President packed Air Force Academy panel with passengers, not pilots

There is a board in this land, a body of sixteen souls, charged with keeping an eye on the United States Air Force Academy.

Their task, set down in the black and white of the U.S. Code, is no small thing: they are to inquire into the morale, the discipline, the curriculum, the very soul of the institution that forges the men and women who will command the skies.

They advise the Secretary of Defense, with power to poke into the academy’s fiscal affairs, to scrutinize the academic methods, and to report back on whether this great engine of war is running as it should.

It is a grave responsibility, and one would naturally assume it falls to those who have walked the runway, who have felt the force of G-forces push them into their seats, who have served in the very service they are now tasked with overseeing.

One would be mistaken.

But the enthusiasm for unqualified appointees is a defining characteristic of the administration of President Donald Trump, who is offended by hiring practices like diversity, equity and inclusion.

The United States Air Force Academy Board of Visitors is a good example.

Look first at the chair, Congressman August Pfluger of Texas. He is a retired combat aviator, a graduate of the Academy’s class of 2000, appointed to his post by the Speaker of the House.

When he speaks of the institution, he speaks with the authority of someone who once sat where the cadets now sit, and that carries a certain weight. He is joined by a handful of others who have actually worn the uniform.

Colonel Doug Nikolai, a retired Air Force colonel and also a graduate, was placed on the board by the President. Senator Roger Wicker of Mississippi, who serves by virtue of his chairmanship of the Senate Armed Services Committee, is a former officer in the Air Force and the Air Force Reserve. And Representative Don Bacon of Nebraska, designated by the House Armed Services Committee chairman, is a retired brigadier general.

These men have earned their place at the table the hard way.

But they are the exceptions, and the exceptions are few.

The rest of the board reads less like a council of military elders and more like a guest list for a political rally.

Consider the six members appointed directly by the President. There is Erika Kirk, the widow of the late conservative activist Charlie Kirk, placed there to “continue his legacy.”

The White House calls her a “fearless advocate,” and she may well be. But neither she nor her late husband possesses any formal military training or experience.

Her appointment, made with no announcement, simply saw her name appear on the list one day.

Alongside her are Dan Clark and Dina Powell, presidential appointees with no military record at all.

Robert Bigelow, another presidential pick, shares that distinction.

Then there is Senator Tommy Tuberville of Alabama, also a presidential appointee, whose qualifications for overseeing military training rest on a long and successful career in college football coaching. He is a man who knows how to win a Saturday game, which is not the kind of preparation for understanding the complexities of modern aerial warfare.

The congressional delegation does not fare much better.

Senator Steve Daines of Montana, appointed by the Senate Majority Leader, has no military service in his background. Senator Tammy Baldwin of Wisconsin, placed by the Minority Leader, is in the same boat.

Senator Kevin Cramer of North Dakota, Senator Ted Budd of North Carolina, Senator John Hickenlooper of Colorado—all lawmakers, all tasked with overseeing the Air Force Academy, and none of them have ever served a day in the armed forces.

Representative Jeff Crank of Colorado, appointed by the Speaker, and Representative Gabe Vasquez of New Mexico, a designee of the House Armed Services Committee, also have no military service record.

Representative Don Davis of North Carolina, appointed by the House Minority Leader, rounds out the list of civilians governing those in uniform.

So there you have it.

A board of sixteen, given the solemn duty to inquire into the discipline, morale, and academic rigor of a premier military institution.

Among them are a handful who have actually lived that life.

The rest are a collection of political appointees, activists, and lawmakers—perhaps they are decent people, but individuals whose closest experience to a cockpit might be a flight in first class.

By law, of the six members the President directly appoints, at least two must be graduates of the Academy.

It is a small safeguard, a nod to the idea that some actual experience ought to be in the room. It is a low bar, and one wonders if even that is enough. For what would the cadets, these young men and women learning the hard art of war, make of their overseers?

They are being trained to lead in the air, to make split-second decisions with the weight of the world on their shoulders, to embody a profession of arms.

And looking at the board that judges their readiness, they might be forgiven for asking a simple question: Who among you has done what we are preparing to do?

The answer, for the majority, is a quiet and resounding no one.