Finding Your Voice—and Using it

Leaving the Federal Government doesn't have to mean ceasing to be a public servant

If there’s one thing that career federal employees know how to be, it’s anonymous.

Sure, your name may appear on a pleading or a court order. Your signature may show up on forms and emails. But career federal employees, much like public servants in state and local governments, work quietly and without much glamour. Instead, your head is down, working to ensure the federal government is keeping America safe and healthy, helping our foreign allies, maintaining the integrity of the treasury, and ensuring Americans’ rights and finances are protected.

I’m writing today to thank you for your service, if you’re among the many career federal employees who have recently left the government. I’m also writing today to ask you to use your voice.

When I found my voice, it was nothing short of transformational. I had been a quiet presence as an attorney for the U.S. Department of Justice and the Department of the Treasury for almost nineteen years. That had to change in 2016, following Trump’s first election. In the aftermath, I struggled to find my voice. I was not used to speaking publicly or working with reporters off the record or on the record, or going on podcasts, or writing for public consumption.

Having just left the government, I could not stand by silently when I saw things going wrong. That is why I publicly defended a former DOJ colleague who was attacked by the President. Which, in turn, is what drove me to tweet and write about the dangers to national security when I saw the Trump administration’s haphazard approach to granting security clearances to undeserving members of his team and family. I began “speaking”—first on Twitter, then on MSNBC, then on podcasts, then in writing for Politico, Just Security, The Hill, and Washington Monthly. The more I shared my perspective, the more I learned that the American public wanted to hear what I had to say. I landed on MSNBC to speak about it.

I slowly realized that when I stuck to my principles, spoke truthfully and with integrity, and openly shared my knowledge about how the federal government works and how it should work, what was normal and what was abnormal, people paid attention. I began working with more reporters, got increasingly involved in democracy-focused work, and created a lane for myself to add knowledge—not merely outrage—to the discussion. I realized that speaking up across multiple formats enabled me to continue my work as a public servant.

Finding my voice as a former federal employee allowed me to remain true to the values that had always compelled me to serve the American public. Using my voice showed me that serving the country does not require a badge or an official title.

If you, too, have spent the better part of your career serving the American public, and you’re horrified or scared by what is happening, we want to know. We need to hear from you.

The National Weather Service and the federal National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration employees and former employees must advise the public on how the expected 20 percent cuts to staffing and resources will impact the safety of our flights, ships, and cruises. We still need to know how to prepare for weather events like hurricanes and tornadoes in vulnerable locales. As the President threatens to cut funding to our nation’s library system, we want to know from experts who have done the work how that will affect our ability to access books in our communities and literacy development. And despite DOGE’s drastic, shocking cuts of nuclear scientists, bomb engineers, and safety experts, the public still needs to know where the dangers lie and how best to prepare ourselves.

Two of the most important resources you have to offer (which arguably have been deprioritized by our present administration) are truth and facts. Help all of us who want to preserve democracy stay informed. The vast majority of Americans do not even understand what the federal government does—you have a role to play to help that cause, too.

So, how do you use your voice? Go on Bluesky and teach us what you know. Tell us what’s wrong. Work with trusted reporters and lawyers to bring to light what is happening. Offer yourself as a resource to people you know who write and speak on democracy and Washington. Subscribe to the Contrarian and share your stories! Reach out to your members of Congress. I quickly sized up during the first Trump Administration that I do not enjoy going on TV, but I liked participating in podcasts, writing, and social media. Figure out what makes you feel comfortable and safe.

This is not to suggest that using your voice comes without risks. Anyone paying attention since January knows what is at stake, having watched the Trump Administration hit back against those who dare to call it out or oppose its positions. Former Department of Justice Pardon Attorney Elizabeth Oyer spoke out after her termination from DOJ, and her act of courage precipitated a response from Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche, calling Oyer a liar and threatening her. The President has even gone so far as to name-check individuals outside of the government who take positions contrary to his, such as the Covington & Burling attorneys who represent former Special Counsel and Trump foe Jack Smith—not to mention Norm Eisen.

If speaking publicly could detrimentally impact your employability, you should not feel any pressure to create a public persona. But you can safely use your voice—including on background with reporters, or just as a knowledgeable source in your community for those who may not be as informed or experienced.

Eight years after leaving the government, I proudly continue to use my voice. Now it’s on Bluesky, it’s for political campaigns, and it’s by contributing to outlets like The Contrarian. It’s on Boards I’ve joined and panels I’ve spoken on. Using my voice allows me to speak truth to power, to still serve the public, and to take my career and everything I gleaned over nearly two decades of work and apply it in a direction that my federal employee self never could have envisioned.

I invite you to pull up a chair and join me. I’m all ears.