In a whirlwind of bureaucratic upheaval, the U.S. Department of Justice saw the termination of over $811 million in grants, with a significant role played by a key figure from Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). The controversial cuts, targeting a broad array of programs, included funding for initiatives long championed by the Trump administration—ranging from support for crime victims to aid for law enforcement.
The person at the center of the turmoil? Tarak Makecha, a former Tesla employee, who was reportedly responsible for drafting the DOJ’s spreadsheet that outlined the 365 targeted grants. While his list made its way to the desks of shocked grantees, department managers were left in the dark about the cuts until they were already in motion.
Sources familiar with the process revealed that Makecha, without consulting the Justice Department’s Office of Justice Programs (OJP)—its largest grant-making arm—questioned staff about grant procedures, creating confusion among both department officials and grantees. Some programs learned of their fates only through termination letters, as the department failed to communicate with those directly impacted.
Despite the chaos, a White House official clarified that all of Makecha’s actions were in line with DOJ leadership’s approval. While Attorney General Pam Bondi defended the cuts as a means of redirecting resources towards President Trump’s law enforcement and crime-related priorities, the decision sparked backlash. Some of the axed grants were precisely aligned with those goals, leading to quick reversals after public outcry.
Among the cuts were funds to support the National Policing Institute’s work with rural police departments, as well as a domestic violence shelter program focused on providing pet-friendly services. Affected grantees, such as Braeley Hammeke of Rice County’s Child Advocacy Center, expressed confusion and dismay over the sudden loss of funding. With a population of just 10,000, the center had already seen 28 referrals for child abuse cases, leaving Hammeke questioning the alignment of the cuts with public safety priorities.
Additional cuts targeted vital roles like an officer embedded in the district attorney’s office in Union County, Oregon, who had been investigating cold cases tied to fentanyl overdoses. District Attorney Kelsie Davis McDaniel noted the loss of crucial funding, which had been a lifeline for addressing drug-related crimes.
As grantees scrambled to navigate the fallout, DOJ employees found themselves fielding a surge of calls, some from panicked organizations forced to lay off staff. A scripted response was provided for those dealing with confrontational inquiries.
The aftermath saw a shift, as the DOJ’s Office on Community Oriented Policing Services opened new grant applications—though not without controversy. Among the eligibility requirements: local governments enforcing COVID-19 vaccine mandates, promoting gender ideology, or failing to protect public monuments from vandalism would be excluded.
The fallout from these sweeping cuts continues to reverberate through communities, highlighting the often-disruptive impact of government efficiency measures—especially when they involve the swift cancellation of funding for programs that many viewed as essential to local safety and justice.
