Emanuel Demands Age Limit: Biden, Trump, and Justices Face Forced Retirement

Paul Riverbank, 1/22/2026Rahm Emanuel calls for a 75-year age cap in federal office, igniting bipartisan reform debate.

Emanuel didn’t tiptoe around the subject. Addressing a room split between laughter and raised eyebrows, he tossed out the proposal with characteristic bluntness: “The military doesn’t keep you. Neither does corporate America. You pass 75 in government, it’s time to pass the torch. Grab your golf clubs, enjoy yourself.” Emanuel, never shy about pointing to his own reflection, made it clear the policy would apply to himself as well—no grandfather clauses for the grandfather-aged.

It’s not just idle talk. If enforced tomorrow, the policy would put President Biden and Donald Trump, both already well past the hypothetical cutoff, directly in its crosshairs. Congress would lose 17 senators and 45 House members—names with long shadows like Chuck Grassley or Bernie Sanders—and the Supreme Court bench would thin, forcing out both Clarence Thomas and Samuel Alito. Even Chief Justice John Roberts and Sonia Sotomayor would feel the clock ticking uncomfortably close.

Emanuel’s case, though, isn’t just about age for age’s sake. He ties his argument into the wider tangle of ethical controversies Washington can’t seem to shake. Cash and gifts flowing to justices, members of Congress trading stocks, executive branch drama bleeding into the spotlight—it all, he argues, festers when the same people keep hanging on. He talks about “draining the swamp,” but with a twist: If draining means anything, it has to mean new faces.

Whether Emanuel’s vision is legally workable is, to say the least, uncertain. Federal judges are appointed for life under the Constitution. Congress has never been known for rushing to limit its own power. Any age limit might trigger a constitutional challenge the minute it was signed into law. But as he told Politico, that’s not reason enough to dodge the fight.

In one way, Emanuel is picking up on a sentiment that’s been seeping quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) through both parties. Pew’s data from last year is pretty blunt: over three-quarters of both Democratic and Republican voters say they like the idea of an upper age limit for federal leads. Among Democrats, 82% would gladly retire older justices. The numbers are almost a mirror image among Republicans. The rarest of D.C. phenomena—bipartisan agreement—lurks within reach.

Others beat him to some part of the punch. Nikki Haley, during her GOP primary run, floated mandatory cognitive testing for officials over 75. Critics and late-night sketch writers have had no shortage of material from Biden and Trump’s campaign-trail gaffes or meandering speeches. But Emanuel proposes something concrete, and, in a way, final—no tests, no loopholes. Just a ticking clock, and then, gone.

There are, of course, other ways of managing the gerontocracy. Term limits have been discussed ad infinitum, and the presidency already comes with a hard ceiling. Why not Congress? Why not the courts? Critics of Emanuel’s proposal have fired back that wisdom doesn’t expire at 75, and institutional memory is worth preserving, especially in an era of rapid change and polarization.

But if you stroll through the halls of the Capitol, it’s clear this isn’t a question that will vanish anytime soon. The median age in Congress is now 64—a handful of decades older, on average, than the constituents represented. New rules may hit a constitutional brick wall, but the underlying discomfort has plenty of life left in it.

For now, it’s just an argument—Emanuel’s line in the sand. Whether anyone in office will take serious steps toward such reform, or whether the courts would even allow it, is as murky as ever. Still, the debate has found a new voice. And in a city that often seems allergic to change, even raising the question is a kind of progress.

It’s easy to lose track of time in Washington. Power lingers in the hands of the same familiar faces– year after year, decade after decade. But Rahm Emanuel, a fixture in Democratic politics and not exactly a stranger to aging machines himself, recently stirred up a hornet’s nest at the Center for American Progress: He wants to see a blanket age cap for federal officeholders, across all three branches. Seventy-five years old—then you’re out. No exceptions, not even for himself, should his whispered plans for 2028 move forward.Emanuel didn’t tiptoe around the subject. Addressing a room split between laughter and raised eyebrows, he tossed out the proposal with characteristic bluntness: “The military doesn’t keep you. Neither does corporate America. You pass 75 in government, it’s time to pass the torch. Grab your golf clubs, enjoy yourself.” Emanuel, never shy about pointing to his own reflection, made it clear the policy would apply to himself as well—no grandfather clauses for the grandfather-aged.It’s not just idle talk. If enforced tomorrow, the policy would put President Biden and Donald Trump, both already well past the hypothetical cutoff, directly in its crosshairs. Congress would lose 17 senators and 45 House members—names with long shadows like Chuck Grassley or Bernie Sanders—and the Supreme Court bench would thin, forcing out both Clarence Thomas and Samuel Alito. Even Chief Justice John Roberts and Sonia Sotomayor would feel the clock ticking uncomfortably close.Emanuel’s case, though, isn’t just about age for age’s sake. He ties his argument into the wider tangle of ethical controversies Washington can’t seem to shake. Cash and gifts flowing to justices, members of Congress trading stocks, executive branch drama bleeding into the spotlight—it all, he argues, festers when the same people keep hanging on. He talks about “draining the swamp,” but with a twist: If draining means anything, it has to mean new faces.Whether Emanuel’s vision is legally workable is, to say the least, uncertain. Federal judges are appointed for life under the Constitution. Congress has never been known for rushing to limit its own power. Any age limit might trigger a constitutional challenge the minute it was signed into law. But as he told Politico, that’s not reason enough to dodge the fight.In one way, Emanuel is picking up on a sentiment that’s been seeping quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) through both parties. Pew’s data from last year is pretty blunt: over three-quarters of both Democratic and Republican voters say they like the idea of an upper age limit for federal leads. Among Democrats, 82% would gladly retire older justices. The numbers are almost a mirror image among Republicans. The rarest of D.C. phenomena—bipartisan agreement—lurks within reach.Others beat him to some part of the punch. Nikki Haley, during her GOP primary run, floated mandatory cognitive testing for officials over 75. Critics and late-night sketch writers have had no shortage of material from Biden and Trump’s campaign-trail gaffes or meandering speeches. But Emanuel proposes something concrete, and, in a way, final—no tests, no loopholes. Just a ticking clock, and then, gone.There are, of course, other ways of managing the gerontocracy. Term limits have been discussed ad infinitum, and the presidency already comes with a hard ceiling. Why not Congress? Why not the courts? Critics of Emanuel’s proposal have fired back that wisdom doesn’t expire at 75, and institutional memory is worth preserving, especially in an era of rapid change and polarization.But if you stroll through the halls of the Capitol, it’s clear this isn’t a question that will vanish anytime soon. The median age in Congress is now 64—a handful of decades older, on average, than the constituents represented. New rules may hit a constitutional brick wall, but the underlying discomfort has plenty of life left in it.For now, it’s just an argument—Emanuel’s line in the sand. Whether anyone in office will take serious steps toward such reform, or whether the courts would even allow it, is as murky as ever. Still, the debate has found a new voice. And in a city that often seems allergic to change, even raising the question is a kind of progress.