Musk’s War on Government Waste Backfires—Tesla Targeted, Reform Thwarted

Paul Riverbank, 12/10/2025Elon Musk’s government crusade cut billions in waste but unleashed fierce backlash and personal strain, revealing just how costly reforming Washington can be—even for America’s boldest disruptor.

The mission sounded almost naïve: cut federal waste, root out “zombie payments,” and pocket some $2 trillion for taxpayers. Simpler on paper than in the halls of bureaucracy.

Months after leaving DOGE, Musk peeled back the curtain on Katie Miller’s podcast—though not with chest-thumping bravado. “We’re a little bit successful. We’re somewhat successful,” Musk admitted, his words heavy with caveats. He cited hundreds of billions saved, shutting down what he bluntly called “entirely wasteful” streams of funding. And yet, even in these moments of self-acknowledged accomplishment, he noted the figures barely touched what he initially set out to do.

But it wasn’t the broken numbers that wore him down—it was everything that followed. Criticism didn’t just hover in headlines or online forums; it materialized, sometimes literally. Although Musk’s electric cars have always attracted a certain kind of scrutiny, now they were drawing fire—and, in some cases, actual fire. “They wouldn’t have been burning the cars if I had just focused on business,” Musk said, tracing a direct line between his political moves and the retaliation from motivated activists. Showrooms, factories, even sales lots became flashpoints, his presence in Washington turning Tesla into a new target.

Musk claimed his crusade against “political corruption” spurred the backlash, arguing, “They really want the money to keep flowing.” Whether one buys into that or sees a different calculus in the outrage, the fallout was real: investors got anxious about his attention span, Tesla’s numbers slipped, and the perception of Musk morphed—from audacious entrepreneur to embattled political figure.

DOGE itself, once the darling of fiscal hawks in the Trump White House, stumbled under mounting skepticism. The promised savings—tens of billions, sometimes more—came without the kind of detailed accounting outside analysts need to offer credence. Transparency faded, doubters circled, and DOGE was quietly wound down well before Musk’s mandate expired. By that time, he’d already bumped heads with Trump himself over legislative priorities, fueling rumors of a lasting rift between the two.

Asked if he’d do it all again, Musk was unusually frank: “No, I don’t think so.” His conclusion seemed almost wistful. “I would have basically worked on my companies, essentially,” he reflected—not so much regretful, but resigned.

Perhaps most jarring was Musk’s matter-of-fact mention of personal risk. “Life is on a hardcore mode,” he told Miller. He avoids crowds, talks of “AI nightmares” robbing him of sleep and, with candid directness, admits, “You make one mistake, and you’re dead.” It’s a posture rarely seen from the world’s richest man, made heavier by Washington’s glare.

The collapse of DOGE left in its wake a tangled mess of unanswered questions—about how far one can push for reform before the pushback becomes personal, and about the limits of even the most energetic outsider. In this case, Musk found his own boundary, and for observers, the final tally was less about dollars saved and more about the real price of taking on the system. For those who dream of turning government around overnight, Musk’s bruising spell in Washington is a reminder: you might want to think twice before jumping in.

When Elon Musk first set foot in Washington, he probably didn’t imagine he’d be looking back, weighing the costs as much as the savings. Musk, best known for transforming the auto industry and gambling on rockets, was soon tapped by Donald Trump to run the newly formed Department of Government Efficiency—an agency so tongue-in-cheek, it actually took on the moniker “DOGE.”The mission sounded almost naïve: cut federal waste, root out “zombie payments,” and pocket some $2 trillion for taxpayers. Simpler on paper than in the halls of bureaucracy.Months after leaving DOGE, Musk peeled back the curtain on Katie Miller’s podcast—though not with chest-thumping bravado. “We’re a little bit successful. We’re somewhat successful,” Musk admitted, his words heavy with caveats. He cited hundreds of billions saved, shutting down what he bluntly called “entirely wasteful” streams of funding. And yet, even in these moments of self-acknowledged accomplishment, he noted the figures barely touched what he initially set out to do.But it wasn’t the broken numbers that wore him down—it was everything that followed. Criticism didn’t just hover in headlines or online forums; it materialized, sometimes literally. Although Musk’s electric cars have always attracted a certain kind of scrutiny, now they were drawing fire—and, in some cases, actual fire. “They wouldn’t have been burning the cars if I had just focused on business,” Musk said, tracing a direct line between his political moves and the retaliation from motivated activists. Showrooms, factories, even sales lots became flashpoints, his presence in Washington turning Tesla into a new target.Musk claimed his crusade against “political corruption” spurred the backlash, arguing, “They really want the money to keep flowing.” Whether one buys into that or sees a different calculus in the outrage, the fallout was real: investors got anxious about his attention span, Tesla’s numbers slipped, and the perception of Musk morphed—from audacious entrepreneur to embattled political figure.DOGE itself, once the darling of fiscal hawks in the Trump White House, stumbled under mounting skepticism. The promised savings—tens of billions, sometimes more—came without the kind of detailed accounting outside analysts need to offer credence. Transparency faded, doubters circled, and DOGE was quietly wound down well before Musk’s mandate expired. By that time, he’d already bumped heads with Trump himself over legislative priorities, fueling rumors of a lasting rift between the two.Asked if he’d do it all again, Musk was unusually frank: “No, I don’t think so.” His conclusion seemed almost wistful. “I would have basically worked on my companies, essentially,” he reflected—not so much regretful, but resigned.Perhaps most jarring was Musk’s matter-of-fact mention of personal risk. “Life is on a hardcore mode,” he told Miller. He avoids crowds, talks of “AI nightmares” robbing him of sleep and, with candid directness, admits, “You make one mistake, and you’re dead.” It’s a posture rarely seen from the world’s richest man, made heavier by Washington’s glare.The collapse of DOGE left in its wake a tangled mess of unanswered questions—about how far one can push for reform before the pushback becomes personal, and about the limits of even the most energetic outsider. In this case, Musk found his own boundary, and for observers, the final tally was less about dollars saved and more about the real price of taking on the system. For those who dream of turning government around overnight, Musk’s bruising spell in Washington is a reminder: you might want to think twice before jumping in.