One of the first signs of trouble came last spring, when the Trump administration abruptly moved to deport scores of international students, including a handful at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.
University officials were alarmed, well aware that around 8,000 students, 15 percent of its enrollment, were from abroad. And they worried that the looming deportations might spook prospective international students, said Frances Vavrus, the dean of the international division at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.
Within weeks, she said, they were running tabletop exercises to game out the repercussions of a significant drop in international students — including for the university’s financials. International undergraduates tend to pay full tuition.
The visa cancellations were eventually reversed. But for the rest of the summer, a team met every week to monitor the situation and plan for worst-case scenarios.
For many universities across the country, the last year has been an exercise in crisis management, as the Trump administration has taken steps to overhaul higher education.
Officials have had to handle visa restrictions, social media vetting procedures and travel bans from certain countries. Because of federal research funding cuts, universities have been forced to limit admission for graduate students, including those from abroad.
A chill has settled over the University of Wisconsin-Madison.
Last fall, the number of new international undergraduates fell by 25 percent compared to the previous year. The number of new international graduate students also fell, declining by more than 27 percent.
Overall, universities around the country reported a 17 percent decrease in new international student enrollments last fall.
International programs began decades ago as a way to open up cultural exchange. Now, international students are a key to keeping universities solvent and competitive in science and technology research.
Many universities have relied especially on students from China. They make up the largest share of international pupils at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and, until recently, in the United States.
The uncertainty over visas nearly drove Sidi Liu, 23, to accept a Ph.D. offer at a university in Switzerland last spring, instead of attending the University of Wisconsin. In the end, Ms. Liu, who grew up in China, decided to take the risk. Wisconsin had a stronger program in her area of research, understanding the movement of polar icebergs, a crucial issue for shipping lanes in the Arctic Circle.
Ms. Liu is enjoying life in Wisconsin. She has tried fried cheese curds and joined a Chinese musical club, and was excited to go to a Badgers football game. But she is also taking it year by year. She still gets nervous passing through passport control at the airport, and she has made a backup plan with her supervisor in case her funding falls through.
“It’s almost like a mind-set of gambling,” Ms. Liu said. “Currently, I’m still winning, but I can’t foresee the future.”
President Trump has sent confusing messages about his ultimate intentions. He has suggested that international students take up coveted slots at universities that could go to American citizens. His administration has sought to deport students for reasons ranging from pro-Palestinian activism to minor traffic violations. And he has said that some Chinese students may be security risks if they are involved in academic espionage.
At the same time, he has acknowledged that cutting half of the international students would “destroy our entire university and college system.” And he has also suggested that the United States could double its enrollment of Chinese students.
Even if Mr. Trump were to ease up on his restrictions, there is no guarantee that international students, and Chinese students in particular, will continue to choose the United States. The number of Chinese students in America had been steadily declining since its peak in 2019.
“The reality is that China’s best and the brightest are not coming but leaving,” said Yingyi Ma, a professor of sociology at Syracuse University who researches education and migration in the United States and China.
Researchers have shown that public research universities around the country have turned to full-paying international students to make up for state funding cuts. At more than 50 American universities, international students make up at least 10 percent of the undergraduate class.
The University of Wisconsin began to ramp up that enrollment after the double whammy of the 2008 financial crisis and Gov. Scott Walker’s decision in 2015 to freeze tuition and cut educational spending.
By last year, international students made up around 10 percent of the undergraduate class, paying nearly 3.5 times as much — or about $30,000 more — in tuition and fees per year compared to in-state students.
Judie Zhang, a sophomore majoring in psychology and neuroscience, saw an education in America as a longer-term financial investment and a way to circumvent China’s pressure cooker education system.
She hopes to stay in the United States. But the restrictions and uncertainty weigh on her. For now, she has chosen not to go home to see her family, she said.
University of Wisconsin officials have emphasized that despite the drop in new, incoming international students, the overall decline was only 6 percent. And, they said, more international students are on campus today than a decade ago.
“We were able to weather that storm,” Ms. Vavrus, the university dean, said in an interview. But the university announced in June a budget cut of 5 percent, citing among various “uncertainties and concerning headwinds” the potential decline in international student enrollment.
And officials are under no illusion that they are out of the woods. Ms. Vavrus said she believed that starting in the spring, the team could be meeting again more frequently.
An extended decline could ripple out beyond the campus. International students at the University of Wisconsin-Madison contributed almost $400 million to the local economy, according to a 2024 report from the Association of International Educators, a nonprofit.
It could also cause lasting damage to a significant pipeline of scientific and technological talent.
Karu Sankaralingam, a computer science professor at the university, said that about five years ago, he stopped taking on graduate students from China, even though they were among the best in his area of research, which focuses on efficient chip design for artificial intelligence. With the growing geopolitical sensitivities around chips, it had become too much of a risk, he reasoned.
Now, Mr. Sankaralingam is holding off on recruiting new graduate students altogether, in line with guidance issued last year by university officials. He increasingly worries about being cut off long term from the global talent pool. In 2024, 57 percent of computer science doctoral graduates at American colleges were on temporary visas, according to an annual survey from the National Science Foundation.
“We are intentionally hamstringing ourselves,” Mr. Sankaralingam said.
For many international students, America may still be the top choice, but it is not the only choice.
Junda Li, 29, who grew up in China, is now finishing his doctorate in political science at Wisconsin, where he studies industrial policy between the United States and China.
As he contemplates his next career move, he is keeping a mental ledger of pros and cons. In Mr. Li’s mind, the advantages of going back to China are a less competitive job market, better Chinese food and proximity to his family. The pros of staying are a more vibrant academic environment and better pay.
He is still hoping to keep his options open. But especially after the recent visa restrictions, Mr. Li said, “going back to China is an easier path.”
Amy Qin writes about Asian American communities for The Times.
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