A Last Cup of Tea With thanks to The Who, Pete Townshend for writing and Roger Daltrey for singing “Tea & Theatre” and for inspiring me throughout my life, and providing the spark for this column. Will you have some tea... I am writing this from the Sierras, beside a lake I love. Putting pen to paper has not gotten easier with time. We have had the obituaries, masses, requiems. And still, the pain and anguish of this past year remains, buried a little deeper, but there. You might think: “Great. Another column from a privileged, retired guy with a lake and a view, telling us how to feel.” My situation is not yours. I know that. But I was a USAID Foreign Service officer for more than 20 years, before that a Peace Corps volunteer, and before that many other things. And in all that time I never learned a better way through a hard thing than to say it plainly to the people going through it with me. So that is what I will try to do here. I did not so much become a Foreign Service officer as discovered I already was one. That came from my mother— her humanity—and losing her early in my life. It came from my brother, who taught me tolerance and acceptance. And it came from my life partner, who opened a door and pushed me through before I could overthink it. USAID VP VOICE | BY RANDY CHESTER AFSA NEWS Once I stepped across that threshold, I was never going to be anything else. I want to say plainly what we did, because this year has been so loud with what was taken that it has become easy to forget. I will always remember so many special moments as an FSO: my first-ever field visit outside of Mazar-i-Sharif, where I shared a meal with more than 100 Afghans and celebrated a new irrigation system; hearing a Tanzanian farmer talk about being able to pay school fees because of USAID training; and my favorite, sitting in my AFSA office listening to you. That was the work, and we were good at it. I saw it on my field visits, in the stories told by FSOs and Foreign Service nationals (FSNs), and in the faces of the people we served. I see it still in the emails and notes I get from former staff and development partners. Our accomplishments mattered. They endure in places most Americans will never see and never have to think about. I will not pretend I am not angry about how it ended. But I have watched what that anger became, and that is the part worth noting. It became the people working to relaunch assistance and restore USAID. It became people running for elected offices around the country. It became colleagues quietly checking on one another, on the ones who are not okay. It became, in me, a stubborn insistence that the government should keep the promises it made to you when you raised your hand and took your oath. The anger did not leave. It went looking for something useful to do. Here’s the truth about my year, since I am asking you to tell yourselves the truth about yours. I drafted a letter of resignation as AFSA vice president last summer, and then I shredded it. I have had and at times still have panic attacks, fits of rage, and bouts of deep sadness. Yet I have also had real moments of laughter and joy with friends and colleagues—my USAID family. Still, I have asked myself, more than once, how much longer can I go on like this. The answer is, for now, simply: As long as I still get that email asking for help, I will be here. But where I am is not where you are, and that is okay. Some of you are fighting to rebuild. Some of you are beginning again somewhere new. Some of you are just getting through the day. None of it requires anyone’s permission—not mine, not from a group chat, or on-line message board. The choice to move forward is yours, and it is not a betrayal of anyone. The choice to keep fighting is yours too. My own journey is nearing its end. This is my last column as your USAID vice president; it’s time to pass this baton on, but I am still here. My days are slower now, more about listening than fixing. I watch others step into the gaps I was never able to cover, witnessing the courage of those who fight and the courage of those starting their new chapters. There is an awe in it I did not expect. Before we walk from this stage... Will you have some tea? No matter where you have landed, no matter what you have decided, your USAID family does not keep score and has not left you. All you have to do is ask. There are two cups waiting—one of them is for you. n THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL | SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER 2026 47 Contact: chester@afsa.org | (202) 712-5267 Our accomplishments mattered. They endure in places most Americans will never see and never have to think about.
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