The Illusion of Draining the Swamp

In the fall of 1982, I arrived in Gainesville with two suitcases and a dream. My parents didn’t make much money, so Pell Grants, student loans, and on-campus jobs were my ticket to the University of Florida. I worked in the student housing department and the German Department to make ends meet.

When the taxi dropped me off at the housing office, I collected my dorm assignment and then walked across campus, lugging both suitcases by hand. Suitcases didn’t have wheels back then, so every step was slow, heavy, and determined. I was just an average high school student from an Army family, but here I was — a first-generation Gator, building a future through grit, opportunity, and sacrifice.

Real Gators also know “The Swamp” as the nickname for Florida Field, coined by Coach Steve Spurrier in 1992. He explained it simply: “A swamp is where Gators live. We feel comfortable there, but we hope our opponents feel tentative.” That was the point — home-field advantage. A place where we belonged.

That was my Swamp: a place where ordinary people like me fought for education, community, and a chance to succeed.

So when I hear politicians talk about “draining the swamp,” I can’t help but shake my head. The slogan sells an image of rooting out corruption in Washington, but the reality looks very different. What this administration branded as “draining the swamp” was the creation of the DOGE — the Department of Government Efficiency. In practice, DOGE meant massive cuts to programs that served the most vulnerable, both at home and abroad. With great fanfare and hype, entire offices were hollowed out and staff eliminated, not because corruption was found, but because the services they provided didn’t serve those already wealthy and well-connected.

Even the Department of Education has been under attack. The original plan was to eliminate it entirely. The federal student loan program was overhauled, capping how much students and parents can borrow. Today, those caps don’t even cover the cost of some medical school programs — at the very moment when the nation struggles to attract enough students willing to pursue medical degrees. For the next generation of doctors, nurses, and healthcare leaders, the ladder of opportunity that once helped me climb is being pulled away.

The truth is that the swamp wasn’t drained at all. Instead, it was disturbed — its ecosystem destabilized, its balance tipped. And rather than removing predators, leaders focused on feeding the hungriest gators: those already blessed with more wealth, status, and power than they know what to do with.

Trump’s swamp is an illusion. Behind the slogans, billionaires and insiders are thriving while ordinary Americans tread water. The promise of draining out corruption has instead turned into cultivating a new ecosystem of greed. In this swamp, the gators get bigger, meaner, and more comfortable, while the rest of us lose faith that government can serve us at all.

The irony is that swamps themselves are not inherently bad. Anyone who has spent time in Florida knows they are rich ecosystems, full of life and balance. They sustain communities of plants, animals, and people. But when the balance tips — when too many big gators dominate — the swamp becomes dangerous. That is what our politics looks like now: unsafe, predatory, and hollowed of diversity.

We don’t need another illusion of swamp-draining. We need the hard work of restoring balance — transparency, accountability, and integrity in government. We need leaders who aren’t trying to feed themselves but who are willing to serve without expecting anything in return.

My years in Gainesville taught me something about that kind of service. I wasn’t handed much, but I was given opportunities that I worked hard to seize. That is what education should be: a ladder available to anyone willing to climb, not a moat guarded by gators.

When I walked across campus with those heavy suitcases in 1982, I was stepping into a future that my family’s sacrifices made possible. That’s the real Swamp I want to defend: a place where hard work and opportunity still mean something, where ordinary people can thrive without being eaten alive by very hungry gators.

So yes, let’s talk about the swamp. But let’s not be fooled by slogans. Draining the swamp is meaningless if all we’re doing is disturbing the ecosystem and allowing big gators to thrive at the expense of others.

The real test of leadership isn’t how loudly someone promises to drain a swamp. It’s whether they protect the people who live in it.