I listened to the Trump-Biden debate with some kind of horror on BART. I’m not a fan of Biden but still, the shock of hearing him stumble through the event overrode any political disagreements. I felt a deep concern and pity for Biden (and all of us). What was it that was happening here? I left when they started talking about golf. The friend who I was staying with that night got a text from another friend about the debate. It simply said “haha, we’re all going to die.”
For the Trump presidency and now through the bulk of the Biden presidency, I have lived in an inter-generational community. It started as a farm cum Zen temple in the 1970s and has grown steadily since then. Children have been born, raised, and left the community. Placentas are buried under dogwood trees, and ashes of former abbots sit beneath tan oaks. People cycle in and out, some staying for a few weeks, others for months, some for years, others for decades or even lifetimes. I came for two weeks and stayed for five years. It is, of course, far from Eden (though it sort of looks like it). Steady turnover makes institutional memory short and understaffing often leads to an exhaustion that makes it hard to pass on the best of the past, let alone adapt with graciousness to the challenges of a changed world. It takes great energy to meet the moment exactly as it is and cultivate the acuity to see what is needed in that moment.
But it’s a major misstep to assume that energy and acuity are the hallmarks of youth. In December, a number of community elders began to retire, and every few months since then, a few more follow. They are stepping away due to pre-determined dates established by the governors of the non-profit organization, who have decided elders must retire from the community once they hit a certain age. This season of forced exits has been a mild trauma to the whole community. We have lost the privilege of having, on a daily basis, the insight of these elders. We have been deprived of the kind of wisdom that accumulates when we work alongside someone who embodies a particular human practice. And, we’re also missing the vim of elders in their 80s who were working more effectively and with more palpable joy than many of the 20 year olds beside them.
It is true too that not everyone ages the same way. The President Biden on stage on that late June night reflected the reality that aging may bring repetitions, convolutions, and (if the elder is lucky) reassurances on the part of the interlocutor. Of course it was jarring to watch. Though I think that’s due in part to the ageism in this country that has no patience for a conversation that isn’t content or goal-oriented. But here comes my second consideration around the discourse of the President’s age and his candidacy. It has to do with how Americans view work.
When I first came to the Zen Center, beloved people in my life referred to it as taking a break. I had been working in city government in New York City and like everyone else I shared that work with, cared about it with my whole being–though unlike many others, my immediate safety and livelihood was not on the line the moment Trump announced his candidacy. Still, I am not independently wealthy and to step away from a clear path of income and stability seemed, well, stupid. As I stayed longer and longer, and my job marketability dropped and dropped, my beloveds responded with waves of bewilderment, outrage, confusion, support, and acceptance. Central to all these conversational flows is the American faith that worth is tied to work—you work until you cannot, and then you are, for all intents and purposes, obsolete and worthless. This may be a reductive rendition (of another reduction), but I’m guessing it’s familiar enough to Americans that it demands little nuancing. It was surely in the air as we took in the calls for Biden to renounce his candidacy. It’s behind the notion Biden has served his purpose. A living testament to planned obsolescence, it is time for him to go. I do not know what goes on in Biden’s head, but I am willing to bet he feels an imperative—conscious or unconscious—to prove that he’s not worthless. That is enough to strike a chord of compassion in my heart for a candidate about whom I have severe moral qualms.
Though the bulk of this essay was written before Biden stepped out of the race, the concern stands strong. The country has dodged an imminent dictatorship if Trump does not take office in January 2025, but that does not mean we have addressed the corrosive attitudes in this country towards intergenerational respect and care. It is a defeat in its own right, if we stop after blocking obvious fascism and ignore a backward progression that disregards human dignity and worth.
The way we see our way forward is not by reinforcing the same ideologies and belief systems that have led us into darkness in the first place. It is by opening our eyes, seeing what’s actually here, and how we may respond differently. I have learned more about hard work, and showing up consistently and with forbearance and dedication, from the 80-year-olds I’ve harvested, cooked, and argued alongside than any other group of people in my life. And I have learned more about bowing out of a role with grace and about coping with change from those same people. We have no hope if we pin all our hopes on the most “productive” individuals. We have great hope if we allow each other to rest in the energy of whatever season we find ourselves in.