President Trump has just accomplished something remarkable—he has negotiated peace in the Middle East between Israel and Hamas, with the last surviving hostages set to return home. The Nobel Peace Prize will be announced tomorrow, and whether or not he actually wins it, it is well-deserved. Lately, I’ve wondered, if a president proves this successful, why should the American people be barred from electing him again? Why should Trump—or any president—be constitutionally forbidden from serving additional terms?
The 22nd Amendment wasn’t handed down from Mount Sinai or written by Madison in Philadelphia. It was a mid-century reaction, following Franklin D. Roosevelt’s unprecedented four electoral victories. Washington had stepped down after two terms; Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe followed suit. It was tradition, not law. FDR broke with that tradition, and the 22nd Amendment was the cudgel Congress used to henceforth enforce it.
But I fundamentally reject the notion that this is a necessary limit on the executive; to me, it is a limit on voters themselves.
Was Roosevelt more tyrannical because he was elected four times? His New Deal and wartime policies can certainly be critiqued, but his longevity itself was not tyranny—it was the will of the people. And in a democracy, isn’t that supposed to be the deciding factor? Contrast him with modern presidents like Joe Biden or Barack Obama, who reshaped entire sectors of policy through executive orders in one or two terms. The abuse of power has never been about years in office. It has been about the character of the man who occupies it.
And what exactly makes three terms inherently undemocratic? Or four? Why not one term only? The number itself is entirely arbitrary. If we intend to give voters choice, why deny them a desired continuity?
The Constitution, after all, is not infallible. We proved this very fact with Prohibition. The 18th Amendment banned alcohol; the 21st repealed it. Certainly, it’s a less Herculean task to get politicians in agreement on scotch and cabernet than presidential term limits, but it proves the point regardless.
What the 22nd really created was an artificial cap on popular leadership. It is as if a tree, still bearing fruit, is cut down mid-season by law. Imagine if Lincoln had survived and guided America through Reconstruction himself. Imagine if we, the people, could decide whether a leader’s work was finished or not, beyond eight years.
And here’s where America stands oddly apart from other democracies. Germany has no such limits: Angela Merkel governed for sixteen years, winning four consecutive elections. Canada has no cap either; Justin Trudeau was in power for ten and could have, in theory, kept going as long as he was re-elected (I acknowledge my conservative audience will not be thrilled by these examples, but stick with me). Britain has no formal limit—prime ministers like Thatcher and Blair each served a decade or more. France once allowed longer presidencies, and Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew held office nearly thirty years. By global democratic standards, America’s rigidity is, in fact, the exception, not the rule.
It also makes America look rather mercurial to the rest of the world. Our foreign policy swings like a pendulum: Bush does x, Obama does y, Trump does z, Biden does y, Trump does z, and so on. To our allies, it’s like dealing with different countries every four to eight years rather than the one superpower that we are.
For a nation that insists on being the world’s steady hand, we often act as a weathervane, spinning wildly from administration to administration. Continuity is not the enemy of democracy, but often its strength. Roosevelt’s long tenure gave the Allies confidence during World War II that America would not change course mid-battle. Continuity can stabilize economies, reassure allies, and prevent adversaries from exploiting times of uncertainty. Term limits force change even when voters do not desire it.
If you’re not yet convinced, ask yourself this: if term limits are truly so essential, why didn’t the Founders insist upon them? Why not the original Constitution? Why not in the century and a half that followed? If Washington, Madison, and Jefferson believed the republic could not survive without them, they had every opportunity to enshrine such instruction. They did not. It wasn’t until Truman, our 33rd president, that the 22nd came to be.
Supporters of the 22nd argue it prevents dictatorship. But history doesn’t support that. Stalin wasn’t stopped by a term limit. Neither was Castro. Neither was Chávez. Tyrants do not attain power because constitutions lack clauses (Hitler might be a notable exception, but only because the Weimar Constitution was immeasurably flawed). They attain and hold power because they crush opposition, muzzle dissent, and rig elections. And America has exceptionally robust checks and balances.
Many conservatives love term limits. We (myself excluded) often demand them for Congress and anyone who seems to get too cozy in office. But term limits can cause more problems than they solve. They throw everyone out. They assume people cannot be trusted as thoughtful voters.
But isn’t the ultimate term limit, simply, an election? If voters are so inclined, they can send a president home, every four years.
The 22nd Amendment does not safeguard democracy, it impedes it. It asserts that no matter how successful, how trusted, how beloved, or how necessary a president is, the people may not say encore beyond two terms.
So when Trump jokes—or half-jokes—about “Trump 2028,” perhaps the right response isn’t condemnation. Perhaps it’s reflection. Why not? If the people truly want him—or anyone else—why should they be barred? Washington’s restraint was noble, but it was voluntary. Roosevelt’s four terms did not transform America into a dictatorship.
No, the true safeguard of democracy is the voice of the American voter. If Washington trusted the people enough to step aside, perhaps we should trust the people enough to decide for themselves.