Word of the month: old age

Four years ago, on the eve of the last presidential election in the United States, an article titled ‘Tyranny of the 70-Somethings’ appeared in The Atlantic. Its author, Andrew Ferguson, noted that the main candidates for the highest post in the country were ‘walking proof of the success of geriatric medicine’, and seemed to embody the suspicious thesis that wisdom grows proportionally with age. At that time, in addition to seventy-six-year-old Biden, the seventy-seven-year-old socialist Bernie Sanders was also vying to be ‘the most powerful man on Earth’. The sitting president, the seventy-two-year-old Trump, was disdainfully not mentioned by name and was referred to in the text as the ‘McDonald's-loving incumbent’.

Ferguson argued, drawing on Aristotle’s philosophy, that there was a need for a generational change of political leadership. He spoke about the art of voluntarily stepping down from power at the right time, which gives old age a certain grandeur and nobility. Specifically, he said directly that Sanders and Biden should have left their presidential ambitions behind in 2016 and retired. According to him, Sanders could have made an excellent tour guide in Nicaragua, and Biden should have become a government advisor on any issue. At the same time, Ferguson confidently and in the following orthographic manner stated that: ‘But they. Will. Not. Go. Away.’

Ferguson was right: indeed, no one intends to leave a position of power voluntarily, and the tyranny of the seventy-somethings has smoothly transitioned into the tyranny of the next decade. Biden resisted to the last and only three weeks ago claimed that only God could make him drop out of the 2024 race. However, in this situation, Barack Obama's authoritative opinion was considered an act of theophany, clearly indicating that old men have no place here.

The rise of modern gerontocracies and the tyranny of octogenarians can also be considered a reaction to the crisis among young politicians. Indeed, some active European leaders, who seem to be in the ideal age range of between forty and sixty, look and behave entirely like degenerate characters from the gerontocratic TV series Succession. And against this backdrop, Biden tried to play the old age card as a positive one. Since American democracy positions itself as an eternal value, there is a certain logic in the fact that its main representative also strives to extend his life and power, following the template of one of last year's main bestsellers, Outlive: The Science and Art of Longevity.

The interesting thing about Biden was that, even in his eighties, he was expected to meet the expectations of the conditionally liberal and inherently progressive public. It was implied that he was the face of the future, while Trump was seen as a cave-dwelling revanchist. In fact, there are existing examples of this phenomenon: the leftist Senator Sanders, known for his progressive views, gained significant popularity among young voters during the primary elections despite being seventy-seven years old at the time. The image of the aged tyrant unwilling to relinquish power has long been established in world culture. There are plenty of examples: from The Autumn of the Patriarch1¹The Autumn of the Patriarchis a 1975 novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez about the life of a Latin American dictatorto Scott Walker's song about an old man who always comes back.

However, Biden was traditionally seen as a fighter against various dictatorships around the world, which, combined with his politics and perceived reluctance to relinquish power, created additional cognitive dissonance, for which he had already become well-known in recent years.

Initially, Biden's old age was recorded as an advantage in various ways. At first, the narrative established was that his age was beneficial because only such a powerful old man like Biden could defeat a monster like Trump—if only because he had done so once before. As the powerful old man visibly deteriorated, the rhetoric changed. However, his age was still counted as a plus as his long years of service would allow Biden to step aside with a clear conscience for a younger and stronger candidate who would crush the monster and save democracy. Biden's decision to step down was portrayed as a heroic act of patriotism. His withdrawal is presented as evidence of his prioritizing the nation's and party's interests over his own ego, unlike some monsters.

At the same time, Trump himself, being essentially the same age as Biden, is not associated with old age—partly because his opponent's frailty provided great fodder for mockery and thus delegitimization and partly due to the Democrats’ media activities. For years, the Democrat-leaning press has engaged in the daily demonization and dehumanization of Trump as an outsider (The Atlantic particularly excelled at this), ultimately creating a kind of anti-superhero out of him, someone who essentially possessed no human qualities and, therefore, no age.

Perhaps the Democrats, in their attempts to deny the McDonald’s lover any advantages, adhered to Shakespeare’s idea that old age brings decline to the wise man but perfects the fool. But being that as it may, Trump, apparently without realizing it, preferred Goethe over Shakespeare, who said that savagery can be defeated by even greater savagery—and Trump is undoubtedly more savage than old.

In addition, Trump’s highly publicized connection with adult film actress Stormy Daniels also suggests anything but decrepitude. Finally, it is almost impossible to recall a historical instance of someone attempting to assassinate a seventy-eight-year-old politician. Interestingly, the assassination attempt inadvertently sparked an age-related meme: Trump, wounded in the ear, was immediately declared the father of the nation.In contrast, his rival was relegated to the role of a grandfather, with all the resulting connotations and consequences.

The French philosopher Bruno Latour wrote during Trump's first term:

‘The originality of Trump lies in the fact that he combined in one gesture a rush forward for maximum profit with complete indifference to the fate of those who do not get it (let billionaires represent “ordinary people!”), and—for an entire nation—a rush backward to old national and ethical categories (“Make America great again!” and “Build the wall!”). Being a distinctly postmodern figure, Trump plays on contradictions, and his play with his own age is one of his most successful performances.’ Incidentally, Latour has since passed away without having to witness the possible second coming of the man with the bandaged ear.

A little over forty years ago, the film The Ballad of Narayama (a remake of a 1958 Japanese film of the same name) was released in Japan. The plot revolved around the practice of ubasute, in which the elderly, upon reaching the age of seventy, were carried to Mount Narayama and left there to die. It was widely released in the Soviet Union only in 1988. At that time, the gerontophobic ritual seemed to the perestroika audience a somewhat abstract exoticism since the races on gun carriages had gone into the not-so-distant past. The excitement around the film was largely due to the relatively unrestrained erotic scenes, which were unusual for those times. It now feels like we're watching a new adaptation of this familiar story but with a complete inversion of the premise. The West Wing of the White House has transformed into a modern-day Narayama, where the aged are perpetually pushed towards immortality while the world around them is left to bear the consequences of their extended reign—there is no sense of exoticism or abstraction left in this. Well, as Bruno Latour wrote, ‘Contrary to Marx, history repeats itself not only as tragedy and farce but sometimes once more—as a pernicious clown show.’