This essay was originally posted on LinkedIn and is shared here with permission from the author.
I resigned from my job at the U.S. Digital Service.
My team and I—senior technologists—were assigned to the CDC, working across software systems, most notably CDC’s Disease Surveillance System. If we were ever going to learn the lessons we missed during Covid-19, this program was essential.
This system tracks over 100 nationally notifiable conditions—from Anthrax to Zika.
Why does this matter?
Say you unknowingly eat contaminated food and get severely ill. You go to the ER, where medical staff send a sample for testing. The lab confirms a foodborne pathogen—one that can kill. Now, it’s not just about you; it’s a threat to the community.
Public health experts use the system we built to investigate. They contact you, track what you ate, and look for similar cases—a potential outbreak. It’s not always food. Severe illness can come from petting baby chicks, for example.
The software is where the puzzle pieces come together.
Investigators trace the contamination source—was it improper handling at a restaurant or a tainted ingredient somewhere along the supply chain? Partners like restaurant inspectors and the USDA help confirm sources.
Public health works when it’s invisible—you only hear about it when things go wrong.
On the day I resigned, nearly all of my team was fired, locked out of their computers without time to transition responsibilities. No real cause was given. No one in my chain of command was consulted.
When the Bubonic plague wiped out half of medieval Europe, they hadn’t figured out organisms yet. Some blamed the stars, others turned to self-flagellation, or worse, sealed families in their homes to die in isolation. Without public health, people resort to grotesque methods to control what they don’t understand.
We had a real chance to learn from the pandemic and propel forward. We lost it.
I worry for my colleagues—highly skilled, intelligent, and deeply committed people who chose public service. They deserved better. A single engineer on my team had more experience than the entire reported expertise of those on the DOGE team—at least of those willing to share their names.
When talent is squandered and programs are gutted, we don’t get them back. It took decades to build both, and we’re losing them together—a sacrifice in the name of efficiency, made possible by indifference.
I’m writing this to ask you to care. Get engaged. Take back our collective power.