- Feb 26, 2006
- 66,256
- 14,674
- 146
“West Point Cadets’ Silent Revolt—Anonymous Graduates and Faculty Reveal Why President Trump Didn’t Shake Their Hands”
By Robert Hawks
May 28, 2025
WEST POINT, NY — In an unprecedented turn of events that unfolded with all the subtlety of a brass band playing “Taps” backwards, President Trump declined to extend his stay at the graduation ceremony of the United States Military Academy, leaving the newly minted second lieutenants’ hands as unsullied by presidential sweat as the honor code itself.
The mainstream media, ever allergic to nuance and eager to maintain their symphony of static, hasn’t said a peep about the real reason for the snub.
But through a series of clandestine interviews with anonymous graduates and equally reticent Academy faculty members, I have unearthed the hidden story of this ceremonial duck-and-cover.
The reason, dear reader, lies within the very marrow of West Point’s ethos: the Honor Code.
For those unfamiliar (or who haven’t been paying attention since the dawn of the republic), the Honor Code stands stark and absolute:
“I will neither lie, nor cheat, nor steal, nor will I tolerate the actions of anyone who does.”
One newly minted officer, who would only identify themselves as “Second Lieutenant K,” offered a hushed explanation:
“We realized that by shaking the hand of a man already convicted of 31 felonies, we’d be tacitly tolerating those actions. It’s not just semantics—under our code, we can’t wink at dishonor and call it ceremony.”
Faculty members, equally cryptic yet unwavering in their adherence to the Honor Code, found themselves wrestling with the potential fallout of the traditional handshake.
“Cadets approached me after final drills,” admitted an anonymous instructor. “They were genuinely concerned. ‘Sir, if I shake his hand, am I violating the code?’ They weren’t being flippant. These are people who signed up to die for principles if called upon—don’t underestimate how seriously they take them.”
Another faculty officer, known only as “Major T,” put it bluntly:
“Look, you can salute the office.
“That’s tradition and lawful.
“But to physically clasp the hand of a man who has lied, cheated, and stolen—when our code demands zero tolerance? That’s not a handshake. That’s an ethical trap.”
The consensus among these sources was clear: A handshake would have become a symbolic endorsement of the very actions the Honor Code forbids.
And it wouldn’t be a momentary lapse either—cadets feared it could haunt their entire careers.
“Years from now,” explained a cadet, “someone might claim that our commissions were tainted—born in an act that violated the very code we swore to uphold.”
Thus, an extraordinary decision was made behind closed doors, framed in the same ironclad logic that has guided this institution since the days of Benedict Arnold’s ghost: better to forego the handshake altogether than compromise the moral backbone of the Corps of Cadets.
The decision, while sparing the graduating class an ethical quagmire, also spared the nation a broadcast spectacle that would have further underlined our national rift:
“Can you imagine,” mused Major T, “an entire line of newly commissioned officers refusing to shake the President’s hand, yet saluting him? It would’ve been the perfect image of our times—honor intact, but unity fractured.”
And so, President Trump’s decision to depart swiftly wasn’t born of political cowardice or personal pique, but of a carefully orchestrated plan to protect the very soul of West Point.
After all, in a world where handshakes can be loaded weapons, even the Commander-in-Chief had to recognize that the Honor Code brooks no compromise.
Or perhaps he simply realized that he’d be exposed.
As for the graduates, they walked away with their honor unsullied, commissions secure, and a story to tell that would never appear on cable news but will echo down the halls of the Academy long after the brass bands fall silent.
In the end, what’s a handshake, really, when compared to the weight of an oath sworn under the long shadow of the Hudson?
After all, even the president can’t break the spine of an honor code written in blood, sweat, and the quiet resolve of those who know that a commission earned in truth must never be tarnished by the stains of another man’s lies.
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By Robert Hawks
May 28, 2025
WEST POINT, NY — In an unprecedented turn of events that unfolded with all the subtlety of a brass band playing “Taps” backwards, President Trump declined to extend his stay at the graduation ceremony of the United States Military Academy, leaving the newly minted second lieutenants’ hands as unsullied by presidential sweat as the honor code itself.
The mainstream media, ever allergic to nuance and eager to maintain their symphony of static, hasn’t said a peep about the real reason for the snub.
But through a series of clandestine interviews with anonymous graduates and equally reticent Academy faculty members, I have unearthed the hidden story of this ceremonial duck-and-cover.
The reason, dear reader, lies within the very marrow of West Point’s ethos: the Honor Code.
For those unfamiliar (or who haven’t been paying attention since the dawn of the republic), the Honor Code stands stark and absolute:
“I will neither lie, nor cheat, nor steal, nor will I tolerate the actions of anyone who does.”
One newly minted officer, who would only identify themselves as “Second Lieutenant K,” offered a hushed explanation:
“We realized that by shaking the hand of a man already convicted of 31 felonies, we’d be tacitly tolerating those actions. It’s not just semantics—under our code, we can’t wink at dishonor and call it ceremony.”
Faculty members, equally cryptic yet unwavering in their adherence to the Honor Code, found themselves wrestling with the potential fallout of the traditional handshake.
“Cadets approached me after final drills,” admitted an anonymous instructor. “They were genuinely concerned. ‘Sir, if I shake his hand, am I violating the code?’ They weren’t being flippant. These are people who signed up to die for principles if called upon—don’t underestimate how seriously they take them.”
Another faculty officer, known only as “Major T,” put it bluntly:
“Look, you can salute the office.
“That’s tradition and lawful.
“But to physically clasp the hand of a man who has lied, cheated, and stolen—when our code demands zero tolerance? That’s not a handshake. That’s an ethical trap.”
The consensus among these sources was clear: A handshake would have become a symbolic endorsement of the very actions the Honor Code forbids.
And it wouldn’t be a momentary lapse either—cadets feared it could haunt their entire careers.
“Years from now,” explained a cadet, “someone might claim that our commissions were tainted—born in an act that violated the very code we swore to uphold.”
Thus, an extraordinary decision was made behind closed doors, framed in the same ironclad logic that has guided this institution since the days of Benedict Arnold’s ghost: better to forego the handshake altogether than compromise the moral backbone of the Corps of Cadets.
The decision, while sparing the graduating class an ethical quagmire, also spared the nation a broadcast spectacle that would have further underlined our national rift:
“Can you imagine,” mused Major T, “an entire line of newly commissioned officers refusing to shake the President’s hand, yet saluting him? It would’ve been the perfect image of our times—honor intact, but unity fractured.”
And so, President Trump’s decision to depart swiftly wasn’t born of political cowardice or personal pique, but of a carefully orchestrated plan to protect the very soul of West Point.
After all, in a world where handshakes can be loaded weapons, even the Commander-in-Chief had to recognize that the Honor Code brooks no compromise.
Or perhaps he simply realized that he’d be exposed.
As for the graduates, they walked away with their honor unsullied, commissions secure, and a story to tell that would never appear on cable news but will echo down the halls of the Academy long after the brass bands fall silent.
In the end, what’s a handshake, really, when compared to the weight of an oath sworn under the long shadow of the Hudson?
After all, even the president can’t break the spine of an honor code written in blood, sweat, and the quiet resolve of those who know that a commission earned in truth must never be tarnished by the stains of another man’s lies.
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