Across the world, many are experiencing PTSD as we observe the carnage at the US Agency for International Development (USAID) unfold. Elon Musk’s violent “time for it to die” quip and his claim of “feeding USAID into the wood chipper” echo the brutal humour of Australia’s DFAT joker, who mimed machine-gunning AusAIDers herded into the lobby of the Department’s headquarters in 2013. Across the Pacific, many are experiencing the whiplash of promises abandoned, support cut, strategies discarded, and priorities shifted as the domestic and geopolitical winds change in the United States.
If it feels familiar, it’s because it is – USAID's ferocious vanishing being the latest, and by far most dramatic and harmful, episode in a long-running story. A story in which the Western aid-industrial complex has grown ever more self-serving, less predictable, more ideologically polarised, and less connected to the very states and societies it claims to serve.
Many will argue, myself included, that aid has always been self-serving. Donald Trump is likely realising this as the billions of dollars the agency spends on American businesses and organisations becomes clear. But the vanishing of USAID, as with AusAID, CIDA, NZAID and DFID before it, signals a direction of travel away from any semblance of “shared interests”.
“Development” has long been the realm of the progressive side of politics, often at odds with conservative government instincts.
These executions are calculated moves to ensure the diminishing aid dollar, if it still exists, flows through controlled channels that serve specific ideological and economic interests. For Trump, this appears to be part of a larger push to diminish multilateralism, erode US responsibility in global development, and consolidate influence in ways even harder to scrutinise and challenge.
Many will also argue aid has never been predictable. Joe Biden talked a big game in the Pacific, but many were sceptical these promises would hold. Aid programs come and go, funding gets reallocated to suit political cycles, and long-term regional priorities remain secondary to domestic agendas. Even donors know promises rarely equal disbursements, and long-term commitments are unreliable. But this uncertainty only intensifies as Western nations become more polarised and incoherent.
“Development” has long been the realm of the progressive side of politics, often at odds with conservative government instincts. Aid agencies, to put it bluntly, don’t tend to be filled with people who vote for Trumps or Duttons. The vanishing of aid institutions represents a deliberate reshaping of who gets to wield power and what values define foreign policy. For Trump and Musk, as for Australia’s Abbott and Bishop before them, they are dismantling a sector seen as a bastion of “woke” globalists – the same logic driving attacks on DEI initiatives, climate funding, and multilateral cooperation.
This is democracy in action, yes? We get what we vote for. But our “development partners” also get what we vote for. As Western governments lurch from one side of politics to the other, the vanishing of USAID demonstrates two things spectacularly: just how extreme and unpredictable internal polarisation is for the world; and just how peripheral aid recipients are to these decisions.
At the very time global challenges demand unprecedented levels of cooperation, Western approaches continue to become more insular and unilateral. They preach partnership while practicing control, talk about localisation while centralising power, and emphasise sustainability while making aid more unpredictable than ever. The result isn't just failed aid – it's failed global relationships at a time when we can least afford them.
What comes next?
In response to the latest execution, there has been a justified outcry at the humanitarian impacts of the chaos. There has also been legitimate arguments that aid is failing anyway, and calling out the northern development sector for centring discussion of the impact on themselves.
So, can this moment drive us towards a different paradigm? One not centred on donor interests, be they progressive or conservative? There is no shortage of ideas for reimagining an alternative ecosystem for development in our region and beyond, but little evidence they are being listened to.
If there is a lesson in the collapse of USAID, it is this: the Western aid-industrial complex is inherently fragile, self-serving and unpredictable.
Will China step in to fill the void? China has long framed itself as an alternative to Western aid models. Without electoral cycles, China is a more predictable partner. But while recipients don’t face the same geopolitical whiplash from Beijing, China is a global power with its own strategic interests and the challenge remains ensuring all foreign aid serves long-term development priorities.
Will the new status quo cement itself further? While the conservative right has wielded power to execute aid institutions with surgical precision, the progressive left has not advocated their resurrection and has failed to articulate anything fundamentally different. In Australia after the AusAID merger, many pivoted to more lucrative roles with private managing contractors, reinforcing these new systems of donor control. As thought leader Themrise Khan asks, will another industry inevitably rise to “manage” the fallout from USAID? More consultants, more advisory firms, more efforts to salvage a system that has never really worked.
If there is a lesson in the collapse of USAID, it is this: the Western aid-industrial complex is inherently fragile, self-serving and unpredictable, and if we wish to cooperate on global challenges, we need something completely new. Western aid’s future is transactional, politicised, and dictated by ideological swings. As it collapses under its own contradictions, the real task is not rebuilding what existed before or finding a new donor – it’s reducing dependency altogether. The vanishing of USAID, and others before it, is a wake-up call. The only question now is who will shape what comes next?
