Beyond the Stage: The NEA Crisis and American Orchestras

On a quiet Friday evening in May, Jeff Alexander, president of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra Association, received an email from the National Endowment for the Arts. Two of its grants—one for the symphony, one for its training ensemble, the Civic Orchestra—had been canceled. The notice came without warning.

“We typically receive $80,000 total per fiscal year in grants from the NEA—already a very small sum compared to the type of federal funding orchestral institutions receive in other G7 or even G20 countries. It is not crystal clear we will lose 100% of these funds, as one of our projects for the current fiscal year has already been completed, and one of our projects for next fiscal year actually falls into the fascinating new criteria published last night by the NEA. There is a chance, though, that the entire amount of funding will be lost,” wrote Alexander.

By federal budget standards, it’s a modest sum. Yet to the development teams who knit together public and private revenue into annual fundraising goals that stretch into the tens of millions, that $80,000 is not insignificant—it’s foundational.

The NEA's abrupt withdrawal of grants to orchestras, museums, and arts institutions is already sending tremors through the nonprofit arts world. The Trump administration, now in its second term, has long telegraphed its disdain for publicly funded arts and education programs. But this most recent move—a broad cancellation of previously awarded grants—marks a dramatic escalation.

This will have a ripple effect. NEA funding isn’t just about the amount, it’s about legitimacy. It sends a signal to other funders—major donors, corporate sponsors, foundations—that an organization has national support. When that disappears, you lose leverage.

Who Really Pays the Price When Orchestras Lose the NEA?

Contrary to popular belief, ticket sales account for only a fraction of most orchestras’ annual budgets—typically less than half. The rest must be raised through an intricate ecosystem of donors, foundations, corporate sponsorships, endowments, and government grants.

And while the Chicago Symphony’s $80,000 grant may seem minor on the scale of its $70 million operating budget, that figure is misleading. No one piece of revenue makes or breaks the year, but every piece is part of a formula. You lose one, and it forces adjustment everywhere.

Each season’s budget is forecast and committed years in advance. Soloists are booked, educational residencies are planned, programming is developed, and community engagement partnerships are negotiated. Pulling a thread—especially one as symbolic and functional as federal support—forces administrators into uncomfortable choices. Often, the first victims are education and outreach programs, which, though mission-critical, don’t often generate large revenue compared to other programmatic work.

NEA grants are disproportionately used to fund access: music in public schools, bilingual concert guides, performances in low-income neighborhoods. When that goes away, it’s not the gala or the Brahms cycle that disappears. It’s the kids.

Orchestras Don’t Just Entertain. They Educate. And They’re at Risk.

The irony is that these very programs are the ones that build the audiences of the future. Outreach isn’t a side project—it’s long-term investment. It’s where a fifth grader in East St. Louis hears a bassoon for the first time. Where a retired factory worker in rural Ohio gets to see a world-class violinist up close. Where children of color begin to imagine themselves not only in the audience, but onstage. Without programs like these, orchestras risk retreating into elitism—becoming institutions that serve only those who can afford a $100 ticket, rather than public goods rooted in community service.

Many orchestras have spent the last two decades trying to reverse the stereotype of elitism—to open their doors wider, to be more reflective of the communities they serve. NEA funding has often helped make that possible. When that funding disappears, it doesn't just take away money—it chips away at progress, access, equity. It forces orchestras into a narrower definition of success, one driven by revenue rather than mission.

In the end, the question isn’t whether orchestras will survive without the NEA. Some will. But the better question is: What kind of orchestras will we be left with? Ones that reflect the diversity and needs of their cities—or ones that serve the few and leave the rest in silence?

Fundraising Under Pressure: Filling Government-Sized Gaps

Fundraisers are, in essence, financial architects. They balance large gifts from major donors with grassroots campaigns, seek out matching opportunities, and constantly cultivate relationships to keep future years solvent. Losing a federal grant doesn't just create a budget hole—it can destabilize entire fundraising strategies.

Public funding has a multiplier effect. When an organization is awarded a grant, it’s gone through a competitive, peer-reviewed process. Donors see that as a green light. It opens doors. Remove that endorsement, and the psychological effect can be profound. Development departments must reframe narratives, reassure jittery donors, and often shoulder unrealistic expectations from boards to “just make up the difference.”

And yet, many arts development staff are stretched thin—asked to raise more with fewer resources each year. Staff turnover is high. Burnout is common. The struggle is real when it comes to juggling grant cycles, donor stewardship, events, campaign planning, prospect research—and now, filling government-sized holes in the budget.

While the Chicago Symphony may weather the storm with minimal artistic disruption, smaller orchestras may not be so lucky. For regional ensembles and youth training programs, an NEA grant can sometimes constitute 10–15% of their annual budget. Without it, layoffs, program cuts, or even closures become real possibilities. This is how ecosystems collapse. Big institutions start trimming education. Mid-tier orchestras cut entire seasons. Small groups fold. And audiences—especially young, diverse, or underserved ones—lose access. The 2026 budget proposed by the Trump administration wants to eliminate the NEA entirely—a move long sought by conservative think tanks and policy hawks. While Congress has previously resisted similar proposals, the agency’s future now appears far less certain. And for the fundraising professionals tasked with keeping orchestras afloat, the uncertainty is existential. What makes orchestras resilient is the ability to plan long-term. That’s being eroded right now.

In an arts landscape increasingly dependent on philanthropy, losing even one piece of the funding puzzle can destabilize the whole if not carefully navigated. To the public, an $80,000 cut may sound like a trim compared to other nonprofit sectors. To those working behind the scenes in the arts, it’s a crack in the foundation.

Where the Money Comes From (and Why It’s Often Not Enough)

So how do orchestras fund their seasons? And why do funding cuts like the recent cancellation of NEA grants send such shockwaves through the industry? Let's take a moment to breakdown funding resources for orchestras.

Ticket Sales and Earned Income (25–40%):

At most orchestras, earned income—primarily from ticket sales, subscriptions, and event rentals—covers only a portion of the operating budget.

While blockbusters like Beethoven’s Ninth or Mahler symphonies can pack the house, even sold-out shows rarely break even. That’s because of high fixed costs: musician salaries, venue operations, guest artist fees, licensing, and production expenses. Add in programs with smaller audiences (like contemporary music or educational concerts), and it becomes clear that ticket sales are only the tip of the iceberg.

Some orchestras also earn modest income through merchandise and recordings, facility rentals, concessions or cafe operations, digital streaming. But these streams are supplemental—not foundational.

Individual Donations (30–50%):

The single largest revenue source for most orchestras is individual philanthropy. This includes annual fund campaigns (from donors giving $25 to $25,000); major gifts (often six or seven figures); bequests and planned giving; chair sponsorships and naming gifts; and board contributions.

Unlike corporate giving, individual donors often contribute because of deep emotional connections—to the music, the musicians, or the orchestra’s role in the community. These gifts are critical not just for paying the bills, but for enabling mission-driven work like education programs, new commissions, and community engagement.

Foundation and Corporate Support (10–25%):

Foundations (both national and local) and corporate sponsors often fund specific programs—such as youth concerts or school outreach; DEI (diversity, equity, inclusion) initiatives; community performances; and artist residencies or new work commissions

Corporate sponsors may also receive visibility benefits (program ads, event recognition, co-branding). But orchestras must often juggle grant deadlines, reporting requirements, and restrictions on how the funds can be used. Unlike individual gifts, these grants are typically project-specific and time-limited.

Government Grants (2–10%):

This includes Federal funding (like NEA and NEH grants); State arts commissions; and Local cultural funding. Though small in percentage, these grants are disproportionately important. They serve as a stamp of public value, provide early-stage funding for experimental or access-based programs, and support infrastructure and general operations (rare among private funders).

Endowment Income (Varies Widely):

Wealthier orchestras often rely on endowments which are large investment funds built through decades of giving. Each year, a fixed percentage (typically 4–5%) is drawn to support operations. But these funds are not limitless, and endowment earnings can be volatile during economic downturns. Endowment strength often marks the difference between an orchestra that can weather financial storms—and one that’s constantly fundraising to survive.

The Fragility of the Nonprofit Funding Model

A typical orchestra budget includes: musician salaries and benefits; guest artist and conductor fees; venue and production costs; administrative and fundraising staff; marketing and ticketing; education and outreach; touring or special projects; instrument insurance and maintenance, etc.

Balancing the budget is an art in itself. Every revenue stream must be predicted, pursued, and stewarded. Development teams must forecast giving. Finance teams must model risk. And artistic leadership must program not just for excellence, but for fiscal responsibility.

In good years, orchestras may post a small surplus. In lean years, they may draw on reserves or reduce programming. But unlike businesses, orchestras don’t exist to turn profits—they exist to serve the public.

This multi-source funding model is both a strength and a vulnerability. While diversity of income reduces dependence on any single source, it also means orchestras are constantly fundraising—often year-round to meet the next goal. When one pillar collapses (like a federal grant) it forces institutions to rebalance quickly. That can mean increased pressure on individual donors, program cuts, staff restructuring, or short-term deficits.

Charting a Path Forward: Reclaiming the Civic Mission

Understanding how orchestras are funded demystifies why your donation, subscription, or advocacy matters. It shows how vulnerable the arts can be when federal funding disappears—and why sustained, diversified support is essential. Behind every standing ovation is a spreadsheet, a strategy, and an entire administrative team working tirelessly to keep the music playing. The loss is significant, but it should not be paralyzing. Now is the moment for orchestras to reclaim the narrative and re-engage their communities with clarity, courage, and purpose. Development and executive teams should speak candidly about what will be lost—but more importantly, what is now at risk: access to the arts in public schools, youth mentorship through music, free community concerts in neighborhoods where tickets would otherwise be out of reach.

Frame the story not around partisan divides, but around shared loss. When the arts lose public support, the community loses its voice, its mirror, and its imagination.

The temptation to scale back education and outreach programs must be resisted. These programs are not expendable; they are essential. They cultivate future audiences, promote equity, and represent the most tangible ways orchestras fulfill their civic missions. Rather than eliminate them, institutions can streamline, restructure, and partner—combining resources with schools, libraries, and local nonprofits. But to preserve and grow these initiatives without NEA support, orchestras must continue advocating boldly and showing their impact through how many students they serve, how many communities they engage, and by measurable change. The data must match the vision.

As orchestras seek to replace the credibility once conferred by federal support, they should look to new forms of partnership that signal public relevance. Collaborations with hospitals, educational institutions, and community centers can broaden the orchestra’s reach and reinforce its value beyond the concert hall. Corporate sponsors, too, are more likely to fund programs with a social purpose—literacy, wellness, equity—particularly when those efforts are grounded in local stories. Boards and major donors should be brought into this effort not just as funders, but as advocates. Equip them with the language to speak to their peers, to policymakers, and to the press. This is not a time to shrink. It is a time to lead.

Most importantly, the arts must resist the framing of this moment as purely a cultural war or temporary dilemma. That narrative distracts and divides. The real story is one of community.

When NEA funding disappears, it is not just orchestras that suffer—it is the community in which they serve that does—children without music in their schools, seniors without free concerts in their neighborhoods, emerging artists without platforms to be heard. We do not lose elitism—we lose equity, access, and creativity. That is a loss for everyone. And it is everyone’s responsibility to help ensure the arts remain not a luxury, but a shared public good.

(c) Katie A. Berglof, 2025 (See: Legal Disclaimer)