In December 2025, the White House sent a letter to the Smithsonian Institution requesting extensive documentation related to exhibitions, educational materials, internal processes, and collections. The request followed an earlier directive tied to an executive order and was framed as part of federal oversight.
In principle, this kind of oversight is not only appropriate—it is necessary. The President and senior staff have a responsibility to ensure that federally-funded institutions are operating effectively and that public resources are protected from waste, fraud, or abuse. Museums, like any other organizations that receive public funds or tax exemptions, should expect scrutiny and be prepared to demonstrate sound management and professional standards.
What concerns me is not the idea of oversight, but the scale, scope, and apparent purpose of this particular request. From a museum management and governance perspective, much of what is being asked for would require significant staff time to assemble, while providing little information that would actually inform decisions about efficiency, risk, misuse of funds, or as they phrased it, “Americanism.”
As someone who has worked with museum boards, executive directors, and city councils for more than three decades, I see troubling patterns here—patterns I have seen before, much closer to home.
First, I’ll share my open letter to Vince Haley, Director of the Domestic Policy Council, and Russell Vought, Director of the Office of Management and Budget, then I’ll relate this to museums and historic sites.
A Practical Take on the Smithsonian Review
Dear Mr. Haley and Mr. Vought,
The Administration’s interest in oversight and accountability at the Smithsonian makes sense. But as currently framed, this request is likely to consume a lot of time, produce uneven information, and create more confusion than clarity. There is a cleaner, more effective way to do this.
I’m writing as a museum professional who has spent more than thirty years working with boards, executives, and public institutions on governance, operations, and performance. I’ve seen what works—and what doesn’t—when large, complex organizations are reviewed under tight timelines.
The Smithsonian doesn’t operate like a single agency. It operates like a large, decentralized enterprise: 21 museums, the National Zoo, multiple research centers, and collections well over 150 million items. Authority, records, and systems are spread across many units. That structure isn’t a problem—but it does mean the scope of a review matters a lot.
Some parts of the request are straightforward and reasonable. Asking for current exhibition texts, public-facing materials, organizational charts, and formal approval processes is normal oversight and can be done.
Other parts are where things start to break down. Asking for a comprehensive inventory of 150 million items in the collections is like asking a multinational company to quickly produce one master list of every asset—from pencils to tractors—across all divisions and systems. Technically possible, but expensive, disruptive, and unlikely to give you clean or decision-ready information. The same is true for broad requests for internal communications, which tend to pull staff away from core work and generate huge volumes of material with limited payoff.
There’s also a line that’s worth being careful about. Oversight works best when it’s focused on accuracy, standards, and stewardship of resources. When document requests start to look like a way to drive specific interpretive outcomes—such as requiring a certain tone, viewpoint, or Americanism—it blurs the line between oversight and management. From a business perspective, that makes objective review harder, not easier.
Finally, the Smithsonian’s governance model matters. It’s a trust instrumentality with its own established records and disclosure practices, not a typical executive-branch agency (see Smithsonian Directives 501 and 807). Treating it as if it were subject to routine FOIA-style production increases legal and operational risk without improving results.
If this were a private-sector review, the fix would be simple: tighten the scope, phase the work, and focus first on the information that actually supports executive decisions. Start with public-facing materials and formal governance documents. Rely on system descriptions and controls instead of enterprise-wide inventories. Use existing processes rather than creating new ones under deadline pressure.
That approach would get you better information, faster—and with a lot less noise.
Respectfully,
Max van Balgooy
Why This Feels Familiar to Museum Professionals
What troubles me most is how familiar this dynamic feels.
I have seen the same behavior play out in museums when a board president or donor demands excessive information, insists on reviewing operational details beyond their expertise, or pushes staff into time-consuming exercises that have little to do with mission, impact, or sustainability. Often it looks like bullying.
The pattern is predictable:
- Staff time is diverted from mission-critical work.
- Morale suffers.
- Decision-making slows.
- The organization becomes reactive rather than strategic.
These actions are often justified as “oversight” or “accountability.” In reality, they rarely improve performance. More often, they reflect a belief that authority alone confers insight—that because someone can demand information, they therefore should.
Let’s be clear about where responsibility does—and does not—lie in these situations.
Staff are not responsible for holding board members accountable. They typically do not vote, they report to the board, and their job security depends on maintaining that relationship. Expecting staff to “push back” against inappropriate board behavior misunderstands the power dynamic and places them in an impossible position.
The only people who can correct bad behavior are other board members.
When peers stay silent to avoid conflict or quietly resign when things get uncomfortable, the problem does not go away. It deepens. Silence is tacit approval of misbehavior and resignation removes exactly the voices that could restore balance and perspective.
This is where governance truly fails (and where we might also apply the same expectations of Congress).
Boards have a fundamental duty of loyalty to the organization and a responsibility to the public it serves. Allowing one individual—whether a board chair or a wealthy donor—to distract staff from the mission, misuse resources, or impose costly demands with little benefit is a breach of that duty.
When oversight becomes performative, coercive, or disconnected from expertise, it stops serving the public interest. Museum professionals recognize this pattern because we live with its consequences and understand how disruptive it can be.
When governance falters and authority is exercised without sufficient judgment, organizations can lose focus, confidence, and capacity. Recovering from that kind of disruption is rarely quick; it often takes years to rebuild trust, realign around mission, and regain momentum. In some cases, I have seen organizations struggle so deeply that their survival was put at risk. Ultimately, these failures affect not just internal operations, but the public trust itself.
Museums exist to serve the public good, and requires oversight that is informed, proportionate, and grounded in responsibility.
Engaging Places 