On Political Addiction to Power and Leaders Who Cannot Let Go
US Senator Mitch McConnell returned to office this week after a 3-month absence following a fall and a subsequent illness. At 84, the Senator appeared in a wheelchair and cast his first vote since June, helping advance the nomination of a federal judge. His return was presented as an act of determination. McConnell himself described his recovery as “a long and often frustrating process,” complicated by the lingering effects of childhood polio.
There is something undeniably human in that perseverance. But there is also something institutionally troubling in the fact that the return of a single elderly senator can become a matter of national political consequence. In a closely divided chamber, one member’s presence—or absence—can affect the government’s ability to conduct its business.
The question, then, is not whether McConnell should be admired for returning to work. It is whether a political system should become so dependent on any one individual that personal health becomes a governing variable.
McConnell’s case is not unique. It is a symptom of a broader problem that stretches across the democratic world and beyond: political leaders who cannot, or will not, make way for the next generation.
The problem is not age. It is the attachment to power beyond the point of usefulness—and the systems that make departure difficult.
When Power Becomes a Lifetime Possession
Consider President Paul Biya of Cameroon.
In June, at the age of 93, Biya left Yaoundé for what his office described as a “brief private stay in Europe.” That brief stay became a 73-day absence. He returned from Geneva in August, but his limited public appearance did little to settle questions about his health or the exercise of presidential authority in his absence. Opposition figures described the country as operating on “autopilot.”
The controversy was not simply about an elderly president taking time away. It was about the uncertainty surrounding the continuity of government in a highly centralized political system.
Cameroon’s constitutional arrangements had previously placed the president of the Senate in the line of succession if the presidency became vacant. In April 2026, parliament approved a constitutional amendment reintroducing the office of vice president, abolished in 1972. The new VP would be appointed and dismissed by the president and would assume presidential duties in the event of death, resignation, or permanent incapacity. Supporters described the reform as a measure for continuity. Critics argued that it concentrated even more power in the presidency.
The reform also intensified speculation about succession. Some observers raised the possibility of a dynastic transition involving Biya’s son. The broader concern remains legitimate: when succession depends primarily on the preferences of an incumbent, institutional continuity can become inseparable from personal rule.
Biya has governed Cameroon since 1982. Much of the country’s population has known no other president. In a nation where young people constitute a substantial share of the population, the distance between the age of the leadership and the age of the governed raises an unavoidable question: when does continuity become stagnation?
Different Systems, Similar Dependence
McConnell and Biya are not equivalent figures.
One is a senator in a constitutional republic with established institutions, competitive elections, and a defined term of office. The other is an authoritarian ruler who has governed Cameroon for more than four decades. Their political circumstances, powers, and responsibilities are fundamentally different.
Yet their cases illuminate a common institutional vulnerability: the tendency to treat political authority as a lifetime possession rather than a temporary public trust.
In McConnell’s case, the concern is not that he returned to the Senate. It is that the narrow balance of power can make the presence of one aging lawmaker disproportionately consequential.
In Biya’s case, the concern is more profound: the concentration of executive authority, the uncertainty surrounding succession, and the absence of transparent mechanisms for ensuring continuity when the president is unavailable.
These are different problems. But both invite the same question: What happens when institutions become too dependent on individuals?
A Global Pattern
The phenomenon is hardly confined to Washington or Yaoundé.
Across the world, political systems struggle with entrenched incumbency, aging leadership, dynastic politics, and the reluctance of established parties to make room for successors.
In the US, the advanced age of several senior lawmakers has prompted recurring debates about congressional renewal and the transparency of politicians’ health. In countries with weaker institutional checks, long-serving leaders have sometimes blurred the distinction between the state and the individual who governs it.
Elsewhere, political families continue to dominate public life. In such systems, leadership can become a form of inheritance, with public office passed from one generation to the next as though it were a family asset.
None of this is entirely new. But the persistence of these patterns raises concerns about political renewal, accountability, and the capacity of institutions to adapt.
A healthy political system should not depend on the indefinite survival of a particular leader, family, or political faction.
Why Leaders Refuse to Let Go
Why does political power become so difficult to relinquish?
The reasons are both structural and psychological.
Incumbency brings name recognition, donor networks, media access, institutional influence, and a considerable advantage over challengers. Political parties often protect familiar figures because they appear safer than untested alternatives. Supporters, too, may fear that a change in leadership will threaten their interests.
There is also the psychology of power. After decades in public life, office can become more than a job. It can become an identity, a source of status, and a shield against irrelevance.
For some leaders, stepping aside may feel like surrender. For others, it may raise uncomfortable questions about their legacy, their influence, or their future.
And for political parties, succession can be dangerous. A strong successor may eventually become a rival. So the incumbent remains, the alternatives are weakened, and renewal is postponed.
In Fiji, we have our own expression for the instinct to cling to what one has: vesu mona—the attachment to what is familiar, secure, or already possessed. In politics, that instinct can become especially powerful when office offers not only influence but protection, prestige, and access to resources.
The result is a political class that can reproduce itself while insisting that it is indispensable.
The Cost of Staying Too Long
The consequences are not merely generational.
When leadership becomes entrenched, younger talent struggles to emerge. New ideas are filtered through old political calculations. Succession planning becomes an exercise in loyalty rather than merit.
Institutions may begin to revolve around the leader rather than the office. Decisions become slower, accountability weaker, and public administration increasingly vulnerable to personal influence.
The risks become especially acute when a leader’s health deteriorates.
First comes the walking stick. Then the wheelchair. Then the questions: Who is really governing? Who makes the decisions? Who has access to the leader? What happens if the leader can no longer perform the duties of office?
These are not questions that should arise only during a medical crisis. They should be answered by institutions long before a crisis occurs.
A political system that has failed to prepare for succession can turn a private matter of health into a public emergency.
What Would a Healthier System Look Like?
The answer is not to purge older leaders from public life.
Experience matters. Institutional memory matters. Political wisdom often comes with age. A democracy should not confuse youth with competence or longevity with failure.
But transition must become normal, and succession must be institutional rather than personal.
That requires several reforms:
* Clearer term limits and retirement arrangements, where appropriate, to prevent the indefinite accumulation of power.
* Transparent and constitutionally sound procedures for dealing with incapacity and ensuring continuity of government.
* Appropriate health and financial disclosure requirements, balanced against legitimate privacy concerns.
* Stronger safeguards against political dynasties and conflicts of interest.
* Political parties that cultivate successors rather than suppress potential rivals.
* Electoral reforms that widen participation and reduce the advantages of entrenched incumbency.
* A political culture that values departure as much as achievement.
The goal is not to discard experience. It is to ensure that experience is passed on rather than used to justify permanent occupation of public office.
The Courage to Leave
McConnell’s return to the Senate is a reminder of personal determination. Biya’s long absence from Cameroon is a reminder of the risks that arise when a political system becomes too closely identified with one individual.
Neither story, by itself, proves that an elderly leader should leave office. Nor should age alone determine a politician’s fitness to serve.
But both cases invite a larger reflection on the relationship between leadership and institutions.
A government should not depend on the physical endurance of one person. A nation should not have to wait for a leader’s final departure before beginning to prepare for the future.
The deeper problem is not that old leaders remain.
It is that political systems sometimes make them too difficult to replace, too powerful to challenge, and too central to survive without.
And when that happens, personal frailty becomes a public crisis.
The true test of leadership is not merely the ability to hold power.
It is the wisdom to know when power must be shared, when successors must be prepared, and when the time has come to let go.
Pasifika Talanoa by a traveled ITaukei Fijian 