By Stacy M. Brown
Senior National Correspondent, Black Press of America
Russell Vought wakes each morning with the cold precision of a man who has learned to confuse faith with power. His pen is a weapon, and his calculations are not about progress or prosperity. They are about punishment. He has taken the language of government and turned it into a vocabulary of cruelty. Each budget cut is an act of vengeance. Each withheld dollar is a message to the poor, to the vulnerable, to the people who dare to believe that America still belongs to them. Long before his name became a headline, Vought said that federal workers should be “traumatically affected.” He said he wanted them to wake up, dreading their jobs because he saw public service as an enemy of his mission. That mission has now become law. Through his control of the Office of Management and Budget, Vought has used the machinery of government to dismantle everything that serves the public good.
In cities like New York, Baltimore, Boston, and San Francisco, billions of dollars in Army Corps of Engineers projects have been frozen or canceled. He called it efficiency. Others called it sabotage. The agency’s own records show that nearly all its employees were funded through resources that did not expire when the government shut down. Yet Vought ordered them to stop work, punishing communities that did not vote for his president. “The Democrat shutdown has drained the Army Corps of Engineers’ ability to manage billions of dollars in projects,” he wrote online. That was not true. The shutdown did not drain anything. It was a political hit job on Democratic-led cities, a financial assault dressed up as fiscal restraint. Representative Rosa DeLauro said that what Vought is doing is “illegally stealing taxpayer funding in a unilateral, partisan act.” Her statement is not hyperbole. Congressional investigators and federal courts have already found that Vought has tried to impound or cancel money that Congress legally appropriated. He has blocked research funding for disease prevention, canceled grants for public transit, and withheld small business aid meant to keep communities alive. His so-called “pocket rescissions” have defunded law enforcement programs and cut food assistance for families already hanging by a thread.
In Chicago, $2.1 billion in public transit funds were terminated. In New York, $18 billion for rail modernization vanished without warning. These were not economic decisions. They were political punishments. DeLauro said, “It seems each morning, Russ Vought wakes up determined to abuse his authority to the detriment of working-class families, middle-class families, and vulnerable Americans.” Her words describe a man who believes compassion is weakness and that cruelty is proof of strength. Inside Washington, his reach extends far beyond the budget office. Russell Vought is the silent architect of this government. He has fired or forced out more than 200,000 civil servants under the pretext of so-called reductions in force. A court was forced to step in to block his latest round of firings after evidence showed he was using the Trump shutdown as cover for an illegal purge of federal employees. Congressman Joe Neguse called him “the Grim Reaper.” It is a name that fits. For every program that dies under his orders, another piece of the American safety net disappears. These are not faceless numbers. They are people who tested drinking water for toxins, monitored public health during disease outbreaks, and ensured that disaster recovery funds reached those in need. Their dismissal is not the byproduct of bureaucracy. It is the plan. The fewer people protecting the public, the easier it becomes to destroy what remains of democracy.
Vought calls himself a Christian nationalist. He says America was meant to be a Christian nation. But the Christianity he invokes is not about mercy or justice. It is a creed of domination. When he ordered the cancellation of federal diversity training and removed references to systemic racism from government documents, he was not correcting waste. He was rewriting the story of this country. He was erasing the blood, the struggle, and the truth that built the modern American promise. For Black America, his policies are not abstract. They are a direct blow. His freezes and cancellations have wiped out funding for housing, education, and medical research. Over $400 billion in programs that once served as lifelines to low-income and minority communities are now gone. The cuts have dismantled the very protections that generations fought and died to achieve. This is not the government. It is punishment disguised as policy. Vought’s cruelty is not a side effect. It is the design. Even inside Trump’s inner circle, some quietly admit that it is Vought who holds the real power. He writes the orders, drafts the memos, and decides which programs live or die. What the president says in anger, Vought turns into law. What began as a movement to “shrink government” has become a crusade to starve it, to leave nothing but power in the hands of men who look and think like him.
He once said he wanted bureaucrats to wake up in pain. And that pain has spread far beyond the walls of Washington. It reaches into classrooms without textbooks, into homes without heat, and into clinics where the doors have closed for good. This is what happens when one man’s ideology becomes national policy. It is what happens when faith is twisted into a weapon. Russell Vought has taken the name of God and written it across a ledger of suffering. He has mistaken cruelty for conviction. But America has seen this kind of righteousness before. The men who built segregation, the men who burned crosses, and the men who called their hate holy all believed they were saving the nation. They were not. They were destroying it. History does not forget men like this. It writes their names in shame. As one congressional staffer said, “Russell Vought doesn’t just cut budgets. He cuts people out of democracy.” And that is the truest line ever written about him.
