Trump Shatters Ties With WHO—America Goes Its Own Way on Global Health

Paul Riverbank, 1/24/2026America splits from WHO, sparking debate over global health leadership, funding gaps, and uncertain alliances.

The story leading up to the split is tangled—a weave of pandemic politics, resentment, and unmet expectations. Officially, the Trump administration pointed its finger squarely at the WHO’s response to COVID-19. The agency, they said, reacted too slowly. Some recall how, as the virus slipped out of Wuhan and quietly seeded itself abroad, the WHO hesitated to sound the alarm. By the time an emergency was declared, precious weeks were lost. Administration officials also bristled at what they saw as undue deference to China, particularly after early praise of Beijing’s efforts, despite mounting evidence suggesting information had been withheld and cases underreported.

These grievances crystallized in a terse statement from the Department of Health and Human Services. The message: the US was done waiting for the “urgently needed reforms” that never materialized. In the same breath, officials promised America wouldn’t retreat entirely from global health, instead vowing to build direct partnerships with individual nations and a patchwork of organizations.

Not everyone cheered. Within academic halls and among infectious disease experts, the verdict ranged from anxious to aghast. Lawrence Gostin at Georgetown didn’t mince words, labelling the decision “the most ruinous presidential decision in my lifetime.” For doctors and researchers, the real concern was practical: access. Much of the world’s outbreak data—snapshots essential for building vaccines and plotting responses—flows through the WHO. Lose that connection, they argue, and the US risks being the last to know when trouble brews in some distant region.

Others pointed to existing programs nimble and fragile—efforts to eradicate polio, save newborns, or battle tuberculosis—that draw oxygen from US support, often funneled through the WHO’s budgetary arteries. That funding stream is suddenly threatened. For context, America chipped in over $100 million each year as part of its dues, not to mention hundreds of millions for targeted projects. Whether future agreements will bridge that gap remains to be seen.

Not all the discussion drifts toward gloom. On a recent swing through Orange County, Victoria Seaman, a regional director with HHS, sketched out what comes next, at least at the community level. Yes, the US is parting from the WHO, she said, but that doesn’t spell the end for federal engagement at home. “It’s about getting people healthy again—this isn’t partisan,” she insisted, standing in a sunlit clinic lobby. Her office is steering new funds, more than $233 million for rural health in California alone, out to states that are supposed to decide how best to use it. Fresh vegetables in school cafeterias, more collaboration between local public health offices and federal agencies—practical things, she argued, immune from politics.

Still, critics look warily at the mechanism: Can ad-hoc partnerships really replicate the reach of a worldwide network? And will states out of favor with Washington get left behind? “Is China going to sign a contract with the United States? Are countries in Africa going to do it?” Gostin wondered aloud, highlighting the delicate diplomacy such alliances require—and questioning their speed.

And, like a loose thread in a woven rug, the question of money lingers. The US still owes over $130 million in unpaid dues, a fact not lost on Geneva bureaucrats. While the administration claims no further obligation, some legal scholars point out that only Congress, not the president, holds the power to finalize the exit—a constitutional wrinkle in the ongoing drama.

If one thing is clear, it’s that America has leapt from a familiar perch into uncharted territory. In the weeks and months ahead, foreign health ministries, nonprofit groups, and rival superpowers will be watching. Will the US manage to shape a new global health order from scratch? Or has it surrendered both the seat at the table—and the chance, for all its frustrations, to reform the system from within?

For now, the world waits. The conversation, far from finished, will ripple from boardrooms to hospital wards, with local stories like those in Orange County offering small hints, perhaps, of the direction the US hopes to go—no longer through the crowded halls of an international body, but along whatever path it can mark out on its own.

Since 1948, the United States counted itself among the World Health Organization’s pillars, often leading both in funding and policy influence. That chapter is now abruptly closed. Gone are the regular transatlantic phone calls, the familiar US presence at Geneva roundtables, and, for better or worse, the guiding hand that Washington once offered in global health crises.The story leading up to the split is tangled—a weave of pandemic politics, resentment, and unmet expectations. Officially, the Trump administration pointed its finger squarely at the WHO’s response to COVID-19. The agency, they said, reacted too slowly. Some recall how, as the virus slipped out of Wuhan and quietly seeded itself abroad, the WHO hesitated to sound the alarm. By the time an emergency was declared, precious weeks were lost. Administration officials also bristled at what they saw as undue deference to China, particularly after early praise of Beijing’s efforts, despite mounting evidence suggesting information had been withheld and cases underreported.These grievances crystallized in a terse statement from the Department of Health and Human Services. The message: the US was done waiting for the “urgently needed reforms” that never materialized. In the same breath, officials promised America wouldn’t retreat entirely from global health, instead vowing to build direct partnerships with individual nations and a patchwork of organizations.Not everyone cheered. Within academic halls and among infectious disease experts, the verdict ranged from anxious to aghast. Lawrence Gostin at Georgetown didn’t mince words, labelling the decision “the most ruinous presidential decision in my lifetime.” For doctors and researchers, the real concern was practical: access. Much of the world’s outbreak data—snapshots essential for building vaccines and plotting responses—flows through the WHO. Lose that connection, they argue, and the US risks being the last to know when trouble brews in some distant region.Others pointed to existing programs nimble and fragile—efforts to eradicate polio, save newborns, or battle tuberculosis—that draw oxygen from US support, often funneled through the WHO’s budgetary arteries. That funding stream is suddenly threatened. For context, America chipped in over $100 million each year as part of its dues, not to mention hundreds of millions for targeted projects. Whether future agreements will bridge that gap remains to be seen.Not all the discussion drifts toward gloom. On a recent swing through Orange County, Victoria Seaman, a regional director with HHS, sketched out what comes next, at least at the community level. Yes, the US is parting from the WHO, she said, but that doesn’t spell the end for federal engagement at home. “It’s about getting people healthy again—this isn’t partisan,” she insisted, standing in a sunlit clinic lobby. Her office is steering new funds, more than $233 million for rural health in California alone, out to states that are supposed to decide how best to use it. Fresh vegetables in school cafeterias, more collaboration between local public health offices and federal agencies—practical things, she argued, immune from politics.Still, critics look warily at the mechanism: Can ad-hoc partnerships really replicate the reach of a worldwide network? And will states out of favor with Washington get left behind? “Is China going to sign a contract with the United States? Are countries in Africa going to do it?” Gostin wondered aloud, highlighting the delicate diplomacy such alliances require—and questioning their speed.And, like a loose thread in a woven rug, the question of money lingers. The US still owes over $130 million in unpaid dues, a fact not lost on Geneva bureaucrats. While the administration claims no further obligation, some legal scholars point out that only Congress, not the president, holds the power to finalize the exit—a constitutional wrinkle in the ongoing drama.If one thing is clear, it’s that America has leapt from a familiar perch into uncharted territory. In the weeks and months ahead, foreign health ministries, nonprofit groups, and rival superpowers will be watching. Will the US manage to shape a new global health order from scratch? Or has it surrendered both the seat at the table—and the chance, for all its frustrations, to reform the system from within?For now, the world waits. The conversation, far from finished, will ripple from boardrooms to hospital wards, with local stories like those in Orange County offering small hints, perhaps, of the direction the US hopes to go—no longer through the crowded halls of an international body, but along whatever path it can mark out on its own.