The Work of Refusing to Leave Office
Never quit. Never surrender. Unless they show you the money, that is
2024 is a grand old time, and I’m here for it. We're all getting ringside seats to a wild spectacle. Our grayest and most unwell political eminences, those weathered veterans of countless campaigns and controversies, are refusing to exit stage left. Instead, they're digging in their heels, clinging to power with a tenacity that would make a barnacle blush.
Take Joe Biden, our octogenarian commander-in-chief. The New York Times, that bastion of establishment wisdom, recently suggested he consider calling it a noble, heroic, once-in-a-lifetime career and gracefully bow out. But why should he? If Biden decides to buck this advice — and frankly, I would if I were in his orthopedic shoes1 — it could herald a new era where the "mainstream media" finds itself increasingly irrelevant in shaping political destinies.
Gone are the days when a scathing exposé or a biting editorial could force a resignation. Now, it seems, our political class has developed an immunity to shame. They're like those monsters in sci-fi movies that absorb every weapon thrown at them and just keep coming.
Look around. We've got a veritable geriatric ward running the country. There's Biden, of course, shuffling through debates like a man searching for his keys. Then there's Trump, the indefatigable chaos agent, likely to outrun and outlast all of the litigation directed against him. Justice Clarence Thomas is living large off undisclosed donor dough, while Pennsylvania Senator John Fetterman, barely recovered from a stroke, keeps taking pot shots at scandal-ridden New Jersey colleague Bob Menendez. It's like a retirement home or hospice facility production of "House of Cards" again fronted by an aging Kevin Spacey, who returned from a few years of scandal in time to throw his endorsement behind the the wonderfully nutty Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
It's admirable, in a perverse sort of way. Following in the footsteps of redoubtable triangulator Bill Clinton2, our top dogs can't be shamed out and they’re too big to fail, unlike poor hapless New York Congressman turned social media character actor George Santos — who might have been able to weather the storm had his troubles come to light in his second or third term.3 They're in it to win it, come hell, high water, or a barrage of unflattering press coverage. It's as if they've collectively decided that reputation is overrated. Who needs respect when you've got power?
This new reality opens up some intriguing possibilities. If I were a politician with a tarnished reputation or pushing triple digits on the age front, I'd be thinking about how to monetize my exit. Why not? If you're going to go, might as well go with a golden parachute.
Imagine Biden, instead of meekly accepting the Times' suggestion, demanding a cool billion to step aside, sending a Gaston Means-style bagman to retrieve his ill-gotten PAC gains: “Fill ‘er up, boys, and don’t give me any malarkey.” Or picture elderly Justices Thomas and Samuel Alito, if Trump wins in 2024, asking for $250 million each to vacate their seats. After all, as McConnell and Biden demonstrated during the preceding decade, 75 is the new 55. Why not stick around unless the price is right?
It's not without precedent. Ruth Bader Ginsburg, a long-time pal of fellow opera-loving conservative Justice Antonin Scalia, inadvertently gifted the GOP her seat by staying on the bench until her death.4 If I were in their robes, I'd be thinking about cashing out before I check out.
The message is clear: show me the money. Make me an offer I can't refuse. Because, let's face it, there's no real reason to quit. Strom Thurmond, Robert Byrd, and Dianne Feinstein all proved that functionality is optional in public service. Feinstein missed stretches of Senate time due to what can only be described as a comatose state, and yet her seat remained warm.
It's a great gig if you can get it, and an even better one if you never let it go. Mitch McConnell, despite his freeze-frame moments, is still there. Nancy Pelosi has been in Congress since I was five; even an uncomfortable situation involving her husband couldn’t shake her loose. These folks have turned public service into a lifetime achievement award.
So why not serve forever? Or at least until the real oligarchs pony up that heavy jack. Make 'em pay. After all, in this new political landscape, shame is for suckers and retirement is for the unimaginative.
This isn't your great-grandfather's politics anymore — unless, of course, your great-grandfather is still in office. We're entering an era where political careers don't end; they just get more lucrative and corruption-riddled (these two things go together like the horse and carriage). It's a brave new world where scandals are speed bumps, time is merely a window with a view, age is just a number, and shame is an outdated concept, like those 8” floppy disks or smoking sections in restaurants.
The implications of this shift are fascinating. On one hand, we're seeing an admirable kind of political Darwinism at work. Only the most shameless, the most tenacious, and the most senior citizens are surviving in this cutthroat environment. It's like watching a nature documentary where the oldest, crankiest lions with the rattiest, most flea-ridden manes refuse to cede control of the pride.
But on the other hand, this new reality raises some unsettling questions about the nature of our democracy.5 If our leaders are impervious to public opinion, scandal, and even their own physical limitations, what does that say about the power of the electorate? Are we witnessing the twilight of accountability — what’s left of it, anyway — in American politics?
Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of this new paradigm is how it might reshape our political parties. If the old guard refuses to step down, how will new blood enter the system? Will we see a generation of politicians perpetually waiting in the wings, growing old themselves before they ever get a chance at bat? Or will this lead to a kind of political revolution, where frustrated young upstarts form new parties or movements to challenge the entrenched gerontocracy?
One thing's for certain: the traditional pathways to power are being rewritten. The idea of "paying your dues" takes on a whole new meaning when the people at the top refuse to vacate their positions. It's no longer about climbing the ladder; it's about waiting for someone to fall off it — or buying them off.
In this brave new world of shameless politicking, perhaps we need to rethink our approach to public service altogether. Instead of term limits, maybe we need term buyouts. Instead of retirement parties, we could have bidding wars. As Europa Univeralis players eyeing the rich East African coast know all too well, why settle for a gold watch when you could seize a gold mine?
Some might argue that this is just making more explicit what has always been true in politics — that it's all about the money. But there's something refreshing about the brazenness. At least now we're being candid about the transactional nature of power.
As we progress — or perhaps more accurately, regress — into this uncharted territory, one thing is clear: the rules of the game have changed. Shame is no longer a limiting factor of any sort in American politics. Scandals are no longer career-enders; they're just plot twists in the ongoing saga of power. Age is no longer a barrier; it's a badge of honor.
In this new landscape, the most successful politicians won't be those with the cleanest records or the most coherent policies. They'll be the ones who can weather any storm, ignore any criticism, and hold out for the biggest payoff. They'll be the ones who can look at a career-ending scandal and see it as a leverage point for negotiation.
So here we are, standing at the precipice of a wacky new era in American politics. An era where shame is obsolete, where age is just a number, and where the only thing that talks is money — preferably in large denominations. It's not pretty, it's not noble, but it's undeniably fascinating to us long-time observers of the work.
As we watch this drama unfold, we can't help but wonder: is this the final form of our elegantly gridlocked duopoly, or is it just another act in the ongoing opera buffa of American democracy? Only time will tell, and history assures of nothing except that events won’t repeat themselves the same way twice.6 But one thing's for certain — it's going to be one heck of a show, so buy your tickets and enjoy the ride. Just don't expect anyone to leave the stage willingly. In this new world, the curtain never falls — it just gets more expensive to raise.
I’ll never stop doing the work! As for Biden, he has no incentive to give up the ghost: he’s ancient, in mental and physical decline, and lacking a clear successor for any sort of “Biden dynasty” (he lost his most promising heir, Dr. Jill has already had her moment, and Hunter is perhaps the model failson of our age). If he can’t get paid (and they may have no real way to pay him), he might as well roll those old bones one last time.
They were once much heavier footsteps, back when he was jogging under the influence of a few Big Macs a day.
The great Pitt quarterback and Ohio Congressman Jim Traficant, another small fry, managed to hang in for decades despite persistent investigations — but his time, that of the charming regional crook, is long past: “They’d better come and help my district after I’m in jail, or I’ll come visit them.”
In the process gifting us Trump’s finest off-the-cuff moment: “She led an amazing life.”
He must have been a man with a very dim and strange mind who said, “History repeats itself.” Of course, there is a grain of veracity in it, but surely the correct way of stating the matter would be, “The Universe repeats itself, with the possible exception of history.” Of all earthly studies history is the one that does not repeat itself. This is the very definition of the divinity of man. Astronomy repeats itself, botany repeats itself; trigonometry repeats itself; mechanics repeats itself; compound long division repeats itself. Every sum if worked out in the same way at any time will bring out the same answer. But it is the peculiarity and fascination of the sum of the sums of history that with the most perfect calculation the sum comes out with a slight mysterious difference every time. There is a certain amount of the divine in every government or society. In most governments and societies it is a very small amount indeed; but there is just enough of it to do the noble and needful work; there is just enough, that is to say, to make that government or society go where it does not want to go, and produce something entirely different from what it had intended.
— G.K. Chesterton, 3/26/04
You brought me many moments of cheer.