Let’s face it, colleges and universities are filled with very smart people. Why is it, then, that they seem so unable to respond to a clear and present challenge, one that their own ranks have studied, analyzed, documented, and even warned about for several years? Enrollment patterns have changed. Why has the response been so late? So ineffective? So absent?
Enrollment patterns have changed. This is not a one-size-fits-all, sky-is-falling statement on enrollment decline. The oft-asserted (if not fully understood by those who would write about it) “enrollment cliff” or – more accurately – “demographic cliff” does not apply to all institutions in all parts of the country.
Is the demographic cliff real? Yes. A combination of declining birth rates, declining college-going rates, shifts in out-of-region college destinations (and trends toward certain parts of the country), as well as other pandemic-caused and post-pandemic realities all combine to paint the undeniable picture of significant and ongoing enrollment challenges. Especially, but not exclusively, in the northeastern and midwestern US. Especially, but not exclusively, for small liberal arts colleges. Especially, but not exclusively, for regional public institutions (that are losing out to their larger public flagship and land-grant counterparts). Sound confusing? It is. This is precisely why the “cliff” terms need to be retired, or at least used with far more nuance and context.
There are, however, universities that are seeing increased applications and that have chosen to capitalize on that interest to grow, in some cases significantly. Several large public research universities have nearly doubled in size over the last two decades. There is no denying these are success stories (unless you are an institution losing students to these juggernauts).
Enrollment patterns have changed. And these patterns reflect declines in traditional college-going populations, changes in factors (and relative importance of those factors, e.g., reputation, cost, location, climate – atmospheric and political, athletics, internship opportunities, career prospects, proximity to outdoor recreation, distance from family, etc.) affecting students’ choices about where to attend college, and trends toward certain majors (with STEM and pre-professional majors seeing the greatest increases).
The patterns are documented, validated, and are being reproduced year over year. There would appear to be – in very broad terms – two options for universities, assuming that the third option (i.e., burying their heads in the sand and hoping it all blows over) is not viable.
First, if the goal is to retain staffing levels and program offerings, universities can try to recover (and harden) lost enrollment. They can change whom they recruit, what and how they teach, and how they market what makes them unique, credible, important, or valuable in preparing its graduates for success. They can create new programs that better align with student interests and the market’s needs. They can adapt, evolve, modernize, and make more exciting existing programs. They can promote the success of their graduates in the liberal arts. They can create program pairings and complementary co-curricular offerings that allow students to feel confident in their choice of major. They can commit to changing alongside the changing world, demonstrating adaptability and relevance. This need not come at the expense of core mission or institutional values. College and university missions are nearly always center around providing a high-quality, accessible education to all who would seek it. And one can’t imagine a college or university for which irrelevance is an institutional value.
The second option is rightsizing, a word that engenders an immediate reaction at most colleges and universities today. They can adjust the size of their faculty and staff, their number of program offerings, and (in some cases) the number of campus locations to align with their new enrollment realities. For a select few, those that are able to accommodate increased applications and actually grow enrollments, rightsizing means adding faculty and staff, expanding programs, and even creating additional campuses. But for the rest, those that have either tried and been unsuccessful in restoring enrollments, or those that have simply chosen not to try (in ways other than the traditional enrollment management tactics), rightsizing means an even more highly charged term, downsizing.
A reminder that entropy applies. Even without accounting for the declining number of high school graduates, the number of potential college-bound students coming out of high school is finite. Not every institution can grow. And with notable and continuing growth in some of the largest universities, not all other institutions can retain even current levels of enrollment. Now add to that the decreasing pool of college-bound graduates, perceptions of access and affordability driving people toward other paths, the growing trend toward questioning the value of a traditional higher education, and increased competition (for fewer traditional students) from within the sector and the picture should become clear. One cannot CREATE traditional students in the current or projected marketplace. Something must change. Either an institution successfully recruits new populations of students (option 1) or the organization adapts to fewer students (option 2). Another option was closure, which had been projected in the wake of the pandemic to occur in far greater numbers than have been seen to-date. It seems inevitable that the looming decline in high school graduates will add fuel to this fire, making it impossible for some (smaller, for the most part) schools to remain open.
Rightsizing would certainly to be a reasonable and responsible response to what’s been happening for decades now in higher ed. So why has it been so elusive (or even impossible) for most schools?
Universities, with all their very smart people, have always been very good at addition, but very poor at subtraction. They can create, add, and expand with relative ease, but they struggle with reduction, merging, or elimination. There are several reasons for this, not the least of which is US higher ed’s system of shared governance, a system of checks and balances that often has the effect of paralyzing the institution’s ability to make a needed change, in time or at all. Once considered essential to preserving the integrity and independence of colleges and universities, and ensuring decisions affecting academic programs reside with the faculty, it is unclear whether this model of shared governance (which has expanded significantly since its inception) is able to respond effectively, thereby allowing their institutions to respond effectively, to the complex challenges facing higher education today.
Another reason is the tendency for colleges and universities to place more emphasis on their history and legacy across generations, and at times an arrogant insistence that the future must defer to them. Still another relates to the governance triad and the dynamic between boards, presidents, and faculty. While presidents are often expected by their boards to effect needed change, they may be reluctant to push too hard or too fast for fear of backlash, which the media is too happy to cover and against which boards are increasingly unwilling to stand firm and defend their presidents. (In his recent article, Brian Rosenberg points out, “It is far easier to replace the president than to replace the board.”) The role of governing boards also has been the subject of recent articles, in particular their roles in driving innovation and both enabling and empowering leadership to make change. As fiduciaries, there is no more important issue then ensuring a sustainable future for their institutions. Working with the president and the faculty, boards must therefore assume responsibility for ensuring needed changes are made in program and degree offerings; recruitment retention and persistence strategies (and results); and rightsizing the institution.
To be certain, there are looming declines. The number of high school graduates in the US is expected to peak in 2025, and then begin a steady decline (with a 13% drop predicted by 2041). “Knocking at the Door,” a report published every four years by the Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education points to a gradual downward slope rather than a cliff. “While the cliff metaphor is useful to illustrate the impending demographic shift for policymakers, the reality will be a slower a steadier decline.”
In another in the series of articles appearing this month on the looming decline in high school students, Dick Startz, an economics professor at UC Santa Barbara, suggested “the demographic drop-off could also force institutions to adjust their strategic plans, adapting to a leaner future.” He points out that colleges have been operating for decades with a “growth mindset” that shaped strategic plans and budgets around the (unrealistic) promise of ever-expanding student numbers. Suggesting the existence of an “element of exceptionalism,” Startz points out, “While demographic decline has been common knowledge in higher ed for the better part of the decade, rarely is it reflected in institutional planning.”
Laura Bloomberg, president of Cleveland State University and quoted in the same article, summarizes this phenomenon perfectly: “This is happening all over the country, and that’s because we budgeted based on hope. Hope is great, but it isn’t a strategy.”
“Hope” was that third option. Time to take a good hard look at those other two.