DOGE wants them ‘gone' but makes it hard for federal workers to move on

Boston Globe

08-03-2025

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Layoffs sting in any circumstance, but DOGE's slash-and-burn approach to government downsizing
has blown past the usually strict protocols, legal experts say, leaving many workers mired in confusion or scrambling to clear their names. Unlike in the private sector, most public servants have until now enjoyed protections that say they cannot be abruptly cut without evidence of dismal performance, breaking agency rules or bad behavior.
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While the administration has vowed to curb what it considers 'waste, fraud and abuse,' union lawyers have criticized the firings in a court filing as 'one of the most massive employment frauds in the history of this country.' As outrage erupted over some of the losses, Trump clarified in a social media post Thursday that DOGE, which stands for Department of Government Efficiency, will proceed with a 'scalpel' rather than a 'hatchet.'
Their fates resting with judges, those impacted in Pennsylvania — the birthplace of the U.S. government with a pre-DOGE federal workforce of roughly 60,000
— have been largely left to fend for themselves.
'Just limbo and uncertainty,' remarked one laid-off HIV treatment adviser, settling in front of a PowerPoint screen that read: Federal Employee Transition Workshop.
Thus far, it's unclear how many Pennsylvania feds have been laid off.
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'We've lost 40 percent of our people in the field,' piped up Janice Barlow, a Commerce Department director who'd managed a job-growth office, tossing out an estimate. After 25 years at the agency, Barlow 'freaked out,' she said, and hastily accepted the deferred resignation offer that DOGE email-blasted to most of the government's 2.3 million employees in late January.
Now she waited to see if Trump would honor it.
At Tuesday's library meeting, almost everyone said they were too spooked to speak to the media, citing fear of harassment, discrimination from hiring managers or retaliation from the Trump administration, which may or may not take them back. (Federal workers usually require special permission to speak to the press.) The Washington Post interviewed five who agreed to be identified by first or middle names, or an initial, and verified their identities.
'I see lots of experience,' boomed the day's organizer, Charlie Elison, a bearded Army veteran turned civilian public affairs officer, scanning the turquoise-painted room. 'Lots of very impressive résumés.'
Before him sat a former civil engineer for FEMA, a former children's nutritionist for USDA, a former attorney for HUD - the sign-up sheet stretched depressingly on.
Elison, 41, was relieved to see no real estate agents. A couple had lurked with business cards at a similar meeting in Maryland, he'd heard, in case any of the freshly unemployed wanted to off-load their homes.
'We can lean on each other,' Elison continued.
He'd been on paternity leave for the past nine weeks, worried that his role could also be axed. Adapting this presentation from a job-seeking guide for discharged veterans, he figured, was a healthy outlet for that stress.
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The group breezed through best practices for updating LinkedIn and polishing their resumes. A handful posed for new headshots, courtesy of a neighborhood photographer. Yet no one had a foolproof strategy for handling a job application that probed, 'Have you ever been fired?'
'Who knows if humans even read those,' one let-go IRS staffer
bemoaned to the photographer, 'or if AI automatically sorts you out.'
Campbell, a 42-year-old HIV treatment adviser who'd worked for USAID, hadn't been sure what to say when she applied for unemployment benefits.
Her initial attempt had been rejected, she said. The automated system must have marked her as terminated for misconduct, a state agent later explained on the phone.
Weeks later, she received her first payment, covering about a fifth of her lost biweekly income, but Campbell still felt misunderstood. She'd applied over the past month for 25 jobs. Only two companies had called her back, mainly to verify that she was human. None has scheduled her for an interview.
Her panic was rising. Her husband worked for a nonprofit feeding kids in low-income homes. His salary relied on federal grants - now a red flag for job security. They have two small children.
A 'criminal organization' was how Musk had publicly described her employer of 10 years.
She wished recruiters would focus on the mission her résumé detailed: Preventing new HIV infections in children.
Others swapped tales of bureaucratic purgatory.
The government IT specialist, who goes by E, was stuck on the meaning of 'administrative leave.' Her whole team, she said, had been frozen out of their accounts. But they were technically still employees, according to an email they'd received, who would be 'officially' booted in 60 days.
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'At least I got paid on Friday,' she said, unsure if that would actually continue.
Looking for other jobs was tricky, she said. Certain roles might violate conflict-of-interest laws for federal workers. Plus, she didn't want to start interviewing if a lawsuit could imminently reverse her pending dismissal.
In normal times, she'd consult her supervisor. That person, though, faced the same murk. No one knew what to do. The administration certainly wasn't helping, she said.
Kim, a staffer at the Department of Health and Human Services - also on 'administrative leave' - struggled with the mixed messages.
She'd received a letter stating that 'your performance has not been adequate' - starkly contradicting her 'outstanding' 2024 evaluation - and that she'd be 'terminated' on March 14. (Luckily, she'd managed to download her records before losing access.)
Then she heard that the agency was pushing to reverse some layoffs. Stick with us, her boss had urged her.
Kim had worked on boosting patient safety. She had a PhD in epidemiology and biological statistics. She had a master's degree in public health. Protecting the vulnerable on behalf of the United States was her dream job, she said - 'like getting called to the major leagues.'
She had more years of school and training under her belt, she quipped, than 'some of these DOGE guys have been alive.'
Sure, she could cash out elsewhere. But no one had yet prompted her to return her work computer and badge.
She hoped that was a good sign.