By Michallie K. Harrison | Opinion

Tech. Sgt. Ian Patterson’s death demands a serious examination of the risks we ask service members to accept for public entertainment.

Air Force Tech. Sgt. Ian Patterson died after falling during a pregame military demonstration at the Alamodome in San Antonio on Oct. 17. He had been participating in a ceremony before UTSA’s football game against Navy. Emergency personnel treated him on the field before he was transported to a hospital, where he later died.

The event was supposed to honor the military.

That purpose should make us examine what happened more closely. Somewhere in the planning of this celebration, sending service members down ropes from stadium rafters became an appropriate way to express appreciation for their service. Now, a family is grieving, and the institutions involved owe the public more than condolences.

I spent 21 years in the Army and retired as a sergeant first class. I understand that military service involves danger. Training can be demanding, and preparing people for dangerous missions requires accepting carefully considered risks.

But the purpose of the mission matters. So does the responsibility of the people who approve it.

A football stadium’s pregame schedule deserves a different level of scrutiny from an operation necessary to protect lives. Calling an event patriotic should never relieve anyone of the obligation to explain why the risk was worth taking.

Ian Patterson’s life deserves to lead this story

According to KSAT’s reporting on the Air Force announcement, Patterson served for 15 years. He was a Tactical Air Control Party instructor assigned to the 6th Combat Training Squadron, Detachment 2, at Joint Base San Antonio. In 2022, he received the Air Force Special Warfare Enlisted Instructor of the Year recognition.

Those details deserve more attention than a circulating video of his final moments. He had a career, colleagues and people who loved him. His death should not become another piece of shocking content consumed between advertisements and arguments.

Nor should anyone use footage of the fall to declare that he made a mistake. The investigation has not established what caused the incident. A video cannot substitute for examining equipment, procedures, conditions and the decisions surrounding the demonstration.

Patterson deserves that care. So do the people who served alongside him.

Military spectacle needs a better justification

In its advance announcement of the game, UTSA advertised the Salute to Armed Forces and Veterans event, presented by USAA. The university promised military recognitions, a patriotic pregame display and a special halftime ceremony.

The stated setting was a public celebration. Nothing in that announcement establishes that a descent from the stadium rafters was necessary for national defense.

That distinction matters when we hear sweeping arguments about showing the world American strength. I do not believe America’s adversaries need a football stadium demonstration to understand that our military trains people to conduct difficult operations. Nor does a dramatic entrance establish whether our forces have the personnel, equipment and support needed to perform their missions.

For leaders who enjoy the appearance of power, these spectacles offer an easy image: uniforms, flags, precision and applause. The people performing them carry the physical risk.

My objection is to the assumption that the image justifies the exposure. When a display’s principal defense becomes how impressive it looks, I believe institutional vanity has displaced sound judgment.

There are, however, stated purposes beyond appearances. In a 2021 account of its sports outreach program, the Air Force described flyovers as opportunities for recruitment and training. Coordinating an aircraft’s arrival with a particular moment, for example, can involve timing skills relevant to military operations.

That explanation concerns flyovers. It does not establish the benefit or necessity of Patterson’s particular demonstration.

Even where a training or recruiting benefit exists, it cannot end the discussion. Officials should explain why that benefit warrants the chosen activity, whether a safer alternative could achieve it and who accepted the remaining risk.

Recruitment is important. So is the obligation to protect people who have already volunteered to serve.

Military spectacle has survived multiple administrations

Military demonstrations at the Alamodome did not begin this month or with the current administration.

An Army account published in January 2013 described soldiers practicing a 180-foot descent inside the stadium before the U.S. Army All-American Bowl. The plan included a synchronized, head-down rappel, helmet cameras and delivery of the game ball.

The article also described the preparation involved. A senior instructor said the soldiers’ training tower at Fort Campbell was 34 feet high. After an initial stadium practice, participants added inserts to their gloves because of heat from friction during the longer descent.

Those details do not establish what happened to Patterson. They concern different personnel, equipment and circumstances more than a decade earlier. They do demonstrate that turning military skills into stadium entertainment can involve conditions that require specific preparation and judgment.

An official military video from September 2019 documented another game-ball delivery at the Alamodome. Its description identified a 178-foot descent as the highest rappel the Fort Hood Air Assault School had performed.

The history makes this a broader institutional question. There is no verified basis in the reporting reviewed for this article to claim President Donald Trump or Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth personally ordered Patterson’s demonstration.

There is ample reason to ask why successive military and civilian leaders have accepted dangerous public performances as a routine expression of appreciation.

A tradition can persist because people enjoy it, because previous events ended safely or because questioning it feels disloyal. None of those reasons should exempt it from review.

The game continued.

The San Antonio Express-News reported that kickoff occurred at 7:10 p.m., approximately 10 minutes later than scheduled. UTSA coach Jeff Traylor said he initially knew only that an incident had delayed the game.

The Associated Press reported that Patterson was treated on the field and later died at a hospital. Consequently, describing the game as beginning “10 minutes after he died” goes beyond the established timeline.

That correction does not make the decision to proceed immune from criticism.

In its Oct. 18 statement, the American Conference said officials from the participating schools, stadium management and local authorities met with conference leadership during the game. Patterson’s condition had not been publicly confirmed at the time of those discussions.

The timeline matters.

The conference said it continued play with both schools’ support. It cited family privacy, military casualty-notification procedures and a desire to avoid speculation about his medical condition. The statement placed Nellis Air Force Base’s public confirmation of the death at 11:40 p.m. Eastern time.

Respecting a family’s right to receive devastating news privately is essential. Spectators were not entitled to a running medical update.

Nevertheless, protecting that privacy does not fully answer why play had to proceed. Officials could acknowledge a serious emergency without disclosing a diagnosis or speculating about the outcome. The conference should explain what officials knew when they decided to begin the game, separately from the discussions it says occurred after play was underway.

I am also unwilling to assign indifference to everyone in the stadium. Spectators and players were not necessarily receiving the same information, and their presence does not tell us what they understood or felt.

The relevant scrutiny belongs with the people responsible for the decisions. What options did they consider? What would have triggered a postponement? How did they account for the people who had witnessed the fall?

Those are reasonable questions for institutions that had just invited a crowd to celebrate military service.

The investigation must examine the decision to perform

The Air Force has said the incident is under investigation. Until findings are available, claims about a particular equipment failure, missing safeguard or individual error remain unproven.

However, accountability should extend beyond identifying the immediate cause of the fall.

The public deserves to know who requested the demonstration and who approved military participation. What did the risk assessment identify? What safeguards were required for the activity? Were the stadium conditions evaluated, and did rehearsals reveal concerns?

The review should also establish whether participants could stop the demonstration if conditions changed and who had the authority to cancel it. Asking those questions does not presume that anyone ignored a warning. It establishes what a meaningful examination should cover.

Above all, the review should address the activity’s purpose. What benefit did officials expect, and could they have achieved it through a lower-risk event?

If a procedural failure occurred, it should be corrected. If the procedures were followed, the institution still needs to examine whether its standards accepted an unreasonable risk for the setting.

An event can satisfy its paperwork requirements and still deserve reconsideration. That is particularly important when the result officials sought was a successful public appearance.

As a former senior noncommissioned officer, I believe leadership includes being willing to disappoint an audience, a sponsor or a superior when the justification for an activity is inadequate. The ability to execute something impressive does not create an obligation to do it.

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Honoring service members should begin with their welfare

In a message to the university community, UTSA President Taylor Eighmy expressed sympathy for Patterson’s family and fellow airmen. He also thanked medical personnel, university staff and others who assisted.

That recognition matters. Compassion should remain central to the response, alongside practical support for the people affected.

But appreciation for military service can take forms that do not require a dramatic descent from stadium rafters. Universities can recognize service members and veterans on the field. They can support military families, improve assistance for student veterans and create opportunities for civilians to hear directly from people who have served.

Military leaders can explain their missions, demonstrate equipment in controlled settings and discuss career opportunities without treating danger as the feature that makes an event memorable.

None of those alternatives requires abandoning pride in the armed forces. They require choosing what that pride should look like.

I would rather see a leader defend a decision to cancel a display than deliver a polished statement after a preventable death. Whether Patterson’s death was preventable, and how, remains for investigators to establish. The larger policy choice—how much risk institutions should accept for ceremonial entertainment—is already ours to debate.

People in power should be expected to justify these decisions without hiding behind patriotism. The uniform carries enough responsibility without becoming an excuse to end the conversation.

Ian Patterson had already devoted 15 years to his country. His service did not need a stadium performance to acquire meaning.

A nation confident in its strength should be capable of honoring that service without demanding a show.