In a fiery morning appearance that left jaws on the floor, White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt didn’t just answer questions—she obliterated them. Sitting across from ABC’s Michael Strahan on Good Morning America, Leavitt rolled out one of the most aggressive federal downsizing initiatives in modern history, doubling down on President Trump’s latest plan: an unprecedented mass buyout of federal workers.
“The President made a promise—and he’s keeping it,” Leavitt declared, her signature steel-cold composure on full display. “Only 6% of Washington’s federal workforce is actually showing up to their offices. That’s unacceptable.” With that, she confirmed the administration’s offer: federal employees can take eight months of pay to simply resign, effective through September. The goal? Slash the workforce by 5-10%, saving “tens of billions of dollars” while forcing agencies to adopt strict return-to-office policies.
The message was blunt: show up or get out. “We’ve got beautiful, taxpayer-funded office buildings in D.C.,” Leavitt said. “It’s time to use them.”
But the fireworks didn’t stop there. When pressed on reports of chaos following a White House freeze on federal assistance programs, Leavitt swiftly dismissed the criticism. “This is a temporary pause,” she explained, so that the Office of Management and Budget can review all outgoing funds. Programs aligned with President Biden’s policies, like the Green New Deal and DEI initiatives? Gone. “It makes no sense for taxpayers to fund programs that this administration has rescinded,” she said, unapologetically.
Yet she was quick to draw a firm line: essential benefits would remain untouched. “Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, food stamps—none of that is impacted,” she clarified. “The American people don’t need to worry.” Even when Strahan tried to pivot the narrative toward system outages, Leavitt held the line: “We were aware immediately. We fixed it immediately. Medicaid is back online.”
Strahan shifted gears, hoping to catch her off balance with a controversial nomination: Robert F. Kennedy Jr. as Secretary of Health and Human Services. Caroline Kennedy, RFK Jr.’s cousin, had blasted him as “unqualified” and “dangerous.” But Leavitt didn’t flinch. “I fiercely reject those comments,” she shot back. “RFK Jr. is widely respected. He’s dedicated his life to public service and research. He’s pro-science. He’s committed to making America healthy again.”
It was clear: the administration was standing by RFK Jr., despite waves of criticism. “America is one of the richest, yet unhealthiest countries in the world,” Leavitt argued. “We should be doing better. That’s what RFK Jr. is trying to fix.”
As Strahan tried to lighten the tone with a quip about Trump’s love of McDonald’s, Leavitt wasn’t playing. She pivoted straight to immigration enforcement, leaving no ambiguity. “If you’re here illegally—whether you crossed the border, overstayed your visa, or returned after being deported—you will be subject to deportation,” she stated flatly. “If you’re here legally, you have nothing to worry about.”
But the press room’s most shocking moment came when Strahan raised the Pentagon’s decision to strip General Mark Milley of his security detail and suspend his clearance. Was this retaliation for criticizing Trump? Leavitt didn’t blink. “President Trump doesn’t believe taxpayers should fund lifelong security details for bureaucrats,” she said. “They’re free to hire private security. Many are wealthy enough to afford it.”
Strahan tried to argue selective enforcement—why only those critical of Trump seemed targeted. Again, Leavitt shot down the premise. “The President has the right to make these decisions,” she insisted. “Taxpayers shouldn’t foot the bill for security for life.”
By the end, it wasn’t just a press interview—it was a political spectacle. Strahan, a former NFL star, may have been used to the gridiron, but Leavitt played a different game: fast, brutal, and uncompromising. Each attempt to steer the conversation into scandal met a cold, fact-based rebuttal.
Whether seen as a ruthless enforcer or a loyal mouthpiece, Leavitt left no doubt: under President Trump’s second term, Washington was under siege. Bureaucrats were being told to clock in or cash out. Programs tied to progressive causes were axed without apology. Critics were brushed aside with unapologetic force.
For Trump’s supporters, it was a masterclass in draining the swamp. For his opponents, a chilling reminder of how far the administration was willing to go. One thing’s certain: Karoline Leavitt wasn’t folding under pressure. She was setting the terms—and daring anyone to challenge them.
