Donald Trump was born on
June 14, 1946. I was born on September 19 in that same year. That makes Trump two
months and five days older than me.
I live in a retirement
village in Canberra, Australia. I am unusual among my peers in that I still do
a little work — an afternoon of editing other people’s material for a local
website.
Donald Trump is the
President of the United States, responsible for decisions that in one way or
another have the potential to affect the lives of every person on the
planet.
I enjoy a social life
inside and outside the village. I attend the monthly happy hour, enjoy the
occasional lunch in the community centre and at least twice a week take a
20-minute walk to my favourite café for a coffee and an occasional chat with
friends.
Donald Trump has to manage
multiple crises at home and abroad, many resulting from his own decisions. He
has introduced a system of tariffs that have thrown world economies into chaos.
His failure to deal with the war in Ukraine has given impetus to the illegal
invaders.
I can spend my day quietly
reading or attending the regular bingo sessions the Village Social Committee
organises. There’s a monthly history talk and I can learn new things at
University of the Third Age (U3A) lectures.
Donald Trump signs lots of
Executive Orders, sacks people whose work makes him ‘look bad’ and plays a lot
of golf.
I have been diagnosed with
mild cognitive decline.
Trump has doctors who
claim he is perfectly capable of performing what many of his predecessors have
described as the loneliest most challenging in the world — one of whom (Lyndon
Johnson) said could not be done in less than a regular 16-hour day.
Even so, The White House medical
opinion appears to be that he will be able to perform these herculean tasks well
into his 80s.
This is dangerous. It is
irresponsible and for those of us who care for the planet and the people who
live on it — it is profoundly worrying.
I am writing this because I
can claim lived experience of what it takes to be a functioning human being in
their late 70s. I know that outwardly I can still present a reasonable face to
the world, hold a decent conversation, even sign an update to my will.
Yet behind the scenes,
when a piece of food on my fork misses my mouth and drops on the floor, when my
arthritic knee complains in wet weather, and when I go to the cupboard, then
wonder why I went there, I know I have limitations that were not there in my
60s.
There are days when I am
glad my evenings require no more than a dose of television and an early night;
when on a grey miserable morning I have no duties other than to feed and play
with the cats.
I am thankful I have a
companion of 40 years with whom I can share memories and plan adventures with,
even if they are rather tame compared with what we did together in our youth
and middle age.
No one, not even the
President of the United States, can withstand the march of time. Arteries
harden, muscles weaken, memory becomes less reliable.
Maybe a leader in his late
seventies and early eighties can survive with good people around him, Churchill
managed it in 1950s Britain even if he did occasionally doze off in Cabinet
meetings, but Trump’s monstrous ego demands that he should always be seen in
charge, and in his second Administration he has weeded out anyone who might
question his judgement however irrational, dangerous or downright stupid.
The people of the US are
responsible for this second Trump catastrophe and it will be up to them to put
it right, to seek to understand how they have allowed a person more than a
decade beyond the widely accepted age of retirement to find his way into the
most powerful office in the world.
For the billions of non-US
citizens who are still young enough to want a future in this world, there is
little that can be done other than to put their heads down and hope that America’s
flirtation with gerontocracy (after all Biden was 82 when he left office) will
end in 2028.