After two-and-a-half years overseas, A.J. Ruggieri’s family let him know how much he was missed upon his October return to Willard Airport.
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Those were my brother’s words as he reacted to my Facebook post describing my last day as a federal employee.
First, I will start by saying that I am a conservative, longtime Republican and believer in the principles that do make America great. I voted for President Trump. But what I have experienced, and what thousands of other former federal employees are going through, is far from great.
I just returned from two-and-a-half years of service with the U.S. Army in some of the most challenging places in Africa, where I worked side by side with other federal agencies, including the Department of State and USAID. We are doing some great things in the world, but I will also be the first to tell you that our country’s spending is out of control.
I saw firsthand the ridiculousness and pressure to spend, and I don’t doubt a single seemingly unimaginable list that has come to light in the last few weeks. I agree change is needed, but is this how a great America goes about making those changes?
At the end of my tour, I looked for the security of a government job with good pay, good benefits and something that could provide me and my family the stability I had enjoyed with my time in the Army. By a stroke of luck, or so I thought at the time, a position opened with the USDA’s Natural Resources Conservation Service in Champaign.
The position was as the state public affairs specialist, a job I knew well, as most of what I did in Africa was public affairs and security cooperation. Honestly, I was overqualified, having worked directly for a 2-star general task force commander and having been an adviser to two U.S. ambassadors.
On Dec. 1, 2024, I began my journey as a newly hired “GS” being brought in with veteran preference. I was happy to do so, as there was a lot of work to be done. I was excited at the opportunity and began to bring my vast experience to an office that desperately needed my help. The position had been vacant for about a year, and the process to get me hired took almost four months.
I snapped into action, completing required trainings and on-boarding tasks quickly. I connected with regional communications managers and others in similar positions across neighboring states. Immediately, I began to put systems and procedures in place to help expand the mission of the agency and support the state leadership team in accomplishing their goals.
I soon learned none of this would matter.
At the end of January, all federal employees received an email from the Office of Personnel Management, the agency that manages all government-service employees across almost all federal agencies, announcing a deferred-resignation program. The now-famous “Fork in the Road” email explained that the president’s reformed federal workforce will be built on four pillars: returning to work at the office, having a performance culture, a more streamlined and flexible workforce, and enhanced standards of conduct.
It claimed that by simply replying with the word “resign,” you could accept the terms of the program and receive all pay and benefits until Sept. 30, 2025. It was available to all “full-time federal employees” with exceptions cut out for military personnel, the U.S. Postal Service, law enforcement and positions related to immigration and national security.
More emails followed. A question-and-answer page was available and subsequent information provided on OPM’s website. Soon after, something that resembled a contract with specific terms to include the waiving of paying back any recruitment bonus or other debts was pushed out. There were repeated reminders that the deadline of Feb. 6 was coming and the program would not be extended. Email after email internal to our agency and from the bigger OPM continued to arrive, re-enforcing and reassuring the program and the terms.
A.J. Ruggieri
But those were not the only emails I was getting. First, a general email was put out notifying all employees that those who were still in their probationary period would be getting an official notification, by name, that they are on the list of probationary employees. Probationary employees are those in their first year of employment; it’s common practice for businesses or government agencies to use the period to truly evaluate an employee before making them a permanent addition. During this time, you are not afforded the same rights or union privileges as a person who has completed their probation. Then the email came from my local office with my name in bold, clearly stating that I was a probationary employee.
Under these circumstances, I was to choose my fate. With no mention of probationary employees being excluded from the deferred-resignation program and even terms that would seem to indicate that probationary employees are specifically included — like the waiving of any recruitment bonus (which applied in my case) — I accepted the offer. I typed “resign” in my reply email, sent it on the last day, and thought to myself that I would have at least the security of the next seven months to find another job.
Emails continued. At 7:59 p.m. on Feb. 7, I received a response to my acceptance to resign: “We have received your email response. We will reply shortly.” Another email saying the deadline had been extended due to challenges in federal court. Another email saying it had been extended again. Then another email — the offer was officially closed.
With this, I thought, the next email I would get would be instructions on how to wind down my position, make necessary arrangements to ensure my pay and benefits would continue in my absence, and get a reasonable time to clean out my office.
That was not the email I received.
On Valentine’s Day, I woke up early. I wanted to get to the store early to buy fresh roses for my wife. I came back and arranged the flowers next to a set of gold earrings in the kitchen as a surprise to be discovered. She had been bedridden for a week, having contracted influenza A, and was now suffering from severe ear infections. She really couldn’t get out of bed because the infections caused her to get dizzy easily.
I proceeded to get our three children up, ready and to school, which she would normally do, but I was happy to take over under the circumstances. After dropping the youngest off, I headed to my office.
Upon my arrival, I was immediately approached by a member of the leadership team asking if I had received “a letter.” I had no idea what she was referring to. I went and logged in to my computer to see that at 7:50 p.m. the previous night, I had been sent an email titled “Notification of Termination During Probationary Period.” Included in the email were the details of how I had been removed from my position effective that day.
The reason given? “The Agency finds, based on your performance, that you have not demonstrated that your further employment at the Agency would be in the public interest.” I was in shock.
Because I have seen this before, I knew better than to take this personally. This was what had to be said to qualify my termination under federal regulation, but it was an insult nonetheless. It’s also factually untrue. My supervisor was not consulted about my performance; she didn’t even know this had occurred. My performance evaluation wasn’t even set up yet. I had worked very hard and can say, if asked, that any person in that building would speak to my excellence in performance. It was clear my performance had nothing to do with my termination.
The first thing I did was call my wife. How were we going to pay for the prescriptions she needed? How were we going to pay for the emergency-room visit we had planned because her condition had worsened overnight? As I stood there, I was no longer a federal employee. Was my federal health insurance gone? What about dental insurance? We still have one child with braces. No clarification was given. There was no indication that the premiums were being paid from my paycheck, no severance discussed, nothing.
I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but because I am a professional, I spent the next hours making necessary arrangements. I let my team know I was terminated and gave last-moment direction to the many projects we were working on. I set up an out-of-office email directing customers, partners and colleagues to my team for future help. A massive workload was just now pushed on to an already-overworked team in the name of efficiency.
The last email I read was from the acting chief of NRCS and not written to me, but to those left behind, describing how the agency will continue forward despite these challenges. I know this wasn’t for me because he encouraged the receiver to “take care of yourself” and listsed benefits associated with the Employee Assistance Program for workplace stress and personal well-being.
I am no longer an employee. I do not have access to these programs. The email couldn’t have been intended for me.
I was not the only one. Others wept as they went through the same process. I couldn’t even enter my time for the day into my final time sheet because I was no longer a government employee. The rest of my time was spent cleaning out my office and ending the day with a final meeting with my supervisor to turn in my key, government ID card, phone and computer. So I walked out, banker’s box full of office items in hand.
In addition to no longer having access to my government email, where I could receive instructions and connect with HR, I now did not have access to any of the other systems that provided me with vital information about benefits and payroll. Nothing. I had nothing.
Everything comes at a cost. The only thing constant is change, but my question is not whether we can make America great again, but how do we do so? There is no civility in this, no courage, no honor, no consideration for the citizen employee. Just the bottom line cloaked in a technicality of a federal regulation.
I would argue this patently wrong technique was done intentionally, abusing the American system, in that those of us who have fallen victim do not have the means, time or emotional stamina to challenge it. Sometimes, the frustration of the system is too great. Well-played, I guess.
And so I am left with my brother’s curious words: Is America great again?
I guess I really don’t know.
