Money Won’t Save Us: It’s Time to Reinvent Aid….Again.
- Aishia Glasford
- Apr 7
- 9 min read
The Cuts Are Real—But So Is the History
The United States government in a political move that has enraged, devastated and frustrated many in the U.S. and abroad, has either cancelled or severely scaled down its foreign aid assistance. In the last weeks since the administration’s announcement, media outlets have been good at highlighting how countless individuals, communities and countries are suffering and will continue to do so with access to these essential services.We must also take some time to absorb the shock that has been dealt to us, both as aid and global communities.
There have also been many statements about the meaning and fulfillment found in serving in USAID and other agencies or programs like it. I know many will say it is too soon to point out the elephant in the room, but that is who I am, and will always be: not everything about U.S. foreign assistance was fine and dandy. There have been many criticisms of USAID, and many calls for its closure over the years, often among more conservative politicians and think tanks: " Though USAID is not unique in pursuing its objectives primarily through contracting, it has drawn sharp criticism for its particular way of doing business." In addition, over the years I have heard many individuals living in countries where the programs were implemented express reservations about the utility of USAID programming in their particular contexts: some African leaders such as Arikana Chihombori-Quao–the Former African Union ambassador to the U.S.–has questioned the “real reason USAID was in Africa, [....] they are using that open access sounding humanitarian to constantly destabilize governments.” (Aljazeera-English interview, 16 March 2025, Chihombori-Quao: USAID was ‘a wolf in sheep’s clothing’ in Africa).
As much as I have been frustrated by U.S. foreign assistance (and generally aid assistance) I, like many, never wanted any U.S. foreign assistance program, much less the whole USAID agency, to be shut down, but rather improved to fully realize the potential of the mandate the agency stood for. I also recognize fully that no system is perfect, that there is always room for improvement and that ignoring the harmful aspects of a system, never makes them go away, rather they spread and are emulated, because harmful aspects (like harmful social norms) are easy to emulate and give the people perpetrating them the power to advance their own agenda.
What We're Not Saying About Reform
So where’s the moment of self-reflection? Where’s the leadership saying, "This is our opportunity to restructure how we do business"? Instead, I see a frantic scramble: to secure alternative funding, cut programs, and lay off staff—most often national or temporary personnel who are absolutely essential to implementation. This perpetuates a harmful cycle that long predates this particular administration.
What we needed wasn’t an abrupt stop in funding, but conditional pressure to reform: improve compensation and protections for aid workers, reassess procurement processes, and move from rhetoric to real action on localization. Many aid workers are also community members directly impacted by the conflicts or disasters they’re paid to address. Cutting them off changes nothing about the underlying dysfunction—except to leave even more people unemployed.
We could start with a few honest conversations: How are local partners chosen? How are vendors prioritized? And when we say we want “locally-led development,” what systems are we actually putting in place to make that real and who are we hiring/contracting/partnering with to put those systems in place?
Back in 2021, Arora Akanksha launched an unlikely campaign to become UN Secretary-General. People told me it was ridiculous—and maybe it was unlikely—but the message behind it wasn’t: something needs to change, and maybe it needs to be something dramatic. Like a bomb. Well... boom, the current U.S. administration has set that bomb off.
I’m not claiming it’s easy. It would take years to truly change how this sector operates. But some of us forget that we are public servants, accountable to the communities we serve—not just our career ladders, our budgets, or our brands. We hand off programs and policies mid-stream all the time, leaving someone else to “pick it up.” Often, no one does. Communities are left explaining their needs and histories over and over to new consultants and program managers. Eventually, they learn to say what they think we want to hear. In some places, they’re worse off after our involvement. In others, maybe not worse—but certainly not better.
I’ve seen both.
Lessons from the Field
My very first deployment in development was deeply formative. I was sexually harassed and verbally abused by a supervisor. The complaints I and another woman submitted were ignored. Even today, this is still happening. And yet, it was also the first—and possibly only—time I saw a program I helped design reach full implementation. I helped lay the groundwork for a legal aid initiative in a small upper middle income African nation. On day two of being on the job, I was sent to the President’s Office to say we were moving forward—without offering money. In my youthful naivete, I walked in confidently, thinking I was doing something important.
I got a 15-minute lecture instead. Phrases such as “Where is the money?” “Neo-colonial.” “We are more technically adept than any of you,” were some of which I captured. He wasn’t wrong. That day, I made him laugh and it opened the door to us having a warm and respectful relationship. Eventually, I found modest funding to get the initiative started. He taught me about diplomacy, about ego, and about humility. That program was eventually implemented—and that experience taught me more than any formal training ever could.
Since then, I’ve tried to recreate that sense of impact, but short-term funding cycles and the increasing tilt toward emergency responses have made it almost impossible. Social change takes time—certainly longer than six to twelve months (standard humanitarian aid cycle). Gender justice and gender-based violence programming (unlike other issue areas) naturally span the humanitarian-peace-development continuum, but linkages get lost, staff move on, communities get left behind.
Still, I remain hopeful. I’ve witnessed incredible resilience. I once ran a leadership workshop for women whose center the organization I worked for funded to build. We had worked with this group of women for months and months and had strong ties with them as well as understanding of who they were and the hardships they lived under. Unfortunately, we were forced to exit due to USAID’s shifting geographic priorities. There were tears on both sides. I decided to do an intense workshop on concepts that we worked on for many months (as well as years by other coordinators) to establish a roadmap on how they could forge ahead without our support. By the end, some of those women—who once saw themselves as uneducated and invisible—recognized their value in a way they did not prior. They saw themselves as leaders. That kind of transformation can’t be quantified in a quarterly report, but it matters. It matters deeply.
What Needs to Change
So, where do we go from here? Beyond individual stories and institutional frustration, what would real change look like?
Numerous guidance instruments have been developed to shape how donor funds are provided and managed (some of which you can find here, as well as the Paris Declaration for Aid Effectiveness). But navigating them often feels like you need a specialized degree. Below are a few concrete proposals—some have been championed for years loudly, while others have been quiet whispers during sundowners. While others are a synthesized version of informal conversations with colleagues over the years.
Seven Recommendations to Shift Power and Improve Aid Delivery
Fund Direct Implementation and Reduce the Subcontracting Chain
Donors should earmark a portion of funding for direct implementation by U.N. agencies and funded organizations. Groups like Medecin San Frontiers (MSF) prove it’s possible. The current subcontracting chain—from U.N. to INGO to local NGO to community group—dilutes accountability and leaves community workers especially vulnerable to abuse. Smaller, excluded grassroots organizations must be given access, not just responsibilities.
Ensure Equitable Compensation for All Contract Types
Donor countries should lobby the U.N. to phase out comprehensive compensation only for fixed-term and temporary contracts. These benefits, once tied to long-term service, have become a career goal in themselves, displacing the original mission of building a better world. Meanwhile, senior staff retain generous packages, while mid-career professionals, junior staff, and consultants face short-term contracts, job insecurity, and minimal benefits like health insurance, paid leave, or rest and recuperation. Compensation reform must be holistic and equitable—across all contract types.
Protect the Right to Unionize and Strengthen Worker Protections
Aid workers should be able to unionize without fear of retaliation, with leadership supporting—not silencing—these efforts. While some European countries permit union membership and initiatives like Aid Essentials offer limited support, there is no centralized body for aid workers to turn to when contracts are unfair, compensation is inadequate, or terminations are unjust. Grievance systems remain weak, especially in cases of abuse or exploitation. Formal worker protections are essential to a just and sustainable aid workforce.
Foster Country Level Donor Coordination and Shared Monitoring
Donor countries should rotate leadership roles (every two to three years) to convene national-level roundtables that align priorities, reduce duplication, and promote geographic and programmatic cohesion. Grants should clearly demonstrate how they reduce administrative burdens. Collaborative monitoring strategies—such as pooled site visits—can work if built on trust and shared goals.
Four months of paid maternity leave should be the floor, not a favor—standardized across the sector, no matter the contract.
Formalize Mentorship and Power-Sharing Structures
Larger U.N. agencies and INGOs must establish formal shadowing and mentoring partnerships with smaller organizations. When grassroots groups are essential to implementation, they deserve a literal seat at the table. Co-location, capacity sharing, and joint program design don’t just build better programs—they build trust and long-term capability. And importantly, large agencies are not donors; they are implementers too. Power must be shared accordingly.
Prioritize Mental Health and Break Down Internal Hierarchies
Mandatory mental health check-ins—at onboarding, midpoint, and off-boarding—should be standard practice. Aid workers face cumulative trauma and often cope in harmful ways. Organizations like CANADEM are already doing this. In parallel, the false hierarchy between “technical” and “operational” staff must be dismantled. Field staff are not merely implementers — they are frontline strategists whose insights should meaningfully shape diplomacy, advocacy, and program design. Thise influence can be genuine, not tokenistic.
A Feminist Lens on Reform
It is essential that we view these recommendations through a feminist lens. I share them not only as a professional in this field, but as a woman and a mother—identities that often make me, and many others, vulnerable to the very cracks in the system we’re trying to fix. Women in aid work, particularly African women, are routinely exposed to sexual harassment, exploitation, and abuse. Our insights are dismissed or co-opted to serve agendas shaped by those already in positions of power and stability. Contracting terms rarely reflect the financial burdens we carry, especially for women who are heads of households and caregivers—roles we play simultaneously with little institutional recognition or support. We advocate for valuing caregiving in our programming, yet our own sector fails to create conditions that allow us to ethically and safely fulfill those same roles.
We’ve professionalized aid work without fully grappling with what that means for motherhood—especially single mothers and women responsible for entire households. The nature of our jobs often undermines our ability to enter or sustain relationships that support the nomadic, high-intensity lives we’re expected to lead. We promote safe birthing, lactation spaces, and maternal wellbeing in our programs, but too many organizations/agencies do not offer even the basic right of paid maternity leave—especially for field-based staff on temporary or short term contracts. These contradictions must be named. I offer these reflections and recommendations to underscore the fundamental role women play in this sector—not only as implementers and advocates, but as individuals who often experience the very same exclusions, injustices, and barriers we are charged with addressing for others.
A Final Reflection
If you're reading this and you’re part of this sector—hold the line. Fight for your own role, especially if you're local or operational staff. Without you, these programs don’t happen. The skill it takes to manage complex relationships on the ground cannot be trained in a classroom. It must be lived.
And if you’re a leader: take this moment seriously. Your decisions will shape the future of this field. Choose collaboration. Choose fairness. Choose reform.
If you work in other sectors—especially those rooted in human rights and social justice—and any of this resonates with you, I invite you to connect and share your insights. Across industries and borders, workers have more in common than we often realize. Yet we’re frequently distracted—encouraged to align ourselves with the powerful, the elite, or the well-resourced—forgetting that collective power has always rested with us.
As humanitarians, particularly those working in reproductive and gender justice, we’ve weathered crises before. We always find a way through. But this time, we have an opportunity to do more than survive. We can rebuild something better—more just, more sustainable, and more humane.
If this speaks to you, follow BLUPrint. Share. Comment. Let’s start a conversation that leads to real action.
What have you learned from funding uncertainty? How are you adapting, generally, to the uncertainty that seems to be our new norm—personally, professionally, or programmatically?
I’d love to hear.
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