argument does not rest on the supposed irrelevance of the humanities, but rather their power—and in doing so, it negates the first argument. This is the logic that leads DOGE to demand that the NEH and other agencies stop funding projects that explore race and gender equity. It’s the logic that leads to the dismantling of the federal Department of Education. It’s the same logic that has led conservative groups like Moms for Liberty to try to get books about LGTBQ+ kids pulled from library shelves, that led state officials like Ron DeSantis to block the teaching of African American studies. Why bother to fight against these projects, books and courses if they don’t hold power? No: In these cases, critics know that exposure to the humanities has the potential to change our individual and collective thinking, to bring new perspectives into the light, and to loosen the hold of dominant perspectives on the social psyche. That, to many, is terrifying.

The results of these critiques are profoundly damaging. The NEH cuts—paired with similar cuts to the Institute of Museum and Library Services, where the entire staff has been placed on leave—threaten a whole generation of research and community-engaged practice and will leave us with a diminished cultural landscape and limited possibility to interpret what’s left. The Trump administration is already trying to control what is displayed in national museums, particularly those that highlight underrepresented artists. Local libraries and state humanities councils are losing critical operating funds. As books, art and culture disappear, we need scholars trained to ask why—but with humanities programs in shambles, who will be ready to do that work?

Our cultural heritage is our nation’s portrait; there is power in seeing oneself represented in books, art and music. This is especially true for people who are marginalized in many social structures; broadly representative books on library shelves can be a lifeline for queer kids, trans kids, immigrant kids. Kids with names that white teachers find hard to pronounce. Kids looking for affirmation that, yes, they’re OK. Removing titles because of characters that share these identities is an act of erasure, a way of saying, no, actually, you’re not welcome here. Given that trans kids already have alarming rates of suicidality, the stakes are unspeakably high.

The far right is correct about one thing: The humanities are powerful. It is through the humanities that we are fighting tooth and nail for democracy—which is why we must defend these institutions and the people who make them work. With a news cycle that is so rapid and confusing as to cause whiplash among even the most savvy readers, historians like Heather Cox Richardson and David M. Perry provide context that extends beyond our current time and place to help us collectively understand the patterns of the present moment—and, more importantly, to envision possible paths out. Artists provide solace and catharsis through pieces that express what words cannot, such as Chavis Mármol’s “Tesla Crushed by an Olmec Head,” which is exactly what it sounds like. These interventions matter deeply when our collective sense of reality is being threatened by outright lies from people at the highest levels of leadership.

What we’re seeing now are the results of a systematic and structural push that has been slowly unraveling the humanities ecosystem for decades. But it needs to stop. The NEH cuts, the threats to education, the book bans, the program closures—and the rhetoric that brings them about—foreclose opportunities for students and for society. We are in a moment that requires stronger nationwide investment in the humanities, not their diminishment. Former NEH chair Shelly Lowe—the first Native American to lead the organization, unceremoniously pushed out by President Trump in March—urged participants at last year’s National Humanities Conference to find hope in dark times by turning to poetry. Riffing on Seamus Heaney’s “The Cure at Troy,” she urged us to “believe that further shores exist, even if they are out of sight.” Art and culture provide avenues for expression, beauty, understanding and meaning—especially when our world feels like it’s crumbling.

The right knows the humanities are powerful; it’s time for the left to truly believe in that power, and to call out the hypocrisy driving the right-wing attacks on our shared cultural heritage.