Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Maybe It’s Time to Pass the Baton

I think we need to have a conversation about age limits in government.

Not Republican age limits. Not Democratic age limits. Not “your guy is older than my guy” age limits.

Just… age limits.

Because apparently we have decided that the only minimum age requirement for holding federal office is that you have accumulated enough birthdays to remember when television came in three channels and the remote control was your kid.

The Constitution actually has minimum ages. You have to be 25 to serve in the House, 30 to serve in the Senate, and 35 to be president. (Congress.gov⁠)

But there is no upper limit.

Apparently the Founding Fathers were perfectly comfortable with the idea that someone could be old enough to remember the Revolutionary War and still show up for work on Monday.

And here we are.

Chuck Grassley just turned 93. He has been in Congress since 1975 and has been a U.S. senator since 1981. He is currently the longest-serving senator in American history by years of service among living senators. (U.S. Senate⁠)

And we’re talking about the possibility that he could run for another Senate term in 2028, when he’d be 95, potentially serving into his 101st year. He hasn’t definitively announced whether he’ll seek another term. (Internationly⁠)

Now, before somebody starts screaming, “Ageist!”

I understand the argument.

There are 80-year-olds who are sharper than some 40-year-olds. There are 90-year-olds who are healthier than some 60-year-olds. Chuck Grassley is apparently still walking two miles every morning and doing the job. (Currently⁠)

Good for him.

Seriously.

But this isn’t about whether one particular 93-year-old can still do his job.

It’s about whether our system should be designed around the assumption that every elected official will remain equally capable of doing an increasingly complicated job indefinitely.

And that’s a different question.

Because government isn’t supposed to be a retirement home with better stationery.

At some point, we have to ask whether experience has become institutional stagnation.

There is a difference between wisdom and simply having been around a long time.

And I say that as a member of the generation that is rapidly approaching the age where we’re going to become the people I’m complaining about.

That’s the funny part.

Right now I’m saying, “If you voted for Eisenhower, maybe it’s time to consider retirement.”

Eventually somebody is going to look at me and say:

“Dude, your first car had a carburetor.”

And I’m going to respond:

“Okay, that’s just rude.”

Then they’ll remind me that I grew up with cassette players, rotary phones, VHS tapes and television antennas.

At which point I will have to admit they have a point.

That’s the thing about generational turnover.

Eventually every generation becomes the old people.

And maybe that’s exactly why we need rules rather than relying on politicians to voluntarily give up power.

Because power has never been particularly good at convincing people it’s time to leave.

There is also a rather obvious hypocrisy here.

We tell working Americans that they need to work longer.

Retirement ages creep upward. Social Security debates revolve around people working longer. We tell people who spent their lives doing physically demanding jobs that they should somehow keep going because Americans are living longer.

Meanwhile, someone whose job consists largely of sitting in a climate-controlled building, attending meetings, voting, talking to reporters and occasionally walking across the Capitol can potentially remain in office into their tenth decade.

Maybe that’s the message we’re supposed to take from this:

“If Senator Grandma can do it, you can pour concrete at 82.”

I’m not buying it.

A 70-year-old construction worker and a 70-year-old senator don’t have remotely the same physical demands placed on them.

Neither do they have the same consequences when their bodies begin telling them, “Hey, maybe we’re done with this.”

And here’s where I think the conversation gets interesting.

I wouldn’t necessarily argue for some ridiculous “you turn 65 and you’re escorted from the Capitol by security” rule.

Maybe 70 is the cutoff for the House.

Maybe 75 for the Senate and presidency.

Maybe 80 for federal judges.

The exact numbers are something people can debate.

But some number would at least force us to acknowledge that government should have generational turnover just like everything else.

And yes, I would include the Supreme Court.

We call Supreme Court appointments “lifetime appointments,” but perhaps we shouldn’t interpret “lifetime” as “until your body is eventually discovered behind the bench.”

Maybe at 80, you retire.

You’ve served your country. You’ve contributed your wisdom. You’ve had your turn.

Pass the baton.

That doesn’t mean your knowledge disappears.

You don’t suddenly become stupid because you turn 80.

You can still write books. Teach. Advise. Serve on commissions. Mentor younger people. Sit on boards. Give speeches. Become the annoying old guy at the coffee shop who tells everyone how things used to work.

Trust me.

There are plenty of options.

But perhaps the people making decisions about the next 50 years of the country should have some meaningful connection to the people who will actually live through those 50 years.

Because here’s another uncomfortable truth:

The future belongs to people who aren’t currently running the government.

A 25-year-old member of Congress may not have decades of experience.

A 35-year-old president may not have lived through every historical crisis.

A 50-year-old senator may not remember the Cold War firsthand.

That’s okay.

That’s how succession works.

Every generation inherits the country and then screws it up in its own unique way.

That’s America.

But eventually you have to let the next generation take the wheel.

And maybe that’s the real issue here.

This isn’t about Republicans or Democrats.

It’s about whether we believe government should continuously recycle the same people who have been running it for decades, or whether we believe democracy should include generational succession.

If your first presidential election was Eisenhower, that’s an impressive résumé.

If you remember Kennedy being elected, that’s a hell of a historical perspective.

If you have a draft card from Vietnam, you’ve lived through an extraordinary amount of American history.

But maybe—and this is said with affection—it’s also possible you’ve earned the right to sit back and watch somebody else screw it up for a while.

Because eventually every generation has to learn the same lesson:

You don’t pass the baton because you’re incapable of running anymore.

You pass it because somebody else needs a chance to run.

And if we’re going to tell everybody else in America that nobody gets to work forever, maybe we should apply that rule to the people who make the rules.

Besides, if we wait much longer, we’re going to have a Congress where someone proposes an amendment and the debate begins with:

“Back when Eisenhower was president…”

At that point, Gen X might finally have to admit:

Okay. It’s probably time for a younger crowd.