What Trump’s NEA Cuts Mean for Community Theatre
by Chris Peterson, OnStage Blog Founder
Recently, the Trump administration made good on its long-threatened promise to gut the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA)—this time slashing grants across the country with a speed and scale that feels more like sabotage than strategy. The administration’s 2026 budget proposal doesn’t just reduce funding—it calls for the elimination of the NEA altogether. And in a move that’s both cruel and cowardly, hundreds of already-awarded grants were quietly canceled with little warning, pulling the rug out from under the organizations that had counted on them.
Let’s not sugarcoat this: this will devastate community theatre.
While big-name institutions like the Houston Symphony and the Menil Foundation are losing major dollars (nearly half a million pulled from just one region), it’s the smaller, community-rooted theaters that will suffer the most. These are the theaters that operate on razor-thin margins, where every dollar is stretched to the max, and where an NEA grant doesn’t mean luxury—it means survival.
You know the ones I’m talking about. The black box tucked behind the high school. The scrappy group performing in a converted church basement. These theaters aren’t just putting on shows. They’re giving people purpose. They’re building community. They’re creating safe, affordable places for kids, for seniors, for newcomers, for weirdos, for anyone looking to belong.
And now, thanks to this short-sighted and callous decision, many of them are facing an existential crisis.
Here’s what makes this especially maddening: the NEA doesn’t hand out grants lightly. These aren’t vanity projects. NEA funding often goes to programs focused on underserved communities—rural towns, inner-city youth groups, disability-inclusive performances, and yes, small-town theatre companies doing the most with the least.
The now-cancelled Challenge America grant program was specifically created to reach places and people often ignored by mainstream funding structures. It was never about elitism. It was about equity.
But apparently, equity isn’t a priority anymore.
The administration’s new plan is to redirect funds to things like houses of worship, the military, and disaster recovery efforts. Now, let’s be clear—I’m not saying those areas aren’t important. But why does it always feel like the arts have to justify their very existence every time the budget gets tight or a new administration wants to score political points? Why are we pitting creativity against patriotism, storytelling against service?
You can support veterans and support the arts. You can fund churches and fund the community theatre that just staged Godspell to raise money for hurricane relief. This isn’t an either/or situation. But the Trump administration is treating it like it is. And in doing so, it’s sending a clear message: if your art doesn’t align with a certain ideological framework—if it’s too queer, too progressive, too critical, too diverse—it’s not worth funding.
And that’s not just disappointing. That’s dangerous.
It’s dangerous because art isn’t just about entertainment. It’s about empathy. It’s how we understand each other, challenge each other, grow together. It’s how a kid in rural Nebraska sees herself as Juliet. It’s how a retired teacher in Alabama finds new purpose directing Our Town. It’s how communities heal after grief, come together after conflict, and remind each other that they matter.
What these cuts threaten is more than just programming. They threaten the fabric of communities across this country. If you think I’m being dramatic—well, I am a theatre person. But I’m also right. Because when you take away the funding, you take away the possibility. You take away the lights and the music and the voices that make our towns feel like home.
There’s still a long road ahead. Congress hasn’t finalized the budget yet, and advocacy efforts are already underway to push back on these cuts. But we need more than behind-the-scenes lobbying. We need a full-throated defense of the value of the arts—especially from those of us who have been moved, shaped, or saved by them.
So if you’ve ever cried during a monologue. If you’ve ever fallen in love at a community production of The Music Man. If your kid ever gained confidence from a summer theatre camp. Now is the time to speak up.
Because if we stay quiet, they’re going to assume we’re okay with this. And I don’t know about you—but I’m not.
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If you’re a community theatre leader looking for more fundraising ideas—or just need someone to brainstorm with—I’m always happy to help. I wrote the following piece to give some ideas for you.