Donald Trump’s return to the White House was always going to be bad news for civil society. Quite how much so has quickly become clear. Within hours of his 20 January inauguration, he started executing his ‘America First’ plan by freezing all US foreign aid for 90 days to review spending and block funding that doesn’t align with what he sees as US interests.

The stated goal championed by shadow president Elon Musk, reportedly the world’s wealthiest person, is to cut ‘wasteful’ spending. The freeze, set to end in mid-April, halts over US$40 billion in international funding – around 0.6 per cent of the annual US government budget – including crucial support from the US Agency for International Development (USAID). Although the Supreme Court has just rejected a plan to withhold close to US$2 billion in payments for work already done, the impacts of the freeze been nothing short of chaotic.

Lifesaving programmes have been among the first casualties. Anti-poverty and health initiatives – from emergency food supplies to HIV treatments and efforts to eradicate malaria, polio and tuberculosis – suddenly found themselves with no funding, leaving countless people in the world’s poorest countries without essential support. With governments often unable to fill the gap, civil society organisations (CSOs) without rapid access to alternative funding sources have been forced to curtail or suspend operations. People will likely die as a result.

Repercussions extend beyond humanitarian aid: human rights initiatives and independent media have been badly affected. USAID-backed CSOs championing LGBTQI+ rights, women’s rights, democracy and environmental causes face closure. While some emergency programmes might secure alternative support, it’s unclear who’ll back these initiatives in the long term. In their absence, attacks on human rights and fundamental freedoms are likely to surge.

USAID under attack

Founded in 1961, USAID was a Cold War creation: it sought to counter Soviet influence and contribute to US national security goals by supporting global south nations. Originally set up to respond to famine and disease outbreaks, it grew into a major soft power tool. By the time Trump came in, it was providing aid to 177 countries and employing around 10,000 staff, two-thirds of them working in other countries.

The USA is – or used to be – the world’s biggest international development funder, accounting for 40 per cent of all humanitarian aid in 2024. It disbursed US$72 billion a year in aid, US$40 billion of it through USAID. Much of this went to CSOs to implement vital humanitarian and development programmes in the poorest and most unequal countries of Africa, Asia and Latin America.

But along came Trump and Musk, the man he appointed without congressional oversight to head the unofficial Department of Government and Efficiency. Musk is supposedly in charge of shrinking the federal government, although his targets are clearly political rather than financial, with organisations the Trump camp believe have liberal biases – such as those focused on climate and education – in the firing line. He’s made clear what he thinks, calling USAID a ‘criminal organisation’ that needs to die.

Trump is set on dismantling it. He plans to merge USAID into the State Department and allow it to directly employ no more than a few hundred people. It isn’t within Trump’s powers to unilaterally dissolve USAID, an independent agency created by Congress. Nor is it up to him to deny funding approved by Congress – but for the time being, he’s doing it anyway. Federal judges blocked his attempt to place 2,200 USAID officials on leave and ordered the immediate release of frozen aid, but the Supreme Court put this order on pause.

Time will tell whether the judiciary, including a Supreme Court compromised by political appointees, is willing and able to stop Trump’s illegal and unconstitutional moves. But time is a luxury civil society activists and organisations don’t have.

A matter of life and death

Following Trump’s executive order, the State Department hastily issued waivers for what it called ‘lifesaving humanitarian assistance’, vaguely defined as covering essential services such as medical care, food and shelter. But it was unclear, for instance, what was and wasn’t considered medical care, leaving much uncertainty on the ground.

Faced with contradictory guidance and with thousands of USAID staff on forced leave and unable to help, CSOs faced an impossible choice: continue operations without knowing if funding would come, or shut down programmes that were essentially keeping people alive. Most had no other means to keep going.

The consequences were clear within days. In Sudan’s war-ravaged regions, where 25 million face acute food insecurity, almost eight out of 10 emergency food kitchens closed. Five areas have already reached famine conditions, with deaths from starvation mounting daily. The world’s largest humanitarian crisis has been made catastrophically worse by a stroke of Trump’s pen.

In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, critical medicine supplies sit abandoned after USAID workers evacuated. As fighting between government and rebel forces intensifies and spills across borders, healthcare services are collapsing just when they’re needed most. Meanwhile, the sudden termination of mpox treatment programmes threatens to transform a containable outbreak into a global emergency.

The geographic scope of this manufactured crisis is staggering. In Myanmar, over a million people lost access to malaria treatment overnight. Tuberculosis control efforts across multiple countries have lost a third of their funding. In South Africa, where 7.8 million people are HIV-positive, healthcare experts project 500,000 AIDS deaths over the next decade if US funding for AIDS relief, which provided 17 per cent of the national HIV treatment budget, disappears.

Women and girls face particularly severe consequences. The Trump administration explicitly excluded reproductive health programmes from the ‘lifesaving’ waiver category. Research estimates that 11.7 million women will lose access to contraception and essential care during the freeze, potentially causing over 8,300 deaths from pregnancy and childbirth complications.

As this humanitarian catastrophe unfolds, a disturbing question emerges: in a global landscape where funding is already stretched thin, who will fill the vacuum left by the USA? For millions of the world’s most vulnerable people, the answer may come too late.

Civil society and democracy under siege

The full devastation of Trump’s funding freeze extends beyond immediate humanitarian crises, threatening the existence of many civil society bodies worldwide. A survey of 400 CIVICUS members reveals the precarious state of play: 44 per cent report they have under three months of financial reserves, and 14 per cent say they have less than a month. Many CSOs have already been forced to slash operations, cut salaries, lay off staff and terminate programmes. Many more say they’ll soon have to do so. Some are on the brink of closing.

The timing couldn’t be more dangerous. In dozens of countries, this financial strangulation coincides with intensifying authoritarian crackdowns. Governments in every region can exploit the funding crisis to accelerate their assault on independent voices and democratic institutions.

This dual threat – financial collapse coupled with political persecution – leaves civil society vulnerable. CSOs defending fundamental freedoms in authoritarian countries with closed civic space are being abandoned. A Venezuelan CSO reported cutting 75 per cent of its staff and suspending most of its operations. Trump’s move blindsided democracy activists who, as a Costa Rican human rights activist put it, didn’t expect the USA to go back to helping Latin American dictatorships. In Paraguay, where civic freedoms were already under threat and anti-rights groups already occupied positions of power, the situation is deteriorating rapidly.

The crisis is creating power vacuums, and in Eastern Europe and Central Asia, Russia is already moving to fill them. Independent media outlets are among the most severely affected, with nine out of 10 Ukrainian media organisations supported by now-frozen USAID funds. As frontline reporting and war crimes investigations are scaled back, Russian disinformation campaigns will face diminishing resistance.

The damage extends to excluded communities that rely on civil society advocacy. Women’s rights organisations, LGBTQI+ groups, disability rights advocates and refugee support networks are seeing funding evaporate.

Perhaps most alarming is what this means for future crises. During the COVID-19 pandemic, CSOs provide their worth, providing lifesaving services when governments failed to respond. This was because existing civil society infrastructure could quickly reorient towards tackling the crisis. When the next global emergency strikes, those capabilities simply won’t be there. Civil society is being dismantled just as global threats are multiplying.

Trump’s orchestrated weakening of civil society is accompanied with deliberate rhetorical attacks, including unfounded claims that USAID funds were stolen and used to spread ‘fake news’ favouring Democrats. These have emboldened authoritarian governments. In Serbia, police have raided the offices of several CSOs based on alleged USAID fund misuse – a pretext for silencing independent voices.

Broader trend at play

Trump’s attacks on aid are at a level never seen before, but they’re also part of a wider trend of withdrawal from and instrumentalisation of international cooperation funding, in play for several years and now accelerating.

The absorption of USAID into the State Department has precedents. The Canadian International Development Agency was merged with the Department of Foreign Affairs in 2013, and the UK’s Department for International Development was made part of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in 2020. Both moves were taken by right-wing governments but more progressive administrations that subsequently came to power didn’t reverse them.

These mergers formed part of a broader trend of more closely linking aid to national self-interest agendas, particularly around defence, diplomatic and trade interests. This is a long way from the purposes aid should be for: recognising our shared humanity, helping make the world fairer and providing redress for colonial histories that divide the world into rich and poor. But the retreat from global solidarity has intensified as right-wing populists and nationalists have come to political power or influence in many donor countries.

The Netherlands, where a far-right party is part of the government, recently announced a 38 per cent cut in its development budget by 2027. Support for areas including gender equality and culture will end, and will be reduced for climate, civil society and the United Nations. Belgium’s right-of-centre government announced a 25 per cent cut in aid. The Dutch government said it will put national interests first, including by trying to use its funding to limit migration, and by giving Dutch businesses more opportunities to win development contracts. Belgium’s government hinted it might use aid to pressure countries of origin of irregular migrants. The European Union, where right-wing governments now play a much stronger role, also recently announced it will cut its development spending by €2 billion (approx. US$2.16 billion) over the next three years.

In response to the havoc Trump’s pro-Russia policies have caused to Europe’s security arrangements, the UK government has announced plans to spend more on defence by raiding its aid budget. It will slash its aid commitment from 0.5 to 0.3 per cent of gross national income – its lowest level in decades, and a far cry from the 0.7 per cent target it once enshrined in law, which made it the world’s biggest per capita international development spender. Germany and Sweden have signalled similar intentions.

There are some notable exceptions. Norway recently pledged US$855 million in humanitarian funding specifically to counter the impact of Trump’s cuts. Australia has announced it’s putting gender equality, rather than national interests, at the forefront of its aid policy. But the direction of travel is clear. Civil society can’t expect to turn back the clock, and even if the flow of aid resumes, many governments have introduced hostile laws that make it harder for CSOs to receive international funding or vilify them for doing so. Alternative approaches are urgently needed.

Finding a path forward

Alternative sources of support are emerging from various corners, including multi-stakeholder initiatives, community foundations and private philanthropy.

The GlobalGiving Community Aid Fund is raising money to support small grassroots groups that deliver urgent aid to communities at risk, with the immediate goal of reaching US$1 million in donations. The Foreign Aid Bridge Fund, coordinated by Unlock Aid and partners, is putting together an emergency fund to support high-impact organisations working on health, education, climate adaptation and humanitarian response.

The Stop TB Partnership has launched the Keep the Lights On campaign to support tuberculosis survivor networks and community groups in 38 countries where funding was cut, helping them continue their lifesaving work. The MacArthur Foundation has pledged to increase its charitable payout to at least six per cent for 2025 and 2026. It’s also promised to simplify administrative requirements for grant recipients.

But it’s increasingly clear that civil society can’t afford to compete in a desperate scramble for dwindling resources. CSOs will need to improve the ways they collaborate and share resources and infrastructure. The challenge isn’t merely to survive Trump’s cuts, but to build a more resilient global civil society that can withstand future political shocks while continuing to defend human rights, democracy and excluded groups

This may entail exploring community-based funding approaches such as membership models, crowdfunding and community foundations, developing ethical enterprise and investment activities and leveraging non-financial resources through skilled volunteerism, time banking and resource sharing. Out of necessity, many civil society groups, particularly in the global south, are already pioneering these approaches. It’s time to learn from them.

The path forward requires both immediate crisis management and long-term strategic thinking. The future of many depends on this difficult exercise of political imagination.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org