Why Did Musk Stop USAID? To “Save” the World.

Two Dead Children and the Price of Abandonment

In his deeply moving column "The Human Toll of Trump’s Aid Cuts," Nicholas Kristof opens with a piercing truth: children have died because of U.S. cuts to humanitarian aid. Not metaphorically, not hypothetically. Two real children. One of them was five-year-old Marith, who died in South Sudan after her supply of AIDS medication—funded by USAID—ran out. Her death is part of a chilling reality that undermines the political claim that "no one has died" due to these cuts. Kristof’s reporting dismantles that myth with painful clarity.

USAID, often seen as a quiet arm of American soft power, was more than a budget line—it was a lifeline. It embodied the idea that a superpower’s reach could also be generous. And in a world where hunger, disease, and displacement are daily threats, its retreat is not just bureaucratic—it is deadly.

But what makes this abandonment even more astonishing is not that it happened under an administration seeking to "put America first," but that its philosophical successor in dismantling global aid might be someone who claims to be saving all of humanity: Elon Musk.

Why Did Musk Do It?

Musk has become the loudest and wealthiest voice for a vision of the far future. In The New York Times feature “The Philosophy Behind Musk’s Manic Vision,” he’s portrayed as a man obsessed—not with saving lives today, but with building civilization’s backup on Mars. Longtermism is the frame: a philosophy that suggests we must prioritize billions or trillions of potential future lives over those suffering here and now.

If that sounds absurd, it’s because it is—until you realize how earnestly and efficiently Musk has built around it. SpaceX, Tesla, Neuralink, The Boring Company, Starlink—all serve the dream of a humanity that is interplanetary, post-biological, and algorithmically immortal. It is a vision both utopian and strangely robotic. In Musk’s logic, the future of civilization must be preserved at any cost—even if that cost is paid today by children like Marith.

This is not merely a thought experiment. Musk has, according to The Times, bragged about taking U.S. government funds—like the billions once reserved for aid—and redirecting them into space ventures. And when Kristof asked the Biden administration about Musk’s influence on USAID’s budget, the answers were vague, defensive, and ultimately hollow.

Strategic Vision or Selective Triage?

What we are witnessing is a form of ethical triage—a chilling kind of cost-benefit calculus. In medicine, triage is the prioritization of treatment based on survivability. But here, the stakes are philosophical. Do we save millions now, or bet on the potential trillions of tomorrow?

It’s not a new idea. The Marvel villain Thanos applied his own brutal logic to this question, wiping out half the universe to "restore balance." Musk's version is more sanitized, wrapped in spreadsheets and space suits. But the underlying theme is eerily similar: if we want to save the many, we must sacrifice the few.

The problem? The "few" are the voiceless, the distant, the poor. They are the children who don’t appear in TED talks or venture capital decks. They are the global south communities whose lives don’t compute well in longtermist equations.

The Soft Power That Was

USAID was not just about charity—it was a strategic tool. It built America’s image, opened markets, stabilized regions, and helped make the U.S. a moral leader. In terms of branding and influence, it was unmatched. It sent a clear message: we care.

Now, with its budget stripped and influence waning, that image is fading. Cutting aid doesn’t just kill programs—it kills reputations. For a nation dependent on immigration, global talent, and trade, this is not just shortsighted—it’s self-sabotage.

And for Musk, the richest man on Earth, the belief seems to be: "It didn’t work. So let’s think even bigger." The problem isn’t the idea of ambition—it’s who pays the price for the failures along the way.

Final Thought: Mars Can Wait

There is something noble in wanting to save humanity. But there is also something grotesque in ignoring those suffering now in the name of speculative salvation. Technology is not salvation by itself. And aid—however imperfect—is not just a line in a budget. It is the difference between life and death.

Musk wants to save the world. He just might forget that the world includes the ones who are still here.