Qualified to Criticize

(*A survival guide to navigating small minds with big titles)

There is a special kind of person in every industry, the one who never built, launched, designed, or led anything meaningful, yet somehow sits in the chair that decides who gets to try.

They have the vocabulary of visionaries, the confidence of philosophers, and the track record of a damp sponge.

They are the gatekeepers of progress. The self-appointed quality control of dreams.

In space, they come dressed in the logos of agencies, committees, and institutions. They throw around big words like “standards” and “strategic alignment” while quietly dismantling the very innovation they claim to support.

You know the type. The one who calls CubeSats “toys.” The one who dismisses entire missions, countries, or companies with a single smirk, as if something must be worthless simply because it did not come from their own desk.

They are not defending excellence; they are defending their relevance.

Because for them, a satellite built by a small team in a small country is a threat. Not to science, but to ego. It proves that talent and passion do not need their approval. That access to orbit is not reserved for those with the right accent, budget, or business card.

And that is unforgivable.

So they call it trash. They mock. They condescend. All while never having built anything themselves, not even a prototype, let alone a piece of history.

It is almost poetic how mediocrity seeks power. The smaller the person, the larger the title they crave. The weaker the substance, the stronger the need to control.

Unfortunately, the industry keeps promoting these people. Because bureaucracy rewards safety, not courage. It rewards those who agree in meetings, not those who dare to question them.

And that is how innovation dies. Not in explosions or failed launches, but in meeting rooms filled with frightened egos guarding the status quo.

The good news is that reality does not care.

Physics does not bend to office politics. Orbits do not discriminate by nationality. Space does not care who you are, only whether your work holds.

And that is the part they will never understand.

Because while they talk about “strategic purpose” and “commercial maturity,” others are actually flying, learning, and daring. Because progress is not always profitable, and not every mission exists to feed a market report. Some are meant to inspire, to educate, or simply to prove that ambition does not need permission. And the future will always belong to those who dare.