Saving Lives

I was part of the team in the Bureau for Global Health that delivered life-saving medicine all over the world, demonstrating the goodwill of the American people and creating partnerships abroad to counter foreign malign influence. To ensure this medicine, paid for by U.S. taxpayers, actually reached patients in need, my work focused on supply chain security and countering corruption.

We used USAID donations to prevent corruption and catalyze accountability of public institutions and foreign governments—accountability that would ultimately phase out the need for donated support. Our focus on supply chain security mitigated falsified medicines being put into circulation. Falsified medication can lead to antimicrobial resistance, allowing new superbugs that do not have a cure to find their way to American shores.

Now, not only are the most underserved and destitute communities in the world dying of preventable diseases, but governments are being supported by adversaries to the United States and are not being held to USAID’s standards. The trade of falsified medicines will likely increase, posing a threat to U.S. national security.

USAID’s important work created goodwill and gave the United States an advantage in foreign policy negotiations. We no longer have a seat at the table.

Feeding the Future

I was taught from a young age to love land and people. As a child in 4-H, I pledged to use my head, heart, hands, and health in service to my club, community, country, and world. As a Future Farmers of America (FFA) member, I found in the FFA creed a belief in the future of agriculture. Throughout my childhood, I was supported by my hometown businesses, churches, and individuals who taught me to give back to others, to believe in agriculture and service, and to be a leader.

These values led me to my work in international development and U.S. foreign assistance, first as a Peace Corps volunteer and staff member, and later as a USAID Foreign Service officer focused on humanitarian assistance, agricultural development, and resilience building. For the past 14 years, I represented my country in some of the most remote areas of the world. As part of the U.S. government’s Feed the Future initiative, I have carried the values instilled in me by my small community in northeastern Kentucky, working hand in hand with other proud Americans.

Launched in 2011 and codified into law by the Global Food Security Act in 2016, Feed the Future invested in food security and agricultural development in developing countries. Through this initiative, America worked to break the cycle of poverty and hunger by improving food systems, nutrition, and livelihoods. In just its first 10 years, Feed the Future lifted 23.4 million people out of poverty, prevented 3.4 million children from stunting, and reduced hunger in 5.2 million families.

Though most of the initiative’s results have been erased from today’s internet, our work made a difference to the individuals in the countries where I have lived and worked. We provided food assistance—sorghum and split peas grown by American farmers—during times of drought and war. We taught good agricultural practices and introduced drought-tolerant seeds, small-scale irrigation, and agribusiness principles to help poor farmers harvest enough to feed their families. We injected extra capital into village savings and lending groups so that women could borrow money to start small businesses. We constructed dip tanks and provided veterinary training for extension workers, reducing animal diseases.

I have represented the United States in multiple countries, in meetings where my voice—the voice of the American people—is respected, where we set the priorities. In support of those priorities, we helped to open markets for U.S. businesses and offered families a path to economic success, reducing their chances of being recruited into violent extremist organizations. We supported youth seeking opportunities in agriculture, helping them build lives at home instead of turning to migration.

Agriculture can be a path out of poverty, and I am proud to have supported my country in making this happen. For decades, the U.S. led the global fight to eradicate world hunger. From the Marshall Plan that helped rebuild Europe after World War II to the Feed the Future initiative that appears to be canceled by this administration, we have provided support and guidance to those in need, sharing our knowledge and excellence across the globe.

I remain hopeful that there is a future where we continue these efforts—serving our world, believing in agriculture, and maintaining our status as the leader of the free world.

VOA in Transylvania

The narrow road high in Transylvania cut across a wide upland valley, mountains far in the distance. No fences, no houses, no people except for a lone figure up ahead. A peasant in a sheepskin cloak slogging along the deserted road under an endless gray sky. Hearing us approach, he turned and held up his hand. In mid-1980s Romania, public transportation was scarce, gasoline rationed if available at all. Horses pulled wagons, and people walked. If you had a car, you gave people rides.

So we stopped. Gratefully, the man got in and greeted us.

“You’re foreigners,” he said, on hearing us reply. Then he froze a second before turning to me, smiling widely.

“I know who you are! I hear you on Vocea Americii!”

One Federal Employee Giving Back

For a few years as a child in Florida, I received reduced-price school lunch. Without that money from the Department of Education, I would have gone to school hungry. My parents were both working full time—as a nurse and construction/factory worker—but it wasn’t enough to feed and house our family of four. Yet there are calls to dismantle the Department of Education and cut benefits to hungry kids.

My parents divorced when I was in middle school, and my mom moved in with a succession of boyfriends. I’ll never forget the time we left one of those boyfriend’s houses late at night after he threatened my mom and sister, and we sat at a picnic table in a public park while mom tried to figure out what to do. I watched my younger sister cry in fear and promise she’d be good as she held on tightly to her dog. We found somewhere to stay that night, but I don’t remember us having a dog after that. We moved into Section 8 housing—voucher housing subsidized by Housing and Urban Development—as we worked to get our lives back together.

In high school, I waited tables and saved my tips. I studied hard and received a full scholarship to a local university through the Florida Bright Futures program, given to the top 10 percent of graduating seniors in the state. Many of my friends planned to study abroad, but that wasn’t an option for me financially—until my professors found out why I wasn’t going and helped me apply for a study abroad scholarship. That scholarship, the Critical Needs Language scholarship from the federal government, paid for me to spend a year overseas learning a language the U.S. government deemed essential. In return, I promised to work for the U.S. government once I graduated.

Thanks to the U.S. government, I had been fed. I had been safely housed. I had been educated. I did not come from privilege, but the government and my own hard work had helped me reach for better opportunities, and you can bet I was going to take them.

After graduation, I moved to D.C. and looked for a government job to repay the debt I owed—not out of obligation, but out of gratitude. I found a position with a nonprofit organization where the projects were largely funded by USAID. The pay wasn’t great—barely above poverty—but I believed in the mission, and now I was on the giving end of U.S. government money.

I understood that by helping people improve their lives, we help the United States: People overseas who receive food, shelter, medicine, and improved government services from the United States are more likely to have a positive view of our country, buy U.S. products, and support U.S. policies. They want to work with us and be our partners because we were there for them in a time of need, just like the social safety net was there for my family when we needed it.

Some people claim USAID projects are a waste of money, that the organization is full of fraud. As someone who has spent hours reviewing receipts for $3 taxi expenses, and discussing $2 differences between the receipts presented and the bank statement of the local organization running the program, I can assure you that every penny is carefully accounted for.

In just its first 10 years, Feed the Future lifted 23.4 million people out of poverty, prevented 3.4 million children from stunting, and reduced hunger in 5.2 million families.

After three years at the nonprofit, I got my dream job with the U.S. government. I can still remember the feeling of awe that came over me as I recited the oath of office, which is framed on my desk: I solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully execute the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.

Over the past 12 years, I have issued passports to U.S. citizen babies born overseas; prevented people with suspected terrorist ties from receiving a visa to the United States; sat with an elderly woman who lost her husband on what was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime to celebrate their retirement, and then called their children to inform them of their father’s death. I have helped arrange emergency travel for a refugee to join his American citizen children in the United States when their mother was placed in hospice, to ensure they did not enter foster care and become wards of the state. I have explained the “Muslim ban” and “extreme vetting” to foreign governments.

I have explained the U.S. electoral system and the system of checks and balances in countries with monarchies and authoritarian democracies. I have implemented and advocated for policies I personally deeply disagreed with under both Democratic and Republican leaders. I have evacuated U.S. citizens in emergency situations in Burundi, Sudan, Afghanistan, Guinea, Lebanon, and so many other places that honestly I can’t even remember anymore.

I do not have a gun, but I am the person who goes into the crisis to make sure you can get out. On a slow week, I work 40 hours; most weeks, I work 50. I do not get paid overtime.

I have missed my only sister’s wedding and the births of her two children. My dad is terminally ill, and I am not there. I haven’t seen my mom in several years because whatever vacation time and money I scrape together goes to helping my dad. I have given up my right to express my opinion on U.S. government policy, even as I am required to implement it.

This is just the story of one federal employee. But it is not unusual. We come from all over the United States. From families who had nothing other than a strong work ethic, and who instilled in us the value of service. No one will argue that government is perfect: We live it every day and see its flaws. But we also know that the work we do is essential to our nation.

I work hard every day to keep you safe regardless of who you are or what your political beliefs are. I have not received any special treatment to get where I am: I have benefited from programs open to any citizen of the United States in need, and I have more than paid back that debt.

Supporting Press Freedom

My portfolio covers USAID’s support for journalists and press freedom in Eastern Europe. USAID’s media strengthening programs enhance the integrity, resilience, and plurality of the news and information space across the region. We help citizens to be more informed about their health care and education decisions; members of the private sector to make data-driven decisions on running their businesses and contributing to the economy; communities to hold their leaders and policymakers to account; and countries to be more stable, better governed, less corrupt, more open to business, and better aligned with American interests and values. This, in turn, makes America safer, stronger, and more prosperous.

One example is our support of the Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project (OCCRP), which was the lead partner in Eastern Europe on the Panama Papers investigation. The largest collaboration of journalists to date, the project involved more than 350 reporters from 80 countries who analyzed and verified the data from more than 11 million leaked records, including emails, financial spreadsheets, passports, and corporate records. Journalists were able to cross-check it with other public databases and politically exposed persons records to then follow the money trail.

The findings were published in 2016, exposing how hundreds of political and financial elites and celebrities moved their licit and illicit wealth through hard-to-trace companies and tax havens. Reporting by OCCRP and its partners revealed how associates of Russian President Vladimir Putin shuffled more than $2 billion in stolen public funds through banks and shadow companies.

This is just one example of OCCRP’s work, which has earned nearly 300 local, national, and international reporting awards, contributing to the seizure or freezing of at least $10 billion in assets and nearly 500 arrests, indictments, and sentences since 2009. That year, USAID was OCCRP’s first public donor, and OCCRP estimates that for every $1 in U.S. government funding, it has returned $100 to the U.S. taxpayer in fines levied by the Securities and Exchange Commission and the U.S. Treasury against banks and companies for wrongdoing exposed by OCCRP reporting.

The positive impact of USAID assistance to independent media is also shown in Ukraine, where USAID supported the delivery of nearly 1,000 flak jackets and helmets for journalists reporting on the war (including the first set of military-grade vests to get across the border after Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022), thousands of first aid kits, and training on first aid and conflict reporting. USAID also obligated $20 million in January 2025, before the current administration’s stop work order, to help replenish such equipment and training, which was needed after three years of war.

The funding also would have gone to help reporters continue to track tens of thousands of kidnapped children taken from Ukraine to Russia, cover war crimes and atrocities, and provide lifesaving information to communities on the line of contact. That support was terminated as part of the review process on foreign assistance.

Finally, USAID provided support to newsrooms in the Western Balkans to improve their financial, digital, and legal security, including to the storied outlet in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Oslobodjenje, which published every day during the siege of Sarajevo from 1992 to 1996. On a visit in 2022 by then–USAID Administrator Samantha Power, who had covered the war as a journalist in the 1990s, staff at Oslobodjenje told her that it was harder to be a journalist now than during the war, not only because of the economic, political, and technological headwinds they face, but because of vexatious lawsuits meant to drive them out of business. Power’s visit came as USAID announced its creation of a global mutual defense fund, Reporters Shield, to help reporters facing the rising threat of strategic litigation against public participation lawsuits, or SLAPP suits.

USAID’s support of independent media in Eastern Europe and around the world has provided a powerful, cost-effective way for the United States to support those on the front lines of freedom. Such efforts have strengthened democracies and allies of the U.S., ensured a more level playing field and stronger economies for American businesses to invest in, and made the world safer and more secure.

Helping Americans Abroad

In 1995 I was a first-tour consular officer at the U.S. consulate general in Krakow, when we received a call from Jagiellonian University about an elderly U.S. gentleman who was residing in their dormitories. Retired and single, he had come to study Polish in a language course for foreigners. The course had ended, the dorms were closing for the summer, but no matter what they told him, “the gentleman will not leave and just sits all day watching TV.” As the American Citizen Services (ACS) officer, I went to see him.

He was a gentle, old man, quiet and reserved, who could answer simple questions, but that was all. He did not understand that it was time for him to leave and return home. When we asked for his passport, he took us to his room and pointed at his dresser. In one drawer we found countless pieces of paper covered with scribblings and notes that made no real sense, but no passport or plane ticket. We had virtually no information about the man save his name. He did not know his address, names of relatives, telephone number, and so on. In the drawer, however, we found a large key, and the Polish staffer said it looked like a bank lockbox key. The gentleman had no idea what the key was for or where he got it.

After visiting numerous banks, one of them said it was theirs, but the lockbox could only be accessed by the key owner, or a court order to open it. Fortunately, the bank accepted the gentleman’s student ID card, and there we found his passport, traveler’s checks, a plane ticket, and an envelope with a return address.

After tracking the address, we were able to contact his son. The gentleman had had a series of small strokes while in Poland, befuddling him. Once contacted, the family needed our help to get him back to the U.S. Unable to travel alone, he needed an escort to fly, which none of the family could do. A consulate spouse agreed to accompany him to London and put him on a plane to New York. Afterward, I received a personal letter from his son, thanking us profusely for our help retrieving their father.

Our consulate had only eight FSOs at that time, handling 300 nonimmigrant visa (NIV) requests daily while covering many other responsibilities. This was a rare case but not unusual, and certainly not an exercise that could have been handled remotely or by AI. It’s just one example of how U.S. diplomats are always willing, able, and needed to help U.S. citizens in distress overseas.

Don Sheehan
State Department FSO, retired
Arlington, Virginia

Foreign Assistance Helps U.S. Businesses

Over the past two years, I led USAID efforts to support countries facing debt distress and macroeconomic crises. We advised more than 25 governments on strengthening tax systems, cutting costs, and improving oversight in sectors like banking.

In 2024 in Bangladesh, where $17-30 billion was looted from banks by former political leaders, USAID became the first bilateral agency to deploy an adviser focused on banking sector reform—introducing oversight mechanisms common in the U.S. to help recover assets and prevent future losses. Now that USAID has been shut down, Bangladesh is forced to turn to other partners.

This work isn’t new. USAID has supported economic governance for decades, with bipartisan backing. During the first Trump administration, for instance, USAID helped Burma’s civilian leaders avoid $6 billion in port project costs, saving the country money and denying the People’s Republic of China (PRC) leverage.

Why should the U.S. care? First, fiscally sound countries are better investment environments for U.S. businesses—offering stable exchange rates, low inflation, and reliable infrastructure. Second, sound economic management is foundational to poverty reduction and a principle behind the Millennium Challenge Corporation (MCC) Scorecard, yet a place where USAID has led due to our on-the-ground presence. Third, addressing issues that matter to foreign leaders strengthens partnerships—and counters PRC influence, enhancing U.S. global standing.

Family Members Serve Too

Let us honor the sacrifices that are mutually shared by our patriotic USAID families. My wife gave up her career so she could support us at hardship and danger posts. In service to our great nation, my family has endured three evacuations, including once when we had to reassure our toddlers that Santa would still deliver their presents despite the need to flee across the Congo River. Elsewhere, our kids remember the sounds of explosions while sheltering in bomb shelters and the heavy doors of the armored vehicles that frequently took them to school.

Our USAID family members have proudly served our country alongside us. They are the real heroes and deserve better.

Anchored in Hope

The dreaded news has finally been confirmed—I have been placed on administrative leave. Despite the frustration, the sting of betrayal, and the uncertainty that looms over me, I remain, against all odds, hopeful.

The past few weeks have thrown more at me than I could have imagined. I have endured betrayal by my own government and the very institution I swore to serve. I have had my allegiance questioned, my integrity scrutinized—as if my commitment to this country and its values were conditional, as if my identity disqualified me from belonging. I have been told, to my face and behind my back, that my mixed-race heritage makes me an abomination. I have watched with anguish as the world spirals deeper into crisis after crisis—war, injustice, climate catastrophe, humanitarian disasters—each one a reminder of how much is at stake.

Through it all, my hope has been tested like never before.

To say my soul has been crushed over the past few weeks would be an understatement. The weight of everything—past and present—has pressed down on me with unrelenting force. And yet, here I stand.

Three years ago, I achieved what felt like a lifelong dream: I became a Foreign Service officer with USAID. It was more than just a job—it was a calling. The mission, the purpose, the commitment to something greater than myself—it all resonated deeply. But what made it even more meaningful was my first post: the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Returning to my birthplace, the country that shaped so much of my cultural and social identity, felt like fate. It was a dream come true, tinged with the inevitable fear of the unknown, but grounded in an overwhelming sense of pride. I had made it. I had stepped into a new chapter, one filled with purpose, responsibility, and the opportunity to have a real impact.

That first year at post was one of the best years of my life. Sure, I had my fair share of complaints about the traffic in Kinshasa. But even that, in hindsight, is something I miss. What I wouldn’t give now to be stuck on that shuttle at the end of a long day, sitting in gridlocked streets with my friends and colleagues, trading stories and laughter. What I wouldn’t give to walk into the office and see the warm smiles of my Congolese colleagues, people who exemplify the best of humanity, working tirelessly to tackle some of the country’s most pressing health challenges.

But in the blink of an eye, it was all ripped away.

In January, I was evacuated under harrowing circumstances due to civil unrest. I was forced to leave behind the life I was building, the work that gave me purpose, and the people who had become my second family. The trauma of that moment still lingers, not just because of the chaos and fear, but because it stirred something even deeper: memories of another evacuation, one that uprooted me from what was then Zaire in 1991. I was just a child then, unable to fully comprehend what was happening. But now, as an adult, experiencing it again in eerily similar ways, the wounds have reopened in ways I never anticipated.

Returning to the United States under this veil of suspicion, under the shadow of my own government questioning my intentions, has shaken me to my core. This is not just a personal struggle; it is part of a broader, insidious pattern of psychological warfare being waged against those of us who have dedicated our lives to public service. It is an attack not just on me but on my colleagues, on marginalized communities, on anyone who dares to challenge the status quo and push for a better world. The consequences of this assault will be lasting, far beyond my own experience.

And yet, despite my rage, my hurt, and my profound sense of disillusionment—I remain hopeful.

Some may call it naivete. Others may attribute it to my Catholic upbringing, the ingrained belief in resilience, in faith, in the notion that light can still break through the darkest of nights. But I know it is more than that.

We have a moral obligation—not just as public servants, but as human beings—to stand up for what is right, to protect those who cannot protect themselves, to build a world that is just and equitable.

I have seen resilience in action, lived it, breathed it. I saw it in my parents, in the way they endured unimaginable hardships yet never wavered in their resolve. I see it in the communities I have chosen and the ones that have chosen me—people who stand firm in their convictions, who fight for justice, who embody the very best that humanity has to offer. These are the people who give me strength, who remind me that hope is not just a sentiment but an act of defiance, a conscious choice in the face of despair.

I do not know what will happen next. The path ahead is uncertain, filled with more questions than answers. But I do know this: I will not go down without a fight. I refuse to let this moment define me, to let it strip me of my purpose, my voice, or my determination. I will not be silenced, and I will not turn away from the work that matters. Because that work—the fight for justice, for dignity, for humanity—is bigger than me. It always has been.

From the ashes of what remains, we will rise again. Stronger. Wiser. More aware of all that is at stake.

We have a moral obligation—not just as public servants, but as human beings—to stand up for what is right, to protect those who cannot protect themselves, to build a world that is just and equitable. And I refuse to do anything less than that.

Hope is not just an emotion. It is a force. It is a choice. And today, as I stand on uncertain ground, I choose it once again.

Erin Aseli Fleming
Foreign Service Officer