More chaos. More questions.
This is Inklings, where we explore all things aid and aid-adjacent unfolding in the wilds of humanitarian hubs, on the front lines of emergency response, or in the back of a driverless taxi.
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Today: Where does the dismantling of USAID leave aid freeze waivers, who’s calling the shots, and what’s the humanitarian narrative on the future of aid?
Trumplings and Musklings|
Who’s driving the bus? The dismantling of the US aid architecture continues with the news that almost all USAID staff (some 10,000 people) will be placed on administrative leave. “Thank you for your service,” concludes the brisk notice posted to USAID’s otherwise blank website. Earlier, Secretary of State Marco Rubio said he was USAID’s acting administrator, before Trump ally Elon Musk – acting on unclear authority, and apparently angered after his staff were denied access to classified information – said USAID would be shut down. Needless to say, this adds to red-line levels of chaos and confusion within the US government and in emergencies around the globe.
No, really. Who’s driving? Aid workers were already trying to figure out how to navigate Trump’s earlier aid freeze and interpret a series of vague exemptions. Despite Rubio’s seemingly blanket waiver on “life-saving humanitarian assistance”, many humanitarians said they were told they needed project-by-project exemptions. It’s unclear who’s left to give those approvals, at least as far as USAID-funded projects are concerned. Some believe Trump appointee Pete Marocco (who is overseeing a “potential reorganisation” of USAID, lawmakers were told this week) currently has oversight over humanitarian exemptions. A chunk of the confusion centred on a seemingly simple question: What is life-saving? Rubio’s waiver seemed to expand an initial exemption for food aid to include “core life-saving medicine, medical services, food, shelter, and subsistence assistance”. Do malnutrition programmes count under food? Are livelihoods life-saving? Surely water, sanitation, and hygiene programmes are… But there’s no mention of WASH on the waiver. What about cash – the world’s most well-funded humanitarian agency, the World Food Programme, gives 39% of its assistance as cash. Doesn’t it all qualify as “subsistence”? And if a humanitarian sends a waiver request and there’s no one there to read it, was it ever sent at all?
What’s the humanitarian narrative? There’s palpable fear among aid workers from the community level up to HQs. People are tight-lipped, afraid of sticking their head above the parapet and saying the wrong thing. “We don’t want to worsen the situation,” a local NGO head told us, hopeful that their organisation’s clinics – closed since last week – might soon re-open. The caution is understandable. Trump and his allies employ innuendo and slivers of information as weapons. They’re hammering home dubious storylines through simple narratives and repetition – amplified on digital soapboxes owned by Musk and others, and now unencumbered by pesky factcheckers.
In the past two weeks, Trump’s allies have converted splintered info into a manufactured narrative for dismantling aid: misreading the amount of aid that goes to communities, spreading lies about condoms for Gaza, or calling following security protocol at USAID “rank insubordination”, for example. The Trump machinery understands this simple logic: A clear narrative can be more persuasive than data; a good story, repeated often, beats a few facts.
But at some point, humanitarians will need to start telling their own story. Is it that aid workers are laid off and operations are at risk, as narratives on LinkedIn and other forums where humanitarians congregate might suggest? Is it that people facing failed rains and drought or trapped in conflict are being cut off, as local aid leaders frantically tell us? Is it that neighbours, locally organised responses, local governments, and diaspora communities are first responders – as they always have been – and are looking for more support? The challenge is for humanitarians to redefine the narrative of what they do and why it matters. For the time being, Trump and his allies are the ones holding the pen.
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IOM: On that note, it looks like the UN’s migration agency, IOM, has a narrative to float. For some unknowable reason, there's now a “rising demand for return assistance across Latin America”, IOM says – and it seems the Geneva-based agency is well-placed to help. “With decades of experience partnering with governments... IOM remains dedicated to addressing migration challenges through effective, principled, and needs-driven solutions,” the agency said in a 1 February statement. “IOM looks forward to deepening its collaboration with the United States in the months and years ahead.” The US supplies at least 40% of IOM's revenue, and 97% of the agency’s funding is earmarked. In other words, it’s excessively dependent on US funding and doesn’t have much in the way of backup. Amid Trump's sudden dismantling of US aid and his actions targeting migrants and asylum seekers, IOM is shooting its shot.
Data points|
Who’s counting what’s offline? Displaced people turned away from border clinics, community kitchens closed, mobile health clinics shuttered – the humanitarian impacts of the US funding freeze are across the board. But with so much chaos, confusion, and self-censorship, it isn’t easy to get a global sense of what’s happening. A few indicators:
- ICVA: The wordy NGO network known as ICVA is running continuing member surveys. The first 31 January update is here. Half said they had received stop-work orders. “Impacts are far-reaching,” one respondent said. “We've had to stop WASH, protection, shelter, nutrition, GBV, cash, livelihoods, etc.”
- Syria: NGOs in northeast Syria are reporting extensive suspension orders.
- UNFPA: The UN Population Fund says it has suspended services funded by US grants “that provide a lifeline for women and girls in crises”. This includes 600 mobile health teams, “family health houses”, counselling centres in Afghanistan, and 60 health facilities in Pakistan. Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh (apparently covered by exemptions for food aid) “face losing access to maternal and reproductive health services”, a UNFPA official told reporters.
End quote|
“What has necessitated this? They can’t understand this global, America First policy.”
What doesn’t come across in reporting over the last weeks of aid chaos is a deep sense of hurt and betrayal among frontline responders.
Many have spent years trying to build trust in the community. Some leaders and many frontline aid workers are from the communities they help. Now they have to explain why the aid is cut off with no notice.
Here’s what one local NGO leader told us. They asked not to be identified.
“It’s hard for us to explain these recipients who have been living on this aid. This has been their lifeline, because they are displaced families, they have run away from conflict areas, run away from drought areas, they have been displaced by natural and manmade disasters. So telling them there’s a stoppage is the hardest part. When we started these programmes, we told the communities this aid would run for three years or two years, from the generosity of the United States people and all that. Now we’re going back to them telling them, ‘Now we’ve been told to stop by the US.’”
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