• The Silent Revolt

    “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.

    –

  • Mourning was Broken

    21 years ago on this day, my mother passed away. She fought a valent battle, and the cancer finally won..

    I was a self-centered son of a bitch back then.

    I had a lot of things going on in my life as well.

    In retrospect, they didn’t matter all that damn much.

    Twenty One Years

    Life isn’t linear. It’s not measurable. It doesn’t make any sense at all. Who knows what death does. I certainly don’t. I certainly miss my mom.

    But I never took the time to be angry, really sad, disillusioned, or even introspective. I gave a speech at my mother’s wake and it sucked out loud. It was more about me than her and I’m embarrassed about that.

    But then again that’s all about me.

    I don’t know what to make of a good life is. It is different for everybody. I have no idea. Are we living our best lives or are we treating it as the dress rehearsal but it isn’t.

    No Dress Rehearsal

    Because remember, this is no dress rehearsal. This is our life.

    And I think my mom lived that way she lived an authentic life with no stories to tell or cute interpretations.

    She just lived and survived until she didn’t.

    If these words don’t make sense is because these words don’t make sense.

    That’s that in a nutshell.

    I think my mom lived a great life,

    I’m sorry I’ve beat her Scrabble so many times.

    I’m happy she beat me a few times.

    its a good life if we don’t we don’t weaken , but we eventually do.

  • Ich Wunschte

    Who would you like to talk to soon?

    To have a deep conversation in a language other than English.

    I remember many years ago, talking to my exes grandfather. He fought in world war two and was put in prisoner of war camps in Poland.

    He spoke to me why he ate every single morsel on his plate.

    He spoke in German, I spoke in very basic German.

    That conversation still get tossed around in my head.

    I wouldn’t mind doing it again.

  • My JackAss Boss

    Do you remember life before the internet?

    It was one of those nights where I had to work late. Jane abhors the fact that I work late. She says I need to get a new job if I must work that long just to get my job done. She knows I hate my job and the place where I work. There are many places I would rather be.

    My boss has no life at all. He is a tireless bore. He works late as it is the only life he has. Of course, he expects me to do the same. That is the thing about promising new relationships, you go out of your way to make your partner happy. I can see me doing this for a long, long time. That is trying to make her happy. I have never been good at making someone else happy. I am new to relationships that are important to me. I am deeply in love with Jane.

    Just as I was locking up my computer for the day, my boss asked me to have a beer with him after work. I tried my best to decline but could not find the right words. What could go wrong? He said he had something to talk about. He always said that. I was getting a raise. More than likely, he was lonely and was seeking some type of companionship. All he does is talk about his divorce and that happened twelve years ago. 

    I told Jane I would be home late. She seemed a tad annoyed, yet she understood. It was asparagus season in Germany, and she seemed quite excited. Then again,

     what Germans are not. I love asparagus, still I cannot catch the German zeal for the springtime delicacy. I told her I would be right home, and I genuinely believed it at the time. 

    Mike and I went to the Irish pub near our office in Mainz. That was just like Mike. He always sought places that were familiar to where he grew up. His bitterness toward his ex-wife is still fresh and sharp and it leaks out of every sentence. He ordered shots for both of us. I noticed it was not the only shot glass on the table. He arrived earlier than I as I stopped to make a phone call to Jane. 

    There we sat having a shot and a beer. He talked about his ex-wife less than usual and appeared to be enjoying himself. I did not know him all that well and did not know if he usually drank like this. He told me that he had a presentation for me now that I was in a committed relationship. He nodded to the waiter showing he wanted a beer, and I waved my hands to decline. I spoke in choppy German and he in English from the deep south. I do not even know how the term “fixin to go” translates into German. I can hardly translate it into English. 

    He was wearing a tan trench coat that seemed too heavy for this spring day. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a compact disc. For a second, I thought he might be giving me files for work. We worked in accounting and that is what we did. 

    “Here I would like you to have this.”  He handed an unwrapped cd with his left hand while awkwardly shaking my right hand with the other. 

    I looked at it and noticed it as a CD by Sting. It may have been “The Dream of the Blue Turtles.” I owned that album at one time in my life.

    “This album will put her in the mood.” He told me. 

    It took me a while to get out of the bar, despite me constantly, inadvertently looking at my watch. 

    The walk to the U-Bahn was short. I had ten minutes until the next train. I decided to stop in the shop next to the train station. I was hoping to find a gift for Jane. The only person working there was closing the kiosk as I walked in. In his right hand he held a bouquet of your normal everyday balloons. Some were red, some yellow and the rest blue. I handed him ten euros and he handed me the balloons.

    The train ride was brief and awkward. The balloons kept hitting those sitting around me. I needed a payphone

    .