Linda McMahon: An Unfit Choice for Secretary of Education

Secretary of Education Linda McMahon pictured pretending to be in wheelchair as her husband Vince McMahon humiliates her by making out with a younger girl for the crowd and camera.

By Dominica Bernhard

The role of Secretary of Education is one of profound responsibility, tasked with shaping the minds, values, and futures of America’s youth. It demands a leader with unimpeachable integrity, a commitment to fostering safe and equitable learning environments, and a history of prioritizing the well-being of students over personal gain. Linda McMahon, former CEO of World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) and a central figure in its rise to a billion-dollar empire, fails to meet these standards by a wide margin. Her tenure at WWE was defined by the sexualization of women, the glorification of violence, and a willingness to embrace degrading spectacles that clash irreconcilably with the principles of education. Appointing her to this critical position would not only undermine the Department of Education’s mission but also send a dangerous signal about what we value for our children and society at large.

Under Linda McMahon’s leadership, WWE became synonymous with the objectification of women, a cornerstone of its brand during the late 1990s and early 2000s "Attitude Era." Women were routinely paraded in scantily clad outfits—bikinis, lingerie, or less—cast as little more than sexual ornaments for a predominantly male audience. Matches like the infamous "Bra and Panties Spanking Match" weren’t anomalies; they were emblematic of a culture that reduced women to their bodies, their worth tied to how much they could titillate or endure humiliation. This wasn’t accidental—it was a deliberate business strategy, one that McMahon helped orchestrate as she climbed the ranks from co-founder to CEO. The WWE raked in profits by normalizing the exploitation of women, turning sexism into a marketable commodity. How can someone who built her fortune on such a foundation be trusted to oversee an education system that must prioritize the empowerment and dignity of young girls?

Beyond the overarching tone of WWE’s programming, Linda McMahon’s personal involvement in its storylines further exposes her questionable judgment. Take, for instance, the 2001 storyline where she played a wheelchair-bound, incapacitated character while her husband, Vince McMahon, flaunted an on-screen affair with Trish Stratus, a younger, "sexy" wrestler. The plot reached its nadir when Vince made out with Stratus in front of Linda’s character, a degrading display broadcast to millions. This wasn’t a one-time lapse—it was part of a broader pattern where WWE wove sex and violence into its narratives, often at women’s expense. McMahon didn’t merely oversee this as an executive; she stepped into the ring as a performer, blurring the lines between businesswoman and participant in this misogynistic theater. What does it say about her suitability for public office that she willingly played a role in such a spectacle? Can we entrust the education of our children to someone who saw no issue with being complicit in her own public humiliation?

Another glaring example of WWE’s troubling culture under McMahon’s watch is the 2002 storyline involving Stacey Keibler, a wrestler and valet whose "job interview" with Vince McMahon involved table-dancing for him in a skimpy outfit. The scene was framed as a test of her worthiness to join the organization, suggesting that in the WWE, employment for women hinged not on talent or merit but on their ability to perform sexually for male authority figures. This wasn’t a subtle subplot—it was a blatant reinforcement of power imbalances and gender stereotypes, played for laughs and applause. Linda McMahon, as a top executive, either approved or failed to challenge this narrative, allowing it to air as part of the company’s brand. The idea that a woman’s value in her organization could be reduced to a provocative dance is a chilling reflection of the culture she helped cultivate. How could someone who presided over such a workplace dynamic be expected to champion fair treatment and equal opportunity in America’s schools?

The irony deepens when considering Vince McMahon’s own downfall. In 2022, he faced multiple lawsuits and allegations of sexual harassment and misconduct, including claims from former employees that he coerced them into sexual acts or created hostile work environments. These scandals led to his ousting from WWE, a company he and Linda had built together. While Linda herself hasn’t been directly implicated in these specific allegations, she was a key partner in running the organization during decades when such behavior allegedly festered. Her silence—or at minimum, her inability to steer the company away from a culture that enabled such misconduct—casts a long shadow over her leadership credentials. The WWE wasn’t just a wrestling company; it was a family business where Linda and Vince’s professional and personal lives were deeply intertwined. That she emerged unscathed while her husband was forced out doesn’t absolve her of the broader ethical rot that permeated their empire.

Violence, too, was a hallmark of WWE under Linda McMahon’s stewardship. Wrestlers, male and female alike, were pitted against each other in brutal, often scripted brawls, with storylines that celebrated aggression as a virtue. Bloodshed and chair shots were as much a draw as the scantily clad women, creating a toxic blend of sex and violence that defined the brand. While entertainment can certainly push boundaries, McMahon’s WWE took it to an extreme, normalizing a worldview where might makes right and women are props in a macho fantasy. Imagine the dissonance of appointing someone who thrived in this environment to address pressing educational issues like school bullying, mental health, or gender equity. The person tasked with ensuring safe, nurturing classrooms should not have a resume that includes profiting off spankings and staged infidelity.

Supporters might argue that McMahon’s success in transforming WWE into a billion-dollar juggernaut proves her leadership mettle. But leadership in what context? Running a sports entertainment behemoth that thrives on shock value and spectacle is a far cry from overseeing a federal department responsible for the intellectual and moral development of millions of children. Education requires a steady hand, a moral compass, and an understanding of how impressionable young minds absorb the messages around them. McMahon’s track record suggests she’s more adept at crafting tawdry drama than fostering environments of learning and respect. Her WWE tenure wasn’t about uplifting—it was about exploiting, whether that meant women’s bodies, violent impulses, or audience voyeurism.

Furthermore, her comfort with profiting off harmful stereotypes and power imbalances raises serious doubts about her ability to tackle systemic challenges in education, such as inequality, discrimination, and student safety. WWE’s women were often cast as vixens, damsels, or punching bags—roles that reinforced out-dated gender norms with little regard for their impact. The Stacey Keibler "interview" wasn’t an isolated gag; it was a symptom of a deeper ethos that saw women as accessories to male power. Meanwhile, the violence glorified in the ring sent a message that physical dominance trumps all, a philosophy antithetical to the collaborative, supportive spaces schools should be. A Secretary of Education must model values of equity and respect—McMahon’s career suggests she’s more familiar with the opposite.

Linda McMahon’s potential appointment as Secretary of Education isn’t just a poor fit—it’s a travesty waiting to happen. Her legacy is inseparable from a company that sexualized women, humiliated them for profit, and made sex and violence its calling card. That she turned this into a billion-dollar empire doesn’t make her qualified; it makes her complicit in a machine that thrived on degradation. The added irony of Vince McMahon’s sexual harassment lawsuits and removal from WWE only underscores the dysfunction she was part of. America’s students deserve a leader who embodies dignity, intellectual rigor, and a commitment to their growth—not someone whose highlights include lingerie matches, table dances, and wheelchair-bound melodrama. Education is not a wrestling ring, and it’s time we stop pretending it could be.

Dominica Bernhard is a freelance writer for Veritas Expositae.  You can reach her at dominica.bernhard@veritasexpositae.com