It’s a quiet morning in Sells, Arizona, and Timothy James is tending to the garden at the Tohono O’odham Community College (TOCC) student learning farm. James, who aspired to become a social worker after working as a pastry chef, never expected that his career path would lead him here. She balanced her classes while leading the school’s garden club, mentored her peers as a resident assistant, and served on the Himdag Committee, which helped weave traditional O’odham culture into campus life. For James, TOCC is more than a place to take classes. He’s building identity, resilience, and purpose there. Through TOCC and the O’odham Himdag, which represents the way of life, culture, values, and identity of the Tohono O’odham people, “I have a stronger connection to who I am, where I come from, and where I belong,” he says. “Weaving O’odham Himdag into every aspect of this institution is healing.” But that healing is fragile. The country’s 37 tribal universities (TCUs), which have been severely underfunded for decades, have worried in recent months that their already limited budgets could be uprooted after the Trump administration proposed deep cuts to the Department of the Interior’s Bureau of Indian Education, a key source of institutional support for many TCUs. These concerns were not unfounded. The administration’s original 2026 budget proposal would have cut nearly 90 percent of that funding stream. Outcry from tribal leaders, education advocates, and bipartisan lawmakers. In a dramatic reversal announced Sept. 15, the administration pledged to restore and even expand federal support, directing $500 million in transfer funds in this year’s budget to both Historically Black Colleges and Universities and TCU. The money does not come from new spending, but from eliminating or consolidating dozens of other education and training programs that the administration deemed “ineffective” or “duplicate,” including some that serve large populations of Hispanic, American Indian, and Alaska Native students. Under the plan, TCU would receive $108 million in 2025, a 109% increase from the previous year and nearly double the amount many institutions expected. While the additional funding is welcome, tribal leaders say the bigger problem is the instability itself, and the fact that even with doubling funding, many TCUs are still cannibalizing it. One supporter said this was not a windfall, but rather a partial restoration of what was nearly taken away. The American Indian Higher Education Consortium (AIHEC) issued a statement praising the Trump administration’s investment expansion as a welcome step forward in fulfilling treaty obligations to federal trusts and tribal nations as intended. This sets a precedent for increased investment in TCU. But we also recognized the impact it would have on other institutions that serve Hispanic, American Indian, and Alaska Native students. “We encourage future policies that ensure educational programs are available to all American Indian and Alaska Native students, regardless of where they pursue post-secondary learning,” said AIHEC President and CEO Aniwike Rose.
system under stress
Established by individual tribal nations or through federal charters, TCU provides educational and community services to more than 160,000 American Indians, Alaska Natives, and rural populations. These institutions are more than just schools. They serve as powerful engines for regional development, creating ripple effects that benefit surrounding communities and the broader U.S. economy. In the 2022-2023 fiscal year alone, TCU contributed $3.8 billion to the national economy, supported more than 40,000 jobs, and played a critical role in strengthening communities across America. “As TCU progresses, so does rural America,” Rose said. “These institutions keep rural and tribal communities alive economically, culturally and spiritually,” she said, adding that they are regional anchors and are often the only higher education institutions in rural and remote areas. However, despite its huge role, TCU remains much less stable than its peers. “If you know anything about TCU, you know we are severely underfunded,” Rose said. “The promise to our students, our people, was that the federal government would provide an education. But for decades, we have not fulfilled that promise.” Unlike state universities, tribal universities have no endowment and receive little funding from the state. To allow Native students to graduate debt-free, tuition is intentionally kept low, often only a few hundred dollars per semester. As a result, approximately 80% of TCU’s students rely on federal Pell Grants, and few universities participate in federal loan programs. Its financial model makes education more accessible but leaves universities vulnerable. “Think of tribal college funding like a three-legged stool,” Rose explains. “We rely on a combination of grants and programs from the Department of the Interior, the Department of Education, and the U.S. Department of Agriculture, rooted in the federal government’s fiduciary responsibility to tribal nations. If one of its legs gets knocked out, the whole thing can collapse.” This explains why proposed cuts to the Department of the Interior’s budget earlier this year sent shockwaves through the system. “If those dollars were gone, we would have closed,” Rose says. “That’s why these funds are so important.”
view from the ground
TOCC President Steven Schoonmaker says these abstract numbers lead to real tensions. “We don’t have the revenue streams that state and private universities have, such as endowments, state spending, and tuition increases,” he explains. “If you’re serving rural Indigenous communities, you can’t set prices for students.” Instead, TOCC is competing for alternatives such as competitive grants, partnerships, and community support. But they have their limits. “Grants may fund new programs, but they don’t pay for keeping the lights on,” Schoonmaker says. “What we need is stable operating capital. Without that, everything else is just patchwork.” For students, the impact is immediate. “Limited funding creates barriers to hiring qualified and experienced employees, such as counselors and professors,” James says. “We are seeing increased workloads as staff wear multiple hats. This can lead to delays in processing financial aid, delays in students receiving their books for classes, and in rare cases system failures that prevent them from registering for courses. Limited staffing also poses a safety issue for students living on campus.”
More than education
What makes TCU unique and irreplaceable is its dual role as an educational and cultural institution. At TOCC, each semester begins with a blessing and cleansing by a health care worker. This is part of the university’s efforts to practice Himdag in daily life. “Having a health care worker perform a cleansing and blessing before each semester speaks volumes about the care and respect TOCC gives to its students,” James says. Rose emphasizes that point. “Our TCU is based on prayer and ritual,” she says. “Indigenous identity cannot be separated from the tribal university.” That cultural foundation builds resilience even when the outside world feels chaotic. “Young students may not know this until they are older,” James reflects, “but the everyday presence of this culture helps them become stronger as Indigenous people. If these students feel lost in this confusing world, they will remember… those words the druggist said to them.” Still, uncertainty remains. “Right now, sovereignty is recognized,” Rose points out. “But every time there’s a new administration and a new Congress, we’re educating them from the ground up, and different decisions may be made.” This vulnerability is why James says continued advocacy is essential. “We support TCU not for the money, but for Indigenous communities to take responsibility for educating Indigenous students,” he says. “Having the federal government as TCU’s primary funding source is a responsibility, a promise, and a fulfillment of words signed onto paper long ago.” Ms. James plans to graduate before future cuts go into effect and transfer to Arizona State University to earn bachelor’s and master’s degrees in social work. But he remains dedicated to the fight. “I will continue to support TCU throughout my career and advocate for tribal, state, and federal funding every chance I get. I am proud to be a part of this movement. As we continue to move forward, we can ensure that the next generation has a stronger foundation,” he says.
