An administration that spent months trying to abolish America's disaster agency is now praying it survives hurricane season.

"All of those things made the mission more impossible. And they're going to own the wreckage."

— Pete Gaynor, who led FEMA during the first Trump administration

In late December, the chief of staff for Republican Rep. Kevin Kiley sent a sharply worded email to the White House with the subject line "Five Alarm Fire." Kristi Noem's stranglehold on FEMA was choking off disaster funds his California district needed, including a $2.5 million grant to help fortify homes against wildfires. The money had been awarded months earlier and sat in limbo awaiting Noem's personal signature.

"Can you help spare the Secretary some bad press and jiggle the handle on this?" he asked.

The email arrived as Noem's tenure at the Department of Homeland Security careened toward its end. By the time Trump fired her in March, FEMA was sitting on more than $15 billion in unspent disaster funds. Lawmakers across both parties were left fuming after months of begging for money that had already been approved but never released.

The $2.5 million wildfire grant for Kiley's district has still not arrived.

Noem and her de facto chief of staff, Corey Lewandowski, waged a 13-month campaign against FEMA that reads like institutional self-sabotage. They throttled operations, stalled payments, drove out roughly 20 percent of the workforce, and installed a revolving door of political appointees who openly feuded with one another.

The centerpiece was Noem's directive in June 2025 requiring her personal approval for any expenditure over $100,000. For an agency that distributes tens of billions in rapid disaster aid, reimbursements, and grants, this single policy turned the tap off. Sources say Noem and Lewandowski held back most of the money, flat-out blocking some blue states while fast-tracking funds to allies' states after private meetings.

Translation: a homeland security secretary with no emergency management experience became the bottleneck for every significant dollar in federal disaster relief.

The dysfunction went beyond delayed payments. At various points, FEMA's electricity, phone, internet, and email services risked being cut off because utility bills had not been paid amid a hunt for wasteful spending. Secure government sites housing dangerous materials such as live viruses, anthrax, and ricin came within hours of losing security coverage when contracts were left to expire.

After tornadoes ripped through the Plains and Midwest earlier this year, local rescue teams discovered they had lost access to a FEMA-funded tracker that maps a twister's path of destruction almost immediately after touchdown. The contract renewal had been sitting with Noem's team for nearly two months. When rescuers asked for guidance, FEMA recommended they call the National Weather Service or turn on the local news.

The inner circle was a cast of characters who seemed to have no desire to understand what they were dismantling. Kara Voorhies, a little-known contractor buried inside a Department of Government Efficiency contract, accrued enormous power as Lewandowski's "eyes and ears" inside FEMA. One senior official called her the "Shadow Administrator." She restricted the agency's ability to communicate with states, Congress, and the White House itself. Many employees did not even know she existed.

Karen Evans, a cybersecurity official installed as acting chief, earned the nickname "The Terminator" for her penchant for slashing grants, contracts, and spending requests. David Richardson, a former Marine who arrived promising to "run right over" anyone in his way, was quietly stripped of authority by DHS and eventually ousted following criticism of FEMA's response to last July's deadly Texas floods, which killed at least 134 people.

The one political appointee career staff trusted was Gregg Phillips, a podcast regular known for spreading right-wing conspiracy theories who arrived in December and quickly began pushing back against Noem's restrictive policies. "Gregg Phillips is FEMA's best hope at this moment," one high-ranking official told CNN in January. "I can't believe I'm saying that."

The fact that a conspiracy theorist became the most trusted figure among career FEMA employees says everything about how thoroughly the agency was compromised.

On July 4, floods inundated the Texas Hill Country and exposed the damage on full display. Agency leaders told CNN that Noem's restrictions prevented FEMA from pre-positioning search-and-rescue teams, expanding call centers for survivors, or sharing satellite data with state partners. Leaders asked Noem's team to waive her restrictions so they could act. A day later, they still had no answer and were told one might not come.

"It was one of the absolute worst experiences of my career," said one former senior FEMA official who worked on the response. "Because people were suffering and dying and we couldn't get anybody to answer the phone to tell us that we could send help."

Richardson eventually bypassed Noem and authorized deployments himself despite resistance from other appointees. Noem later claimed it was "the fastest in history that FEMA has ever responded to a disaster." One senior official said he laughed out loud when he heard it.

The Republican rebellion against Noem's FEMA management came from unexpected directions. North Carolina Senators Ted Budd and Thom Tillis, both Republicans, publicly condemned her over prolonged delays in Hurricane Helene recovery funds and blocked DHS nominees until the aid started moving. At a hearing on March 3, Tillis told Noem that "you failed at FEMA," accused her of illegally interfering with disaster aid, and urged her to resign.

Two days later, Trump fired her. Vice President JD Vance suggested the next week that FEMA's inability to get money out the door was what truly did her in.

Now the White House is scrambling to stitch back together what Noem and Lewandowski tore apart, a striking reversal for an administration whose president first called for scrapping the agency entirely. Trump raised the idea of abolishing FEMA while standing amid the wreckage of Hurricane Helene in North Carolina, just four days into his second term.

The new head of DHS, former Oklahoma Senator Markwayne Mullin, has moved to unwind cuts and red tape. The DHS internal watchdog launched an investigation into Noem and Lewandowski's handling of contracts at FEMA. Court records show much of the overhaul was coordinated over Signal chats, some of which have been wiped, with lawyers raising concerns that evidence was destroyed.

In perhaps the most remarkable turnaround, Trump tapped Cameron Hamilton to lead FEMA for the second time. Hamilton, a former Navy SEAL, was fired from his acting role in May 2025 after telling lawmakers he did not support plans to abolish FEMA. His exit accelerated the agency's dismantling. His return underscores the level of damage control now underway.

"If you'd asked me 11 months ago, I would have said it's more likely we deport him than he gets that job," one DHS official said of Hamilton.

The White House insists there has been no reversal and says it still plans a broad FEMA overhaul. The FEMA Review Council released its final recommendations this month calling for sweeping changes to speed disaster aid and push more responsibility to states, but stopped well short of earlier ideas to cut the workforce in half or dismantle the agency altogether.

The Atlantic hurricane season begins June 1. A powerful El Niño could increase flood risk. Widespread drought has already fueled major wildfires. It has been an active tornado season. The war in Iran has added domestic security demands, as will the World Cup and America250 celebrations.

Agency insiders warn that FEMA has been significantly weakened and will likely struggle to respond to a large-scale disaster this summer, the likes of which this administration has not yet faced. The agency is racing to fill vacant roles, restart halted trainings, and close gaps left by delayed or cut funding. Sources say it will take years to undo the damage.

"It could take a decade to fix what they broke," a high-ranking FEMA official said. "And if we have a major disaster this year, we're screwed."

The administration that tried to abolish the nation's emergency management agency now needs it to work. The question is whether what remains of FEMA can handle whatever comes when the first storm makes landfall.

fema, trump, noem, disasters