Just weeks ago, national Democrats were betting big on their next rising star—a near-certain winner in New Jersey’s governor’s race, already being groomed for national prominence. Now reality intrudes: that star is dimming, and may flame out by November.
Rep. Mikie Sherrill—the Navy helicopter pilot turned suburban congresswoman—was packaged as the perfect centrist blend of military service and suburban appeal.
NPR gushed that she and her Washington roommate, Virginia’s Abigail Spanberger, were the model of House Democrats with national security credentials poised to win governor’s races in swing states—never mind that neither New Jersey nor Virginia is typically considered one.
The legacy press echoed the same refrain, casting the two as the Democrats’ future, supposedly capable of winning over independents and even soft Republicans.
For both, the image belies the reality. Their voting records have tracked almost entirely with former President Biden and the party’s bosses, leaving little daylight between them and the leftist agenda. In Congress, Sherrill waved her oath like a cudgel, especially when attacking President Donald Trump.
But as a midshipman at Annapolis, did she walk the walk? What is certain is that she was barred from walking at graduation—disciplined in connection with the Naval Academy’s largest cheating scandal in modern memory.
Yes, she ultimately received her diploma. She was not expelled. To date, there is no credible evidence to suggest she cheated. Yet she was disciplined in connection with the scandal.
Her name vanished from the roster of midshipmen at commencement. She was barred from the stage where classmates received their diplomas and commissions.
She missed the storied tradition of tossing her white combination cover skyward as the band struck up Anchors Aweigh.
If she heard it that day, it was from somewhere other than the commencement field.
At Annapolis, these things matter. The pageantry is not for show—it is the rite of honor, the culmination of four years of grinding sacrifice, discipline, and tradition. To be denied that platform is itself a judgment of honor. And in Sherrill’s case, it was delivered over a matter of honor. Put simply, it was a public mark of disgrace.
This revelation lands at a precarious moment, with Election Day only weeks away.
Recent polling shows the governor’s race in New Jersey dead even—a stunning turn in a contest once written off as safe. The RealClearPolitics average has narrowed to less than seven points.
In a state that hasn’t gone Republican for president since 1988, Democrats usually glide through statewide races with ease. Not this year.
President Trump’s political realignment is reshaping the map, and Democrats’ reliance on machine politics and legacy media narratives is losing its power.
For decades, New Jersey candidates had to saturate the airwaves by buying costly ads in New York and Philadelphia—paying top dollar to reach Garden State voters tucked between two giant media markets.
That multimillion-dollar tradition no longer follows a certain trajectory to victory; at best, it yields diminishing returns.
It’s this atmosphere that makes the Sherrill scandal combustible. In politics, trust is currency. Once it’s spent, the candidate’s market crashes.
And if Sherrill couldn’t uphold that trust at Annapolis, why should New Jersey hand her the keys to Drumthwacket—the majestic governor’s mansion overlooking the hallowed revolutionary battlefield of Princeton, where honor once carried the day?
What we know is stark. Sherrill admits she was barred from walking at commencement, disciplined in connection with the Academy’s largest cheating scandal in modern memory—a sweep that implicated more than a hundred midshipmen.
The scandal shocked the nation, shook confidence in Annapolis, and even drew congressional hearings. Sherrill explains that she refused to turn in classmates. What remains unknown may be more damaging than what is admitted. Did Sherrill refuse a lawful order to cooperate in the investigation? Was she accused of more than silence? Was additional discipline imposed beyond the humiliation of missing her own graduation?
And what was the evidentiary basis for that punishment—was it limited to her refusal to report classmates, or did her silence shield other acts that might have implicated her if she had cooperated?
Those answers are almost certainly locked away in sealed Academy records. She alone can open them—short of a court order or congressional subpoena. Yet she refuses. The obvious question follows: why?
Sherrill’s refusal cuts two ways. If she releases the file, it might vindicate her story—or reveal more than she has admitted.
If it shows further discipline, voters will ask what else she has concealed. If it suggests her silence shielded other acts, the damage could shatter her campaign. And if it is vague or redacted, suspicion will only deepen.
But keeping the file sealed is worse. By demanding voters take her word for it, Sherrill asks for blind trust on the very point where her integrity is most in doubt. And if the sealed documents do corroborate Sherrill’s account, her refusal to release them is not caution. It is political malpractice.
And here’s the rub: this is New Jersey. Voters don’t think of cherry-tree honesty when it comes to the Garden State’s political class.
This is the state that gave us Senator Robert Menendez—convicted on 16 counts in a bribery scheme involving cash-stuffed envelopes, a Mercedes-Benz, and yes, even gold bars. That is the political backdrop against which Mikie Sherrill now demands blind trust.
Even taking her story at face value, if she refused to report classmates who cheated, why should anyone believe she will uphold ethical standards—either for herself or for others—as governor of the Crossroads of the American Revolution?
As things stand, Sherrill is no longer an ascendant star. She is tethered to her past at Annapolis, shadowed by sealed records, and pressed by Republican Jack Ciattarelli, who is gaining ground by the day.
If her story is as simple as she claims, the remedy is obvious: unseal the record, show the proof, and let voters judge.
But if she won’t hold herself to the highest standard of honor—if she won’t even produce the evidence—why should New Jerseyans trust her with the power to govern them?
If Sherrill insists on hiding her past by keeping her record sealed, voters should make sure her political career has no future—sealed with a loss in November.
Charlton Allen is an attorney, writer, former chairman of the North Carolina Industrial Commission, and founder of the Madison Center for Law & Liberty, Inc. X: @CharltonAllenNC
Image: President.gov.ua, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons, unaltered.
