The Silent Dismantling of a Nationally Recognized Theater Program

For 25 years, I’ve been part of a theater program that wasn’t just supported, it was celebrated. I came into a community that understood the value of the arts, and our district had a strong foundation for creative expression. Over the decades, our theater program grew. What started as a single, well-funded high school theater program expanded to three schools, each with its own thriving department. We went from after-school clubs to structured, encoded classes. We built something exemplary, something nationally recognized. And now, without warning or consultation, it’s being taken apart.

I understand the economic realities. Money is tight. Budgets need to be adjusted. We anticipated changes, and we were ready to adapt. But the way these changes are happening without conversation, without input from the people who’ve dedicated their careers to this work. And it feels like a betrayal. Not just of our program, but of the students who’ve benefited from it and the community that once championed it.

The Changes No One Asked For

It started with the retirement of our long time de-facto department head. After 30 years in the district and even longer in educational theater, she stepped down. To the shock of the community, both locally and in national theater ed circles, her position was not rehired. That was staggering enough. The amount of work that now shifted to the remaining two people in the department was far greater than the shifting of students into different classes.

Then, last year, our building funding was cut by a third. The district decided that no principal should use their discretionary budget for fine arts. That was in the wake of a failed budget referendum. We persisted with our planned season of five productions. We had set aside funds to handle the cuts. Then we were informed that in the 26-27 school year, we’re losing an additional $10,000 because the stipends set aside to hire professionals, designers, choreographers, and other experts who elevated our productions, are being reallocated. We’ve gone from a faculty of three to two, with no plans to replace the position we lost to retirement. And now, there’s talk of removing our production classes entirely.

If that happens, we’ll go from producing five shows a season to maybe two. Students who would be featured in smaller productions will lose opportunities. We’ll go from being a model for other programs to just another high school with a theater club. There’s nothing wrong with that, most schools operate that way. But it’s demoralizing to see a program that was once held up as an example of excellence being dismantled without so much as a conversation.

The Unseen Work of Theater Education

Theater isn’t just about putting on a show. It’s about the countless hours of work behind the scenes, the adults who fill multiple roles without extra compensation, the professionals we bring in to expose students to new levels of artistry, and the collaboration that makes it all possible. To expect the same results after cutting resources and support is unrealistic. It’s stressful. And it sends a message: that the work we do, the impact we have, doesn’t matter enough to be part of the conversation.

I’ve always been a cheerleader for our program. I’ve hosted visitors who wanted to model their own programs after ours. I’ve proudly said, “I work for a great district that supports the arts.” But now, I feel like I’ve been lying. Not about the quality of our work, the productions speak for themselves, but about the support. Because support isn’t just about funding. It’s about respect. It’s about being included in the decisions that affect your ability to do your job.

The Hard Truth

Here’s the thing I’ve always known, even before I took this job: no one is irreplaceable. No matter how well you do your work, no matter how much you pour into it, the job can always be taken away. Economic realities, shifting priorities, a lack of understanding, any of these can lead to decisions that feel arbitrary and devastating. And that’s the unfortunate truth for so many of us in education, especially in the arts.

But that doesn’t mean we should stay silent. If anything, it’s a reminder of how important it is to speak up. Not just for ourselves, but for the students who deserve access to the kind of transformative experiences that theater provides.

What’s Next?

I don’t have all the answers. But I know this: our program didn’t become exemplary by accident. It took vision, hard work, and a community that believed in its value. If we want to preserve that, we can’t stay quiet. We have to share our stories, advocate for our students, and remind decision-makers what’s at stake when they cut funding without conversation.

Because theater isn’t just about the shows. It’s about the skills students gain; the confidence, the creativity, the collaboration. It’s about the adults who mentor them and the professionals who inspire them. And it’s about the community that comes together to celebrate and support them.

We can’t let that disappear without a fight.