"After graduation, the major disappeared," they are calmer than expected

What happens to students when AI and specialized fields disappear?

What does it mean when your university major suddenly vanishes from the admissions brochure?

Recently, the Communication University of China abruptly eliminated 16 undergraduate majors, including well-known fields like photography and translation. As soon as the news broke, it immediately trended on social media. Netizens lamented that some majors are truly being “cut by the times.” The names of majors that once carried the dreams of countless students have now disappeared from university admissions brochures, which is inevitably quite sad.

In fact, the dynamic adjustment of university majors has been ongoing for many years. According to publicly available data from the Ministry of Education, between 2020 and 2024, while 8,510 new majors were added nationwide, 5,345 majors were abolished. In 2024, the number of majors eliminated by universities soared to 1,428, setting a new record. The recent cut of majors at the Communication University of China is just a microcosm of the structural adjustments happening across higher education institutions nationwide.

Communication University of China. (Image/Visual China)

As traditional majors gradually phase out, domestic universities are also aligning their discipline layouts with the wave of technological innovation, ushering in a new round of rapid iteration, especially in fields related to artificial intelligence.

Data from the Ministry of Education’s 2024 undergraduate major registration and approval shows that AI majors led the country with 91 new programs established. Over the past five years, 41 “Double First-Class” universities have collectively added this major; nationwide, more than 2,100 new “intelligent” or “smart” related majors have been launched. AI-related courses have been thoroughly integrated into arts, sciences, engineering, and arts disciplines, breaking down traditional disciplinary boundaries.

Today, AI tools are becoming increasingly widespread. They can write copy, design, translate, generate videos, and process massive data quickly, gradually replacing some fundamental jobs. This stark contrast between retreat and advance prompts deeper reflection: Can AI truly replace humans? What are the prospects for traditional disciplines?

With these questions in mind, we interviewed three students enrolled in relevant university majors and teachers deeply engaged in the field to hear their most authentic observations and thoughts at the “frontline” of academic discipline adjustments.

Standing on the brink of major mergers

Ayu graduated last year from the photography program at the Communication University of China and now works for a mobile phone manufacturer in Guangdong, mainly responsible for image evaluation, helping optimize the phone’s imaging effects.

Ayu wasn’t surprised by the news of the photography major being cut. When he graduated, he already knew the major would be merged into film and television production. “Our class teacher said in the group chat that our major is ranked double A+ in the soft science ranking, but this is the last year for recruitment,” Ayu admitted. Even though the photography program at the national level remains top-tier, it has always been on the fringes within the university, far less valued than flagship majors like journalism, broadcasting, or arts directing. Facilities like studios and darkrooms haven’t been updated for years, and resource allocation is also less than that of the advertising school.

The photography major at the Communication University of China has undergone several adjustments. Ayu heard that before 2015, the university’s photography-related majors included film and TV, still photography, television photography, lighting art, and light environment design—all independently recruited. By 2016, the university merged these into “Film and Television Photography and Production.” In 2019, the major was re-established as an independent program.

Ayu during a class reading session discussing photography albums. (Photo provided by interviewee)

As a department under the media school’s film and television discipline, the Photography Department at the School of Drama, Film and Television of the Communication University of China has faced many operational pressures since its founding in 2002. Aside from funding and staffing difficulties, compared to other art or journalism departments, CUC’s photography program lacked rigorous formal training and clear employment pathways. Over time, it focused on cultivating students’ observational skills, broadening academic horizons, and training thinking methods, accumulating some experience through years of exploration.

During university, Ayu participated in numerous projects. He shot celebrities for fashion magazines, did product ads for electronics and rice cookers, and even took theatrical makeup photos for the National Theatre. Project-based work paid daily wages, from a few hundred yuan to a maximum of 1,800 yuan. However, film and video work is physically demanding—carrying equipment and working long hours, often resulting in elevated transaminase levels during health checks.

Ayu filming for China Net. (Photo provided by interviewee)

Despite gaining experience, after graduation, Ayu found that commercial shooting during university was quite different from his current work in image evaluation. “Advertising and commercial shoots focus on serving clients, making the footage look good and beautiful, while also expressing personal artistry. Now, I build bridges between engineering and aesthetics. Front-end engineers don’t understand aesthetics, and evaluation roles require considering user perspectives, quantifying aesthetic language, and conveying effects to engineers. The work ideas are completely different.”

Ayu remains calm about the impact of AI. The photography major has already incorporated AI courses, mainly focusing on Midjourney text-to-image generation, creating narrative images with AI. Using AI tools requires skill—mainly mastering prompt control, which involves extensive learning and tuning to achieve precise visual effects. “Non-professionals can learn AI tools on their own, but lacking systematic knowledge of lighting, shadows, and composition makes it hard to judge image quality or craft professional prompts.”

Currently, AI-generated images still have flaws in spatial sense and texture, and long video shot transitions sometimes break, with a noticeable gap from human aesthetic standards. Ayu isn’t worried about AI replacing his job; he believes AI will first eliminate mass-produced visual content like elevator ads.

Ayu’s class has about two-thirds of students aiming for further studies, while one-third have already entered the workforce. He took the postgraduate entrance exam for the Beijing Film Academy’s photography department but missed out by two points and decided not to retake the exam, instead joining the spring recruitment. He applied for two types of positions: one in video advertising or digital media companies, and the other in mobile phone manufacturers or imaging-related firms like DJI and YingShi.

Ayu’s portfolio during college applications. (Photo provided by interviewee)

Although he missed the fall recruitment, there were still suitable positions. Some small companies’ interview processes were unprofessional—“They invited me to interview as a vertical-screen short video photographer, but because the person in charge was overseas, it took half a month, and in the end, I received a rejection letter.”

Ayu’s hometown is a small city in Zhejiang. He also considered returning there to develop, but local imaging and media companies are few. He also interviewed with provincial broadcasting departments, where besides technical questions, they inquired about his family background, income, and romantic relationships—implying that the job was mainly to cover basic living expenses. The average monthly salary, including base pay, performance bonuses, and overtime, was around 8,000 yuan, which would be quite stressful to live on in Hangzhou.

In the end, Ayu chose his current job because he’s interested in imaging engineering development and finds it highly compatible and easy to pick up. Since starting, he has completed two projects, each taking 4-5 months, following a mature IPD development process. Although the workload is heavy, the schedule is regular—usually starting at 9:30 a.m., but often working past 10 p.m. due to extensive night shoots and video recordings.

During university, Ayu’s greatest sense of achievement was seeing his work screened on the big screen, feeling the recognition from the public was precious. Now, his sense