There is an uncomfortable question at the center of American politics: What happens when someone becomes unable—or unwilling—to do the job they were elected to do, but the system gives them little incentive to step aside?
This question has become increasingly difficult to ignore as Americans watch aging politicians remain in office despite serious questions about their health, judgment, effectiveness, and ability to keep up with the demands of the job. The issue is not fundamentally partisan. It is a problem with the way American politics has evolved.
Consider Mitch McConnell. The concern is not that the public is entitled to every detail of his medical history. People have a legitimate right to medical privacy. But there is a distinction between knowing what is wrong with someone and knowing whether they are capable of doing their job. If an elected representative is unable to perform their duties for an extended period, constituents deserve to know that.
The same principle applies across party lines. Ruth Bader Ginsburg remained on the Supreme Court until shortly before her death. Dianne Feinstein continued serving despite increasingly serious questions about her capacity to perform her duties. Whatever someone’s political affiliation, it is difficult to argue that this should be treated as normal.
We already recognize this problem in other professions. Doctors can work well into old age, but if their performance suffers, there are consequences. Professional licenses contain ethical requirements, and violations can result in discipline or the loss of the license entirely. The same basic expectation should apply to people entrusted with enormous public power.
That raises a broader question: Why don’t we have meaningful upper age limits for public office?
We already have minimum ages because we recognize that age can affect someone’s ability to perform a demanding job. We don’t allow a teenager to become president because maturity and cognitive development matter. Yet we seem reluctant to acknowledge that the same principle can apply at the other end of life.
This isn’t an argument that everyone becomes incapable at a particular age. People age differently. But that is precisely the problem with relying entirely on individual judgment. People are not always the best judges of their own abilities. If you’ve ever discovered that you can no longer do something you used to do well, you understand the problem.
And cognitive testing alone isn’t necessarily the answer. There are different kinds of cognitive assessments, and a screening test is not necessarily a comprehensive evaluation. What matters is whether someone can consistently perform the responsibilities of the office. Communication, judgment, comprehension, adaptability, and the ability to engage with complex and rapidly changing issues all matter.
Age is also connected to another problem: political stagnation.
When people remain in the same positions for decades, seniority becomes a source of power. The longer someone stays, the more relationships, influence, institutional knowledge, and political leverage they accumulate. Eventually, the system can begin rewarding longevity rather than effectiveness.
That creates a political culture where “this is how we’ve always done things” becomes an argument against change.
The consequences are especially visible when government struggles to keep pace with technology. Artificial intelligence, internet privacy, cryptocurrency, and other rapidly developing areas require lawmakers who understand the world they are regulating. A government dominated by an aging political establishment may be less equipped to recognize emerging problems—or opportunities—than one with greater generational turnover.
But longevity creates another danger: corruption can become normalized.
People entering Washington may initially have strong ethical boundaries. Over time, however, they learn how the system works. They see what is tolerated, what is technically legal, and what powerful people can get away with. Younger politicians may then learn those same behaviors from the people mentoring them.
Eventually, questionable practices stop looking questionable. They become simply “the way business is done.”
This is why stronger ethics rules are necessary. Politicians and their spouses should not be able to engage in financial activity that would create even the appearance that public information or political influence is being used for personal enrichment. People working in financial industries already face strict rules concerning conflicts of interest and even the appearance of impropriety. Public officials should face at least as much scrutiny, not less.
Ultimately, this is bigger than Democrats or Republicans. Both parties have allowed aging political institutions, weak ethics rules, entrenched leadership, and insufficient accountability to become normalized.
The solution may require several changes: clearer standards for determining whether officials can perform their duties, enforceable ethics requirements, restrictions on conflicts of interest, and meaningful term or age limits.
Term limits, in particular, deserve serious reconsideration. The Supreme Court presents the clearest example of what happens when people occupy positions of extraordinary power with virtually no practical mechanism for removal. Lifetime tenure was designed around assumptions that may no longer fit the political reality we have created.
Public office should not become a lifetime entitlement.
The people who serve in government are supposed to serve the public—not become permanent fixtures of the institution itself. If we want government that remains responsive, capable, ethical, and accountable, we have to build systems that make stepping aside a normal part of public service rather than a political failure.
And perhaps most importantly, those standards need to apply to everyone.
ChatGPT (AI) was used to reformat our recorded transcript into a blog format.
