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By: Kent Benson

Kent Benson was the Division Chief for Overseas Management at USAID. He agreed to share his reflections on the past year since the Stop Work Order. This reflection includes content that may be difficult for some readers, including references to suicide. We encourage you to engage in this post when it feels right for you.

I connected with 1200 USAID colleagues. Here’s what I took away: My job didn’t matter. I did.

When “everything happened” (which has become the universal phrase to describe the enormity and tragedy of 2025 in the development sphere), I suddenly and unexpectedly found myself at the center of the storm. On a Friday, 57 senior leaders from USAID were placed on administrative leave. On Monday, I found myself responsible for more than 1100 employees, and one of only a handful of people left in contact with thousands of staff overseas; their only lifeline at the time. Over the ensuing weeks and months, it was my job to bring home more than 3000 overseas employees and their families, and to fire nearly 6000 foreign service nationals. 

Faced with the enormity of the situation, I clung to the people around me. I deliberately reached out to someone, anyone, everyone.

At first my desire was to vent, to speculate, to commiserate, to reality check. It was selfish too. I wanted to know that what we were trying to do, even under the constraints and watchful eye of political appointees and DOGE, was somehow helping someone somewhere. It gave me purpose at a time when all of my known purpose was being stripped away. It was a distraction, necessary to motivate me to continue to work each day because the temptation was to give up, leave, and try to forget.

As I spoke with people posted around the world, I did so with the realization that we would never work together again, at least not like this. No more crossing paths at a future post, no more helping each other during bidding or promotions. If I didn’t reach out, maybe our connection ends right there. The more conversations I had, the less lonely it all felt. Even though I was surrounded by a small core group of colleagues and friends at headquarters, I needed to connect with the world, all 88 countries worth of development professionals who were themselves isolated, lonely and scared.

One of the darkest days for me in 2025 will never leave me. It’s a story that will never be fully told. It was early May, after everyone overseas had been directed home against their will, but before they were able to leave. At first, it was one, then two, then more; colleagues attempting to take their own lives. For me and a few close colleagues, our goal became to do whatever we could to keep everyone alive so we could bring them home. As more incidents of self-harm and suicidal thoughts were reported to us, we implored Mission leaders to make preventing anyone from dying their sole focus. As I spoke with hundreds of stranded and frightened friends, I made sure they knew that I was here, they were not alone, and I wouldn’t abandon them. I could not have handled the loss of my perceived identity, my career, my purpose, what I assumed would be my legacy, if it were not for those continued connections.

It took longer than I care to admit for me to come to a painful but enlightening realization. No one will remember the processes I created, the problems I solved, the programs I designed, the launch events I attended, the metrics I tracked, any of it. Sure, I may have solved a problem differently than someone else, but I was replaceable, expendable and forgettable, at least in my role. I didn’t matter. Not in the way I thought I did, in my position, my title, my accomplishments, my work. 

Beyond the glossy LinkedIn profiles, resumes, and old performance evaluations where I take credit for everything, skip over the nuances of teamwork and minimize the limitations of my individual contributions, the only thing anyone will remember are the relationships and connections. 

It took 2025 to remind me (or maybe teach me, I don’t know which) that all I am is Kent (not “diplomat”, “supervisory something”, “foreign service officer”, “development professional” or “problem solver”). And all that matters is the relationships I have made, the connections I continue to foster. Every interaction I had for more than 15 years left a mark on someone. That’s what mattered. I matter, and the connections I create and invest in matter. They leave a real lasting impact, and for that I am grateful. For that, I find new purpose.

Kent frequently shares relevant community content and resources. You can find him on LinkedIn here : https://www.linkedin.com/in/kentabenson/

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