USAID employees bid adieu to their Washington, D.C., offices for the last time on Friday, but not before turning their exit into what could only be described as a protest-art gallery—on cardboard.
Some staffers lugged boxes covered in snarky messages that seemed tailor-made for President Donald Trump, who’s been busy trimming the agency’s workforce like a gardener with anger-management issues.
Weeks ago, thousands of employees got the memo (literally) that they’d soon be trading their office chairs for couches at home—and possibly binge-watching Netflix full-time. But hey, at least a federal judge gave them permission to cry over spilt milk by allowing the layoffs to move forward. Progress!
One particularly cheeky employee strutted out of the Bureau of Humanitarian Affairs clutching a box that read, “We are abandoning the world.” It was almost poetic—if poetry involved sarcasm and passive-aggressive goodbyes.
Another box simply said, “Don’t worry, we’ll leave the light on for you… oh wait, there’s no budget for that anymore.” Clearly, these folks weren’t just leaving jobs; they were leaving legacies—one cardboard masterpiece at a time.
Another smiling staffer decided if you’re going down, you might as well go down swinging—metaphorically speaking, of course. Her box proudly declared, “You can take the humanitarians out of USAID, but you can’t take the humanity out of the humanitarians.”
It was equal parts inspirational and sass, like something you’d see on a motivational poster in a coffee shop—or scrawled hastily with a Sharpie during an office downsizing event.
As she strolled out of the building, one could almost hear her thinking, “Take my job, sure, but good luck taking my vibe!”
Clearly, this wasn’t just an exit; it was a mic drop wrapped in bubble wrap. Someone should’ve handed her a cape because leaving with that level of grace under pressure is basically superhero material.
Inside, emotions ran high: some workers left in tears, clutching their farewell boxes like unwanted parting gifts, while others maintained a stiff upper lip—likely imagining themselves auditioning for a dramatic Netflix series about government layoffs.
Meanwhile, the Trump administration is going full Marie Kondo on the agency, trimming its workforce down to fewer than 300 people out of the original 8,000. That’s right: they’re aiming for maximum efficiency, or possibly just trying to see how many jobs can fit into one Zoom call.
And let’s not forget the 5,000 locally hired international staffers overseas, whose roles are still TBD (To Be Downsized?). Together, this skeleton crew will keep a few life-saving programs running—for the time being, anyway. Because nothing screams “global stability” like handing over humanitarian efforts to a team smaller than most office holiday parties.
USAID has found itself in the hot seat—or should we say, the doge house—under the watchful eye of the Elon Musk-led Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). Apparently, someone somewhere noticed that helping people around the world might involve… wait for it… spending money! Gasp.
Critics have accused the agency of “wasteful spending,” which is rich coming from a group that probably thinks rocket launches and underground tunnels are budget-friendly hobbies.
It’s almost like trying to save humanity is expensive—who knew? But don’t worry, DOGE is here to sniff out those so-called inefficiencies, because nothing says “government efficiency” like naming your department after a meme cryptocurrency.
At this rate, USAID might need to start crowdfunding their humanitarian efforts on GoFundMe or maybe launch an NFT collection: “Adopt-a-Disaster Relief Program.” Hey, at least it’d be cutting-edge!
Ah yes, nothing screams “government efficiency” like Senator Joni Ernst, R-Iowa, chairwoman of the Senate DOGE Caucus (because who doesn’t love acronyms that sound like cryptocurrency mascots?).
She recently dropped a list of USAID-funded projects so eyebrow-raising, you’d think they were auditioning for a reality TV show called “Wasteful Spending: The Untold Stories.”
Exhibit A: $20 million to bring Big Bird and friends to Iraq. Because if there’s one thing war-torn regions need, it’s Elmo teaching kids how to count in Kurdish. Move over, diplomacy—Sesame Street is here to save the day!
But wait, there’s more! Someone thought it was a great idea to hand over $900,000 to an organization called the Bayader Association for Environment and Development—a group with alleged ties to terrorism.
Who needs oversight when you can fund eco-friendly terror? And let’s not forget the pièce de résistance: a $1.5 million program to promote diversity, equity, and inclusion in Serbia’s workplaces. Because clearly, what the Balkans have been missing all this time is mandatory sensitivity training.
At this rate, USAID might as well start funding interpretive dance performances about fiscal responsibility or commissioning murals titled “Why We Spent Your Tax Dollars This Way.” Hey, at least we’re getting our money’s worth… right? Right?!
In true supervillain fashion, President Trump decided that if you can’t fix it, you might as well gut it.
After slapping a 90-day pause on foreign aid (because nothing says “diplomacy” like hitting the pause button), he handed the reins of USAID to none other than Secretary of State Marco Rubio—presumably because who better to clean up a sinking ship than someone already juggling five other jobs?
Government employee unions, bless their hearts, tried to play legal whack-a-mole by suing to stop the layoffs. But alas, U.S. District Judge Carl Nichols wasn’t having it.
On Friday, he lifted a temporary restraining order faster than you can say “budget cuts” and politely declined to issue a longer-term order that would’ve saved everyone’s jobs. It was like watching someone hold open a door for you—and then letting it slam right in your face.
At this point, USAID employees are probably Googling whether unemployment benefits cover therapy sessions. Meanwhile, Marco Rubio is likely wondering how his job description got even longer overnight.
Maybe next time they’ll just rename the agency “USAID: The Department of Doing More With Less… Or Maybe Nothing At All.”
Ah yes, enter Judge Carl Nichols, a Trump-appointed jurist who probably never imagined he’d one day preside over what feels like a bureaucratic episode of Game of Thrones.
In his ruling, Nichols essentially said, “Look, folks, I’d love to help, but unless these employees have filled out every form known to mankind—including the ones written in invisible ink—I don’t have the power to save your jobs.”
The unions tried to argue that shutting down USAID might violate the Constitution (you know, that pesky document some people think is still relevant), but Nichols wasn’t biting.
He calmly explained that this whole mess isn’t ready for prime-time court action yet. Nope, it’s more of a prequel situation—better suited for administrative limbo under federal employment laws.
Translation: “Take it up with HR, folks. Maybe they’ll give you a flowchart or a hotline to call while you wait on hold for three hours.”
The employees might as well start drafting strongly worded emails to their future robot overlords because clearly, human judges aren’t equipped to handle workplace drama of this magnitude.
Ah, Judge Nichols really broke out the legalese gavel for this one: “In sum, because the Court likely lacks jurisdiction over plaintiffs’ claims, they have not established a likelihood of success on the merits.” Translation? “Folks, you’re barking up the wrong tree—or maybe just forgot to water it first.”
He went on to explain that the plaintiffs hadn’t proven they’d suffer irreparable injury without an injunction. Irreparable injury, mind you, is legal speak for “something worse than having to update your LinkedIn profile.”
The judge also noted that their claims weren’t exactly slam-dunk material and that the whole “balance of hardships” thing didn’t tip far enough in their favor to warrant stopping the layoffs.
So basically, the message was: “Sorry, no cape for you today, heroes. Go file some paperwork and try again later.”
At this point, the employees might as well start a support group called “Jurisdictionally Challenged Workers Anonymous.” It’s less about winning and more about surviving the red tape marathon—one rejected lawsuit at a time.
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