Federal Cuts Become ‘All Consuming’ at Harvard’s Public Health School

In a dimly lit conference room deep within the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health, a small group of administrators gathered last Thursday, bracing themselves for a seismic shift in their institution’s future. Amanda Spickard, an associate dean, sat at the head of the table, surrounded by colleagues. The mood was tense. They were urgently devising a response to an unprecedented crisis: within hours, over 130 researchers at the school would be notified that their federal funding was being revoked.

The implications were staggering. No other part of Harvard leans as heavily on government support as the Chan School. With over half of its budget drawn from federal sources, the sudden withdrawal of funds—totaling in the tens of millions—threatened to derail years of work, dismantle research teams, and jeopardize life-saving scientific progress.

Only a few weeks earlier, Spickard’s team had been engaged in more routine matters—assisting faculty with grant applications, resolving technical issues in labs, and reviewing scientific publications. Now, all of that had come to a standstill. The urgent task of managing a full-blown financial and operational emergency took precedence.

“Our regular responsibilities have completely paused,” said Spickard. “We’ve become crisis managers, all at once, for nearly 200 people whose work is now under threat.”

The school had been on alert since April 14, when Harvard defied a series of demands from the Trump administration. In retaliation, the government announced plans to suspend over $2 billion in grants and contracts across the university. Of that amount, the Chan School had expected to receive more than $200 million in the current fiscal year alone.

Federal officials justified the decision by pointing to Harvard’s vast endowment—valued at $53 billion—arguing that such institutions should be able to finance their own research. Education Secretary Linda McMahon wrote to the university, criticizing what she described as excessive bureaucracy and suggesting that Harvard should easily absorb the cost from its own coffers.

Meanwhile, inside the school, the impact was already being felt. Early warnings came in the form of “stop work” orders from federal agencies. In response, administrators began trimming expenses: leases on satellite offices were canceled, summer outreach programs for high schoolers were shelved, and year-end celebrations were replaced with modest outdoor gatherings.

Then, last week, the warnings turned into action. Federal funding across most of the school’s projects was abruptly frozen. The Chan School, which derives 59% of its operating revenue from government sources, suddenly found itself in financial free fall. In contrast, Harvard Medical School receives just 35% of its funding from such sources; the Graduate School of Education gets 22%, the Kennedy School 16%, and Harvard Law School a mere 3%.

Marc Weisskopf, a professor of environmental epidemiology, was attending a symposium when he received the email terminating his funding. “Even if you’re expecting it, the reality hits hard,” he said. His most pressing concern wasn’t his own career, but the livelihoods of the 10 to 15 staff members on his team, now facing imminent unemployment.

Weisskopf’s project focused on a 20-year investigation into the disproportionately high rates of ALS among military veterans. That research, like so many others, now hangs in the balance.

Founded in 1913 as the Harvard-MIT School of Health Officers—the country’s first formal training program for public health professionals—the Chan School became a degree-granting entity in 1946. A $350 million gift from Gerald Chan in 2014 helped solidify its standing and mission, with a strong emphasis on improving the health of underserved populations, including women, children, racial minorities, and LGBTQ+ communities.

That focus on equity has drawn criticism from the Trump administration. In fact, some researchers were informed that their grants were being pulled due to their engagement with what officials termed “amorphous equity objectives”—a rationale some considered ideologically driven rather than scientifically grounded. One letter to a student researcher claimed that such goals produced low returns and did not “enhance health, lengthen life, or reduce illness.”

As Harvard doubled down on its refusal to meet the administration’s conditions, the freeze expanded in scope. Official communications from the federal government became more generalized, criticizing Harvard for a “culture of entitlement” and for alleged lapses in addressing antisemitism on campus.

While other public health institutions like Johns Hopkins have experienced funding cuts, none has faced a total shutdown of federal support on the scale seen at the Chan School. “We’ve become the epicenter,” remarked Walter Willett, a veteran epidemiologist whose research into the effects of diet on heart disease and cancer has spanned four decades.

Willett stressed that the timing could not be worse. The Chan School’s extensive biological sample repositories—containing millions of specimens collected from tens of thousands of participants over the years—offer invaluable resources for biomedical research. He warned that by cutting funding now, the U.S. risks losing its edge in a field where it has long held global leadership.

The breadth of research conducted at the Chan School is vast. Faculty study topics ranging from aging and lifespan to Medicare outcomes, environmental links to dementia, malaria parasites, migrant children’s mental health, and the connection between diet and cancer. Scientists like Sarah Fortune, who focuses on tuberculosis, and Alberto Ascherio, who recently won a prestigious award for his work on multiple sclerosis, have all had their projects terminated.

In hindsight, some researchers acknowledge that the school may have leaned too heavily on federal funding. But they argue that this reliance was never a sign of weakness—it was a reflection of the school’s success in securing grants through one of the most competitive review processes in science.

Critics of the administration’s decision say it undermines the longstanding partnership between the federal government and academic institutions. “This all began in the post–World War II era, when the U.S. declared its ambition to lead the world in science and technology,” Spickard noted. “The government asked us to take on this work. We didn’t do it alone.”

Yet not everyone sees it that way. Kenneth L. Marcus, a former official in the Department of Education, insisted that Harvard still bears responsibility for maintaining a healthy campus climate. “Sometimes we must make tough choices between cutting valuable programs and addressing civil rights concerns,” he said.

The Chan School’s small but dynamic campus sits nestled among Boston’s top hospitals. Approximately 40% of its students come from abroad, and on any given afternoon, the halls echo with voices in English, Spanish, and Japanese.

In the cafeteria, tables had been repurposed as coloring stations to help students cope with exam stress. Meanwhile, staff members stood in the atrium, filming short videos of students summarizing their research in just seven words—a part of the school’s broader effort to publicize its value and contributions amid the funding crisis.

Administrators are now pivoting to fundraising, preparing faculty to engage with private foundations and industry sponsors. Workshops on crafting compelling pitches and building relationships with donors are being rolled out. But before they can raise new money, researchers must first learn how to wind down operations: notifying staff of layoffs, informing long-term study participants that their involvement may no longer be needed, and processing the emotional fallout.

To help with this transition, Spickard’s team created a “bad news care package”—an email toolkit filled with policy links and HR contacts to guide researchers through what she called “the most painful phase” of their careers.

“We’re asking people to be entrepreneurial while their life’s work is being dismantled in real time,” she said.

The crisis is already leading to an exodus. European and Chinese universities are actively courting Chan researchers, offering them refuge and resources. Others may not recover so easily. Karen Emmons, a professor of social and behavioral sciences, noted that many younger scientists feel stigmatized by the controversy.

“For early-career researchers, being made to feel like outcasts is especially damaging,” she said. “It’s a profound shift in their sense of purpose.”

Still, resilience abounds. Disha Ganjegunte, a graduating master’s student and student government president, says the adversity has only strengthened her commitment to global health and human rights.

“Challenges don’t make the issues we work on any less urgent,” she said. “Public health has endured pandemics, political pushback, and climate crises. This is just another battle—and it’s made me even more determined.”