In America, we often see age as a crown. Wrinkles are framed as wisdom. Decades in office are celebrated as proof of loyalty and service. We admire those who have weathered storms and stood the test of time. Yet, when we look closely at Congress today, that crown sometimes feels heavy—so heavy that it begins to slip. Nearly 120 members are over the age of 70, making this one of the oldest governing bodies in the nation’s history. Age by itself is not the enemy. The true question is whether the people we’ve trusted with power are still able to carry the weight of that responsibility.

Recent years have forced that question into the public spotlight. The visible decline of Senator Dianne Feinstein, who continued serving even as her health deteriorated, made headlines not just because of her struggles but because of what they symbolized: a government unwilling to face the reality of human limits. Reports of Representative Kay Granger finishing her term from a retirement facility raised similar alarms. Even the nation’s presidents have not been spared scrutiny, with both Joe Biden and Donald Trump showing moments of disorientation that fueled debates about whether their age had begun to affect their clarity. These stories are not gossip—they are warnings, reminders that leadership is not immune to the natural course of time.

The Age Dilemma in Congress

America’s lawmakers are older than ever before. When the current Congress opened in January, nearly 120 members were over the age of 70. Age can bring wisdom, perspective, and a steady hand in turbulent times. But it can also bring limits. We’ve witnessed Senator Dianne Feinstein struggle publicly with declining health before her passing, and reports surfaced of Representative Kay Granger spending her final months in a retirement home while technically still holding office. Even at the presidential level, moments of confusion from both President Joe Biden and former President Donald Trump have become fuel for national debate. These aren’t just partisan jabs—they strike at a deeper concern: are our leaders still fully capable of making the decisions that shape millions of lives?

The unease grows from more than optics. When lawmakers appear detached or disoriented, the fear is that power shifts quietly from elected officials to unelected staffers, leaving citizens unsure who is truly guiding the country. And in an age when decisions on climate, technology, and war must be made with clarity and speed, the question of cognitive fitness is no longer optional. It is foundational to democracy itself. If our pilots must prove they can fly a plane, and our surgeons must prove they can still hold a scalpel steady, why shouldn’t the individuals making laws for three hundred million Americans be asked to show that they still carry the mental sharpness required?

This moment forces us to confront a cultural contradiction. We praise longevity in office as evidence of resilience and service, yet recoil when confronted with its consequences. The truth is, clinging to power in the face of decline does not honor democracy; it undermines it. A system designed to represent the people cannot function when its representatives are no longer present in body and mind. And the longer we avoid this reckoning, the wider the gap grows between citizens and those who claim to serve them.

The Proposal for Cognitive Testing

Representative Marie Gluesenkamp Perez of Washington has dared to voice what many Americans whisper: should leaders prove they are still fit for the job? Her proposal was not radical—it suggested cognitive assessments similar to the way drivers must renew their vision to keep a license. In her words, if someone needs clear eyesight to drive a car, surely we should expect clear thinking from those driving a nation. That simple analogy resonated because it reframed the issue not as an insult to elders but as a safeguard for all.

Her amendment would have tasked the Office of Congressional Conduct with determining whether lawmakers remained mentally capable of fulfilling their duties. But the response was swift and dismissive. The House Appropriations Committee rejected it outright, a move that revealed the built-in resistance to any reform that threatens entrenched power. The people who would be most affected are the same people asked to approve it, and that creates a circle of denial. Perez warned that without safeguards, Americans are left to assume that staffers—rather than elected representatives—are carrying much of the load.

What stands out here is how modest her idea was, and how strong the resistance became. This wasn’t a sweeping reform that would force anyone from office overnight—it was a first step toward accountability, a conversation starter. Yet even that was too much for those in power. The refusal to consider even minimal testing showed a Congress more concerned with preserving itself than rebuilding trust. And for many Americans watching from the outside, that refusal became the very evidence of the problem Perez was trying to highlight.

Resistance and Cultural Pushback

Why such resistance to a seemingly reasonable idea? Part of it is cultural. In the United States, longevity in politics is celebrated as proof of resilience and service. Suggesting that age might also bring decline feels, to some, like an attack not just on capability but on dignity. Lawmakers frame the conversation as ageist, dismissing it as a threat to decades of hard-earned service. But the truth is, protecting dignity and ensuring accountability are not opposites—they can coexist. To deny the reality of decline is to deny humanity itself.

But there are also deeper constitutional concerns. Who would design such a test? How would it be applied fairly, across parties, across branches of government? Could it be weaponized to disqualify opponents under the guise of “fitness”? These questions complicate the debate, yet they do not erase the urgency behind it. Polls show that Americans, regardless of political affiliation, overwhelmingly want greater accountability. They want reassurance that the leaders shaping their lives are truly present in the work. Without that trust, the distance between the governed and the governing only grows wider.

This resistance also reveals a deeper fear: fear of losing power, fear of irrelevance, fear of admitting limitations. In a culture that idolizes individualism and strength, admitting weakness feels like failure. Yet the real failure is pretending nothing is wrong while the system weakens from within. By rejecting even the possibility of testing, Congress has sent a message that protecting its own members is more important than protecting the integrity of democracy. That message does not strengthen the nation—it corrodes it.

Beyond Testing: The Bigger Question of Leadership

This conversation isn’t only about medical exams or brain scans. It’s about the kind of leadership a modern democracy requires. Experience is valuable—there are lawmakers in their eighties who remain sharp, decisive, and deeply effective. But wisdom alone is not enough. Today’s crises demand agility: the ability to digest complex information quickly, respond to threats in real time, and adapt to a world changing faster than at any point in human history. A long résumé cannot compensate for a mind that can no longer keep pace.

Some suggest term limits or mandatory retirement ages as alternatives to testing. Both ideas carry trade-offs. Term limits would refresh Congress but risk cutting short valuable institutional knowledge. Retirement ages would create a clear boundary but could also force out leaders who remain capable and effective. There is no perfect solution, only difficult choices. Yet avoiding the issue altogether is no longer viable. Without reform, the cracks in the system deepen, and public trust—already fragile—continues to erode.

The bigger question is this: what does leadership look like in a society facing global uncertainty? It cannot only be measured in years served but must be measured in capacity to serve today. Leadership is not just about holding a title—it is about holding space for others, making decisions with clarity, and adapting when the ground shifts beneath your feet. If Congress wants to remain a credible body, it must be willing to ask itself not only whether its members are experienced enough, but whether they are still present enough.

A Call to Accountability and Renewal

At its heart, this debate is not about disrespecting elders but about respecting democracy. Accountability is not an insult; it is a promise to the people. Renewal is not rejection; it is the recognition that every generation must carry its share of responsibility. Citizens do not expect perfection from their leaders. What they ask for is presence. Clarity. The confidence that when decisions are made about war or peace, about health care or climate change, those decisions come from leaders who are fully engaged, not shadows propped up by staff.

So the choice before us is bigger than one bill or one committee’s decision. It is about how a nation honors the past while protecting the future. True respect for our elders means acknowledging when it is time to pass the torch, not clutching it until the flame goes out. If Congress can face this reality with honesty, it may restore something priceless: faith in a system that feels increasingly distant and fragile. That faith is not built through speeches or campaign ads, but through transparency, accountability, and the courage to change.

America stands at a crossroads. The path forward is not about punishing age, but about embracing accountability. Because a democracy built on denial is destined to falter, but a democracy built on truth, renewal, and courage can endure. And if we, the people, keep raising our voices, we can ensure that the future is shaped not by fear of change, but by the strength to embrace it. That is how we honor those who came before us and empower those yet to come.