The world is experiencing a lesson in the perverse consequences of age. Age, it seems, brings wisdom, but also a kind of liberation. It imposes a sense of social duty, but also a deadline for personal achievement. To explain the disorder of the modern world, it is much more intellectually appropriate to point to economic trends and larger historical forces. But perhaps part of the story is that some older people are struggling for a legacy in the time they have left.
By Janan GANESH
Europe, not America, is the great exception. In a world of nation-states, it has the supranational EU. A world that understands the permanence of violence has come to believe it has outgrown such things. (Hence the embarrassing rush to rearm now.) And in a world of old leaders, its Macrons and Melons will increasingly stand out as miracles.
The numbers should astound us. Donald Trump, Xi Jinping, Narendra Modi, and Vladimir Putin are all in their seventies. So are Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, Israel’s Benjamin Netanyahu, South Africa’s Cyril Ramaphosa, and Brazil’s Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. Iran’s president and supreme leader are 70 and 86, respectively. The presidents of Nigeria and Indonesia are each 73. More than half the world’s population, and most of its land area and military capacity, are in the hands of men who are older than Ronald Reagan was when he entered the White House at what seemed like a precarious age of 69. One of the destabilizing forces in today’s world is the advancing age of those who lead it.
For one thing, the old leaders seem to be rushing to secure a legacy—a defining achievement—before time runs out for them. The unification of mainland China with Taiwan is an example of such a project. So is the revenge for Russia’s loss of prestige and “strategic depth” after the Cold War. Even Trump’s rush to find a solution in Ukraine, however unfavorable the details of such a peace may be to that nation, and to end world trade as we have known it, whatever the economic cost, shows an old man seeking to reach a deal in a hurry.
The problem with aging leaders is not their health – almost all of those mentioned above are strong and sane – but their incentives. In addition to not being promised as much time to make their mark, they don’t see decades of retirement during which they can suffer the legal and reputational penalties of any disastrous act committed in office.
We must understand, if not a paradox, then a surprise. Age, which is “supposed” to instill caution and restraint in people, often emboldens them. This is as true for voters as it is for their leaders. Who would have thought that the Western electorate would become more anti-establishment as the median age rose? It was disproportionately the elderly who brought us Brexit and Trump.
But it is the leaders who are worth dwelling on. Even if all these septuagenarian incumbents were to govern carefully, the other problem is that replacing long-established leaders is itself destabilizing. In a democracy, at least, there is a process—if Trump chooses to uphold the 22nd Amendment—but what is the succession plan for a Putin or a Xi? There is room not only for palace intrigue and counter-intrigue, but also for the kind of public dissent that would be unimaginable when a regime is at its peak. The Arab Spring happened in part because a group of North African leaders, such as Egypt’s then-octogenarian Hosni Mubarak, had aged together. Imagine several much more powerful countries having to replace calcified regimes at the same time.
And imagine predicting what comes after them. Putin and Erdogan have led their countries as head of government or state for almost a century. Xi and Modi have each been in power for more than a decade. When Ali Khamenei became supreme leader of Iran, the Soviet Union still existed. Netanyahu, like Lula, is a case in point. To some extent, these countries – or at least their states – are products of their current leaders. There are few experiences more frightening than asking a Western spy or diplomat how a post-Putin Russia might operate in the world. The answer you get is an elegant guess, or a shrug.
Someone will correct me, but I can’t think of another point in history when so many world leaders were reaching old age at the same time. (If “old age” sounds drastic, remember that nowhere is the life expectancy for men higher than 85.) Even on the eve of World War I, now remembered as an era of mustachioed rascals who sent teenagers to hell, the Kaiser was in his fifties.
How then has Europe, which now has the highest median age of any continent, managed to largely avoid the aging trend among its leaders?
It may have to do with the other ways in which the continent is extraordinary. In parts of the world that think in terms of strong power, clear lines of authority, and the nation as something like a family to be preserved, it is quite natural to find “parental” leaders. Where government is a technocratic exercise, the gradual adjustment of a prosperous peace, this will not be so true. Note that since Europe woke up to the harshness of the world with the invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Britain and Germany have elected unusually old heads of government. (Even then, neither Sir Keir Starmer nor Friedrich Merz are yet 70.)
However, the world is experiencing a lesson in the perverse consequences of age. Age, it seems, brings wisdom, but also a kind of liberation. It imposes a sense of social duty, but also a time limit for personal achievement. To explain the disorder of the modern world, it is much more intellectually appropriate to point to economic trends and larger historical forces. But perhaps part of the story is that some older people are scrambling for a legacy in the time they have left. If so, it follows that things will only get worse as their numbered days pass. (Financial Times)