Soft Power, Hard Truths: The Case for Saving American Aid Diplomacy

Foreign aid seldom captures the imagination of the public. It is one of those dreary, seemingly bottomless budget lines, easily caricatured as money tossed into faraway places, with little to show for it save for the occasional photograph of a smiling child or a new well in a dusty village. For many Americans, foreign aid evokes more irritation than inspiration. It is a perceived indulgence, especially when domestic problems seem ever more pressing.

Nevertheless, there seems to be a broad appreciation throughout the public that the recent decision by the U.S. administration to pause its foreign aid commitments marks more than just an accounting exercise. It signifies a retreat from a venerable tradition of American statecraft, one that has for decades allowed the United States to project power and influence without force, to lead not merely by the sword, but by the open hand.

America's foreign aid programmes have helped do good in the world and strengthened alliances. Image: Wikimedia Commons

Since the end of the Second World War, America’s foreign aid programs have served two overlapping purposes. First, to do good in the world by feeding the hungry, fighting disease, building schools, constructing infrastructure in developing nations and so forth. Second, and no less importantly, the point of foreign aid has always been to strengthen alliances, cultivate influence, and shape the global order in ways aligned with American interests and values.

Harry Truman, who oversaw the creation of the Marshall Plan, called foreign aid “a venture in constructive statesmanship.” He understood aid not as largesse but as strategy, as a means of winning friends, deterring adversaries, and fostering a world less likely to fall into chaos or tyranny. This was foreign aid as diplomacy: a subtle, persistent form of engagement, persuasive rather than coercive, generous but not naïve. This is what analysts call “soft power”, the velvet glove to the steel fist of American military might.

Today, that tradition is in peril. Skeptics in Congress argue that foreign aid is an unnecessary burden on taxpayers. One prominent senator recently proposed slashing aid programs by 83 percent, redirecting the leftovers into the bureaucratic bowels of the State Department. Predictably, the buzzwords of the moment—waste, inefficiency, ideology—are used to justify this drastic retrenchment.

Yet behind the budgetary smokescreen lies a deeper neglect: a failure to understand that aid, properly deployed, is among the most cost-effective instruments of American power.

Consider for a moment the alternative model on offer. China, ever ambitious, has spent over a trillion dollars on its Belt and Road Initiative, building ports, roads, and railways across Asia, Africa, and beyond. But China’s largesse comes with strings: debt, dependency, and, in some cases, the forfeiture of sovereign assets. For example, Sri Lanka, unable to repay its loans, was forced to lease one of its key ports to Beijing for 99 years. This is not diplomacy. It is conquest by economic means.

Foreign aid is more than geopolitics - it's about national character. Image: Wikimedia Commons

In contrast, America’s aid diplomacy has generally operated on the principle of mutual respect and long-term partnership. Where China binds with debt, the U.S. builds with goodwill. Where China extracts, America empowers. Or at least, that was the idea. To forfeit this advantage now, in an era when global influence is up for grabs, is to squander a legacy carefully built over generations.

Moreover, foreign aid is not merely about geopolitics; it is about national character. It speaks to what kind of country we wish to be. Edmund Burke once remarked that to love one’s country, it ought to be lovely. Foreign aid, at its best, reflects that loveliness—the willingness to share prosperity, to lead with generosity, to stand for something beyond the narrow confines of self-interest.

The impulse to withdraw from the world, to focus solely on domestic affairs, is hardly new. It surfaces in every generation, often in times of economic uncertainty or political upheaval. Yet history suggests that such retrenchment is a luxury America cannot afford. When America leads, the world is more stable, more open, and more prosperous. When America retreats, vacuums emerge, and others, less benevolent, are eager to fill them.

To be sure, not all aid programs are beyond reproach. Some are wasteful, others ideological. And no one can deny the corruption and waste that DOGE has exposed. Pruning of excess and waste is, indeed, warranted.

But reform is wise. To abandon aid diplomacy altogether is to amputate a limb of American influence, one that cannot easily be regrown.

Foreign aid is not charity. It is, if you will, strategy wrapped in generosity, morality tethered to interest. And in a world where rival powers are willing to spend, to lend, and to build in pursuit of their own ambitions, America would do well to remember that the open hand often achieves what the clenched fist cannot.

In the end, the question is simple: Do we wish to lead by example, or concede by default? If the former, foreign aid must remain not only a symbol of America’s global commitment, but a central pillar of its diplomacy.

Let’s not throw away the tools that have worked so well—quietly, steadily, and often invisibly—for the better part of a century.

Views expressed are personal to the authors.

Banner image: Wikimedia Commons

Asia Media Centre