America First Is Reshaping U.S. Foreign Aid

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One year after the dismantling of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) began, the Trump administration is initiating another sweeping rollback of American foreign assistance. This time, the cuts are reaching programs that had previously survived internal reviews because they were classified as “lifesaving”. Now, even those projects are being allowed to expire. According to an internal State Department email, the administration plans to terminate all humanitarian funding in seven African countries: Burkina Faso, Cameroon, Malawi, Mali, Niger, Somalia, and Zimbabwe. Aid programs in these nations, many of which were up for renewal through September, will instead be permitted to lapse. The reason given is not mismanagement or corruption, but the absence of “a strong nexus between the humanitarian response and U.S. national interests”.

The language marks a significant shift. In earlier cases – such as the termination of full aid packages to Afghanistan and Yemen – the administration argued that terrorists were diverting resources. No such claim accompanies the latest round of cancellations. Instead, the rationale reflects a more explicit embrace of an “America First” doctrine, in which humanitarian assistance must demonstrably advance U.S. strategic or economic priorities. At the same time, funding will be redirected – though not necessarily expanded – in nine other African countries, including Ethiopia, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Central African Republic, Kenya, Mozambique, Nigeria, Uganda, South Sudan, and Sudan. Even there, existing lifesaving awards are being terminated and replaced with new mechanisms, many of which will operate through the United Nations.

The administration’s approach reflects a broader philosophical shift. Under President Donald Trump, foreign aid is increasingly evaluated not primarily by humanitarian need, but by what the United States receives in return. In some cases, aid has reportedly been restored or negotiated in exchange for mineral access or agreements to accept U.S. deportees.

The seven African countries losing all U.S. humanitarian support collectively include at least 6.2 million people facing extreme or catastrophic food insecurity, according to United Nations estimates. Yet these nations possess few of the strategic minerals central to America’s artificial intelligence and green-technology ambitions. Only Cameroon among them has reportedly accepted a small number of deportees from the United States. The message is unmistakable: humanitarian need alone is no longer sufficient justification.

Historically, the United States has been the largest contributor to the UN’s humanitarian funding pool, managed by the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA). Washington would allocate large sums into the pooled fund, trusting OCHA to distribute resources based on urgency.

That model is being curtailed. In December, a senior State Department official announced that U.S. contributions to OCHA would be restricted to an initial list of 17 countries – excluding the seven now losing all American humanitarian aid. For 2026, the U.S. pledged $2 billion, significantly below its typical annual contributions.

Moreover, new conditions apply. According to guidance distributed by OCHA, American funds must be spent within six months of donation, a deadline intended to accelerate delivery but one that complicates long-term planning for aid organizations. With several major donor countries also scaling back, OCHA faces mounting pressure to do more with less – under tighter timelines and heavier oversight.

The latest cancellations are particularly striking because the affected programs had previously survived rigorous internal reviews. During the initial wave of cuts – reportedly overseen in part by the Department of Government Efficiency under Elon Musk – approximately 83 percent of American foreign aid programs were eliminated. The stated goal was to remove wasteful or ideologically driven projects while preserving strictly lifesaving interventions. The administration adopted a narrow definition of “lifesaving”. Programs combating tuberculosis or chronic hunger were often cut unless beneficiaries were on the brink of death. Stabilization centers treating severely malnourished children tended to survive. The guiding test, according to former officials, was immediate mortality: if funds were not delivered, would people die right away?

Now, even some initiatives that met that threshold are ending. Secretary of State Marco Rubio has repeatedly insisted that lifesaving aid would be protected. Musk similarly asserted that no deaths had resulted from temporary funding pauses. Yet on the ground, humanitarian organizations report rising mortality and shuttered facilities.

In Somalia, soon to receive no American humanitarian funding at all, conditions are deteriorating rapidly. A severe drought threatens to escalate into full-scale famine. Hundreds of health and nutrition centers have already closed following earlier cuts, according to Doctors Without Borders. In one supported regional hospital, deaths among severely malnourished children under five have reportedly increased by 44 percent.

The Minnesota-based nonprofit Alight, which operates across conflict and disaster zones, has been forced to shut more than a dozen health facilities in Somalia, potentially leaving up to 200,000 people without care.

The situation is similarly dire in Sudan, described by Trump himself as “the single biggest Humanitarian Crisis”. After nearly three years of civil war, more than 150,000 people have been killed. Yet Alight has been compelled to withdraw from three refugee camps after U.S. funding abruptly ended. In total, it has closed 30 health clinics and 14 nutrition centers, laying off more than 250 medical staff. For many refugees, the nearest hospital is now a three-hour drive through active conflict zones – transportation the organization can no longer afford to provide.

The administration maintains that it is responsibly transitioning to new funding mechanisms, including health-financing agreements focused on infectious-disease containment. But critics argue that these initiatives do not address acute hunger or displacement crises.

The broader question is whether humanitarian assistance can – or should – be subordinated to geopolitical calculus. For decades, American foreign aid served both moral and strategic purposes, projecting soft power while alleviating suffering. The new approach prioritizes measurable national returns over universal need. As the United States narrows its definition of responsibility, millions in some of the world’s most fragile regions face an uncertain future. The debate is no longer about efficiency or waste. It is about the very principle underpinning humanitarianism: whether saving lives requires reciprocity – or whether some lives, absent strategic value, are no longer considered worth the cost.

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