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As Elon Musk and President Donald Trump attempt to unlawfully obliterate USAID, its advocates have focused on the many ways that shutting off foreign aid damages U.S. interests. They argue that it exposes Americans to a greater risk of outbreaks such as Ebola and bird flu, stifles future markets for domestic producers, and cedes the great-power competition to China. These arguments are accurate and important, but they have overtaken a more fundamental—and ultimately more persuasive—reason for the U.S. to invest in foreign aid: It’s essential to America’s identity.
Following World War II, every U.S. president until Trump used his inaugural address to champion foreign aid and invoke the country’s long-held ideals of decency and generosity. They maintained that Americans had a moral duty to help the deprived. Once Trump was elected in 2016, however, U.S. leaders and aid advocates grew reluctant to talk about altruism. President Joe Biden made no mention of the world’s needy in his inaugural address.
I’m as much to blame for this shift as anyone. I served as USAID’s head speechwriter for six years under the past two Democratic administrations. In that role, I prioritized tactical arguments about America’s safety and well-being in order to persuade the shrinking segment of Republicans who were sympathetic to foreign aid. For a time, it worked. During the Biden administration, Congress spared USAID’s budget from the most drastic proposed cuts, and the agency received unprecedented emergency funding to deal with a series of humanitarian disasters, conflicts, and climate catastrophes.
Today, however, that line of reasoning is failing. Trump, Musk, and their allies are convinced that administering foreign aid weakens America, rather than enriching or securing it. Marco Rubio used to be one of the agency’s biggest supporters; now, as secretary of state, he’s maligning its staff and abetting its demolition.
A more compelling message lies in the fact that Trump and Musk’s foreign-aid freeze could be one of the cruelest acts that a democracy has ever undertaken. In 2011, when Republican members of Congress proposed a 16 percent cut in annual foreign aid, then–USAID Administrator Rajiv Shah conservatively estimated that it would lead to the deaths of 70,000 children. That is more children than died in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Depending on how thoroughly Trump and Musk are allowed to dismantle USAID, the casualties this time could be worse. (A federal judge has temporarily blocked their plan to put staffers on leave.)
By assaulting the foreign-aid system, Rubio, Musk, and Trump are redefining what it means to be American: small-hearted rather than generous; unexceptional in our selfishness. To respond by arguing that foreign aid simply benefits Americans is to accede to their view, not combat it.
Instead, advocates of foreign aid should appeal to a higher principle: To be American is to care about those in need. The country is already primed for this message. Americans are an exceptionally charitable people, donating more than $500 billion each year. And although polling shows that a narrow majority of Americans want to cut foreign aid in the abstract, they strongly support the specific programs it funds, including disaster relief, food and medicine, women’s education, and promoting democracy.
That support derives above all from a moral belief. According to a poll by KFF, only 25 percent of respondents cited economic or national-security interests as the most important reason for America to invest in the public health of developing countries. Nearly double—46 percent—said that it’s the right thing to do.
A modern blueprint exists for tapping into Americans’ concern for the world’s poor. During the George W. Bush and Obama administrations, proponents of foreign aid emphasized America’s values ahead of its interests, inspiring communities of faith and galvanizing a nationwide youth movement. Rock stars and celebrities echoed the message, which penetrated pop culture. When an earthquake struck Haiti in 2010, a telethon featuring performances by Beyoncé and Taylor Swift raised $61 million; stars including Leonardo DiCaprio and Julia Roberts staffed the phones. No one mentioned security or prosperity. Empathy was enough.
Today, the political and cultural coalitions that championed foreign aid are severely diminished. The Republicans whom USAID once counted on have gone silent. Few faith leaders or celebrities are calling for foreign aid to resume. No widespread youth movement is demanding that we end poverty now. Proponents, myself included, stopped focusing on inspiring the American people, so it’s no surprise that they are uninspired. But we can motivate them again. We just need to appeal to their hearts as much as their minds.
As Elon Musk and President Donald Trump attempt to unlawfully obliterate USAID, its advocates have focused on the many ways that shutting off foreign aid damages U.S. interests. They argue that it exposes Americans to a greater risk of outbreaks such as Ebola and bird flu, stifles future markets for domestic producers, and cedes the great-power competition to China. These arguments are accurate and important, but they have overtaken a more fundamental—and ultimately more persuasive—reason for the U.S. to invest in foreign aid: It’s essential to America’s identity.
Following World War II, every U.S. president until Trump used his inaugural address to champion foreign aid and invoke the country’s long-held ideals of decency and generosity. They maintained that Americans had a moral duty to help the deprived. Once Trump was elected in 2016, however, U.S. leaders and aid advocates grew reluctant to talk about altruism. President Joe Biden made no mention of the world’s needy in his inaugural address.
I’m as much to blame for this shift as anyone. I served as USAID’s head speechwriter for six years under the past two Democratic administrations. In that role, I prioritized tactical arguments about America’s safety and well-being in order to persuade the shrinking segment of Republicans who were sympathetic to foreign aid. For a time, it worked. During the Biden administration, Congress spared USAID’s budget from the most drastic proposed cuts, and the agency received unprecedented emergency funding to deal with a series of humanitarian disasters, conflicts, and climate catastrophes.
Today, however, that line of reasoning is failing. Trump, Musk, and their allies are convinced that administering foreign aid weakens America, rather than enriching or securing it. Marco Rubio used to be one of the agency’s biggest supporters; now, as secretary of state, he’s maligning its staff and abetting its demolition.
A more compelling message lies in the fact that Trump and Musk’s foreign-aid freeze could be one of the cruelest acts that a democracy has ever undertaken. In 2011, when Republican members of Congress proposed a 16 percent cut in annual foreign aid, then–USAID Administrator Rajiv Shah conservatively estimated that it would lead to the deaths of 70,000 children. That is more children than died in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Depending on how thoroughly Trump and Musk are allowed to dismantle USAID, the casualties this time could be worse. (A federal judge has temporarily blocked their plan to put staffers on leave.)
By assaulting the foreign-aid system, Rubio, Musk, and Trump are redefining what it means to be American: small-hearted rather than generous; unexceptional in our selfishness. To respond by arguing that foreign aid simply benefits Americans is to accede to their view, not combat it.
Instead, advocates of foreign aid should appeal to a higher principle: To be American is to care about those in need. The country is already primed for this message. Americans are an exceptionally charitable people, donating more than $500 billion each year. And although polling shows that a narrow majority of Americans want to cut foreign aid in the abstract, they strongly support the specific programs it funds, including disaster relief, food and medicine, women’s education, and promoting democracy.
That support derives above all from a moral belief. According to a poll by KFF, only 25 percent of respondents cited economic or national-security interests as the most important reason for America to invest in the public health of developing countries. Nearly double—46 percent—said that it’s the right thing to do.
A modern blueprint exists for tapping into Americans’ concern for the world’s poor. During the George W. Bush and Obama administrations, proponents of foreign aid emphasized America’s values ahead of its interests, inspiring communities of faith and galvanizing a nationwide youth movement. Rock stars and celebrities echoed the message, which penetrated pop culture. When an earthquake struck Haiti in 2010, a telethon featuring performances by Beyoncé and Taylor Swift raised $61 million; stars including Leonardo DiCaprio and Julia Roberts staffed the phones. No one mentioned security or prosperity. Empathy was enough.
Today, the political and cultural coalitions that championed foreign aid are severely diminished. The Republicans whom USAID once counted on have gone silent. Few faith leaders or celebrities are calling for foreign aid to resume. No widespread youth movement is demanding that we end poverty now. Proponents, myself included, stopped focusing on inspiring the American people, so it’s no surprise that they are uninspired. But we can motivate them again. We just need to appeal to their hearts as much as their minds.
