Ex-USAID Speechwriter Focuses on Future

Clarification: The following article refers to Kristina Drye as having been “laid off” from USAID, which some might interpret as implying she was technically an employee of the U.S. government. After this piece was published, Drye appeared on 60 Minutes and in the wake of that, Alex Jones and others pointed out that Drye worked with USAID as a contractor, rather than as an employee—a common arrangement for federal government workers, especially in support roles like communications. Drye confirms: “I was categorized as a contractor like most folks at USAID. However, I sat in the office every day, had a desk and gov issued computer and phone, all that jazz. Very few people relatively at USAID were what we call ‘direct hire.'” —ed.

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Had a Zoom chat Friday with Kristina Drye, the speechwriter for USAID who was laid off Feb. 5, and published the chilling tale.

I was curious about a lot of things, but mostly I was wondering how she was holding up. So I was surprised when I burst into tears myself.

Drye’s holding up fine, believe it or not. Despite the fact that she’s dedicated her education and most of her 15-year career to speechwriting and policy on issues like international security, peace and conflict and the last three to serving USAID Administrator Samantha Power, she’s thinking more about the future than the past. And thinking pretty clearly, too.

To publish her account of the last days of her tenure at USAID, she chose The Bitter Southerner over The Atlantic or The New York Times, which would surely have been happy to have it. Why? Drye wanted her piece to reach her neighbors in the rural Carolinas, who she felt would have to question the wisdom of an executive action that would take down as well-regarded a citizen as she.

As her friends and acquaintances are laid off at the EPA, at the Kennedy Center—as far away as a forestry outpost in Yampa, Colorado—Drye takes inspiration from remaining USAID workers all over the world who continue to pursue their missions without support or supplies. She thinks about ways to organize, to use her degree in national security and her degree in Eastern Europe, to maybe even run for office. And to use her own writing voice, sublimated the last few years into Power’s. 

“We’re only three weeks into this,” she says, adding that the next four years will require “endurance, education and courage.” She’s girding herself for that, and only occasionally letting herself feel the sense of loss. Like the other day, when she found herself standing in front of the USAID building watching workers take the letters down, and sobbing.

But mostly, she says, she has the “numbness switch” turned on. Which is why she was unprepared for the teary outburst of a fellow she’d just met on Zoom 10 minutes before, talking about how he was glad his WWII-veteran father, whose motto was, “take care of the babies,” died before seeing the country he fought for start letting babies starve to death.

I pulled myself together and asked Drye why she’s the only one of her laid-off friends to tell the story. Partly because she’s a writer, she said. And partly because her friends are terrified of being blacklisted by the administration—some whose work is suspended have hope of staying on—or by administration-pandering potential employers.

Drye has no trust fund to draw from; she filed for unemployment and needs a job sooner than later. So how did she feel brave enough to speak out? 

She says that if she ends up teaching school like her parents in South Carolina—even if she ends up bagging groceries back home—she knows she will be doing work that has usefulness and dignity. 

And she’s right, of course.

But meanwhile: If you have a speechwriting role available, or a steer in the right direction—write to me, at [email protected], and I will put you in touch with her.

It’s the least I can do. And, at the moment, the most, too.