When President Donald Trump, speaking at CPAC in February 2025, cited a $42 million USAID allocation for “social and behavioral change” in Uganda as an example of government waste uncovered by Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), it raised eyebrows. For a country grappling with poverty, disease, and infrastructure deficits, what was this money doing in Uganda? What was its purpose, who absorbed it, and—most importantly—how else could those funds have addressed Uganda’s real priorities?
USAID, historically a tool of U.S. soft power, often funds programs aimed at shaping societal outcomes in recipient nations. Posts on X and scattered reports suggest this $42 million was intended to “drive social and behavioral change,” a vague phrase that could encompass anything from public health campaigns to cultural shifts. Given Uganda’s context, it’s plausible this funding targeted attitudes around HIV/AIDS prevention, gender equity, or even compliance with its controversial anti-homosexuality laws—areas USAID has historically engaged in globally. Critics, including Trump and Musk, frame it as frivolous, pointing to a broader narrative of misspent taxpayer dollars on intangible outcomes.
But who absorbed these funds? USAID rarely disburses cash directly to governments. Instead, it channels money through implementing partners—typically U.S.-based NGOs, international organizations, or local contractors. In this case, Johns Hopkins University was reportedly a recipient, tasked with executing the program. Such partnerships are standard, yet they raise questions about accountability and efficiency. How much of the $42 million reached Ugandan communities versus staying in the hands of foreign administrators or consultants? Without transparent records—USAID’s website has been offline amid Trump’s aid freeze—speculation fills the void. Posts on X hint at skepticism, with some calling it a “money laundering” scheme for leftist agendas, though no hard evidence supports this.
The deeper issue is opportunity cost. Uganda, where 41% of people live on less than $1.90 a day, faces stark challenges: crumbling infrastructure, a strained healthcare system, and youth unemployment topping 70% in some regions. Imagine redirecting $42 million to tangible priorities. For context, Uganda’s entire 2023 health budget was $800 million. That $42 million could have equipped 50 rural health centers with modern tools, trained hundreds of nurses, or vaccinated millions against malaria, which kills 14 children daily.
Alternatively, it could have paved 200 kilometers of rural roads, connecting farmers to markets and boosting an economy where agriculture employs 70% of the workforce.
Instead, “behavioral change” suggests a focus on shaping minds rather than saving lives or building futures. While education and awareness matter, the scale of this investment feels disproportionate when Ugandans lack basics like clean water—only 52% of rural households have access. A $42 million water project could have piped safe drinking water to over a million people, slashing diseases like cholera that thrive amid poverty.
Trump and Musk’s critique resonates with Americans tired of seeing tax dollars vanish overseas, especially on murky goals. Yet dismantling USAID risks throwing out legitimate aid with the questionable. Uganda’s needs are dire, not abstract—hospitals, not workshops; roads, not rhetoric. If the U.S. wants influence, funding real priorities beats funding “change” that’s hard to measure or justify. As DOGE digs deeper, let’s hope it uncovers not just waste, but a path to redirect resources where they’ll count: in the hands of Ugandans rebuilding their nation, not consultants reimagining it.
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