A Life Shaped by American Generosity—Now in Jeopardy

I was born the child of an Afghan refugee doctor, growing up first in Quetta and later in Peshawar, Pakistan, where my family lived in a refugee camp. We had fled Afghanistan’s war, leaving behind our home, our loved ones, and everything we had ever known. In those camps, survival was a daily struggle, but one thing gave us hope—international aid, especially the supplies stamped with the words: "USAID – From the American People."

I still remember—white sacks of wheat and flour, cans of cooking oil, school supplies. They weren’t just items; they were the difference between going to bed hungry and having a meal, between a life of uncertainty and the possibility of an education. As a child who didn’t yet understand English, I once pointed to the words "USAID – From the American People" and asked an elder what they meant. He explained that it was the kindness of American people “Obviously taxpayers”—people I had never met, from a country I had never seen—who made sure we had food on our plates and books in our hands. Even as a boy, I struggled to understand why strangers across the world cared about us when our own Afghan government “communist regime”, backed by the USSR, was bombing our villages. That question stayed with me, shaping my understanding of compassion, generosity, and what it truly means to help others.

 The war dragged on. Civil unrest made returning home impossible. But the education I received—education made possible by international aid—gave me a chance. I completed my studies in Pakistan, and later, thanks to the Indian government’s scholarship program, I earned my bachelor’s degree with a major in Financial Management in India. When I returned to Afghanistan in 2009, I knew my path: I wanted to give back. I dedicated my career to the very programs that had once saved me, working on USAID-funded projects focused on education, economic development, agriculture, and humanitarian relief. I saw firsthand that these programs didn’t just offer short-term aid—they built futures. They strengthened communities, lifted economies, and gave people a way out of poverty.

 Later, I immigrated to the United States, eager to give back to the country that had unknowingly shaped my life. Like so many immigrants, I started from the bottom—taking whatever work I could find until I restarted my career in finance and accounting at a nonprofit that implements USAID-funded programs worldwide. Over the past decade, I have worked on projects that improve lives across the globe—programs that not only help people in need but also reinforce America’s position as a leader in democracy, security, and economic development. I have paid tens of thousands of dollars in taxes, proud to embrace the American spirit of “paying it forward”.

 Now, President Trump’s executive orders threaten to dismantle these life-changing programs. Cutting foreign assistance isn’t just about balancing budgets—it means real people will go hungry. It means families will lose access to education, food, and healthcare. It means communities will become vulnerable to extremist groups or fall under the influence of foreign adversaries. Somewhere in the world, a child like me—who might have been saved—will instead be left with nothing.

 But this isn’t just about the people abroad—it’s about Americans like me.

 I live in Maryland. I am a proud father of four. My entire family—my wife and children—are American citizens. Two of my children were born here in the United States. This is their home. The only one they’ve ever known.

 The other night, my six-year-old son and 8-year-old daughter looked at me with wide, innocent eyes and asked, “Is Donald Trump going to take your job and send all of us away?” I had no words.

 How do I explain to my children that despite being an American citizen, despite working hard and contributing to this country, our future is suddenly uncertain? How do I tell my children that the work I do—work that helps build a better world—could be taken away because of a political decision that disregards both morality and common sense? No child should have to live with that fear. No American family should have to wonder if they will wake up tomorrow with their livelihood gone.

 Foreign aid is not charity—it is an investment. It builds goodwill, stabilizes communities, and strengthens America’s security. It gives people a chance to rise, just as it once gave me. Without it, the world becomes more unstable, more dangerous, and more vulnerable to forces that do not share America’s values.

We have to stand for the values that make America an inspiration of hope. We must stand for the principle that when we reach out a helping hand, we don’t just change lives—we change the world. Because right now, somewhere in the world, another child is staring at a sack of food labeled "From the American People," wondering what it means. 

Let’s make sure that child still has a future.

Learn how you can help here.