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The Exit Coalition: A Bipartisan Chance to Defend the Institution
Apr 05, 2026
In the year marking the United States Semiquincentennial, dozens of members of Congress—from both parties—will quietly make a consequential decision: they will not return. Most coverage treats this as routine political churn—retirements, career moves, the normal rhythm of electoral life. But in a Congress defined by constraint and dysfunction, these departures create something rare and fleeting: freedom to act independently.
Fifty-plus lawmakers across the House and Senate are not seeking reelection in 2026—well above the typical 25 to 35 members who step aside in most election cycles. Republicans account for roughly 40 of those departures, including nearly 35 in the House. Some are retiring outright. Others are pursuing higher office. A smaller number are simply stepping away.
But raw numbers overstate the opportunity. Many of those departing remain politically constrained—candidates for governor or Senate seats, or members closely aligned with party leadership and future ambitions. Strip those away, and a more realistic pool emerges: perhaps a dozen to two dozen lawmakers, across both parties, who are truly positioned to act with relative independence in their final term.
That is not a large number. But in a closely divided Congress, it does not have to be.
For lawmakers not seeking reelection, the usual pressures loosen. The threat of a primary fades. Leadership’s leverage—committee assignments, campaign funding, future advancement—diminishes. The daily calculations that shape nearly every vote begin to change. What remains, at least in theory, is something closer to independent judgment guided by principles.
The question is whether that independence will be used—or simply allowed to pass, quietly, on the way out the door.
Modern Congress operates within a tight web of incentives that spans both parties. Members are expected to align with party strategy, avoid politically risky compromises, and reinforce narratives that mobilize their base. These pressures are not new, but they have intensified to the point that even broadly supported ideas often fail to reach a vote. Procedure has become a gatekeeper. Leadership has become a bottleneck. And individual members, regardless of party, often act accordingly.
Because these pressures are shared, the opportunity—and the responsibility—are shared as well.
Departing members occupy a different space. They are not entirely free—some seek other offices, others hope to maintain influence—but they are freer than they will ever be again. That partial freedom, if used collectively rather than individually, could have an outsized impact in a closely divided Congress.
What would that look like?
It would not require a grand ideological realignment or a new faction competing for control. In fact, the opposite is true. The most credible and effective effort would be narrowly focused and temporary: a small, bipartisan coalition of departing lawmakers committed not to policy outcomes, but to the functioning of the institution itself. In this 250th year, a moment not for celebration alone, but for institutional reflection.
Call it an exit coalition. Call it an institutional caucus. The name matters less than the purpose.
Such a group could begin with a simple, public statement of principles: a commitment to the rule of law, to the peaceful transfer of power, public rights, the constitutional role of Congress as a coequal branch of government, and to the basic expectation that legislation with broad support should be allowed to receive a vote. These are not partisan positions. They are procedural and constitutional ones—foundational to any functioning legislature.
From there, the coalition’s actions could remain limited but meaningful.
First, it could coordinate selectively on key votes where institutional integrity is at stake—must-pass legislation, funding agreements, and matters of congressional authority. Acting together, even a small number of members can alter outcomes or, at a minimum, force broader negotiation.
Second, it could make greater use of existing procedural tools that are often sidelined. Discharge petitions, for example, are designed precisely for moments when leadership bottlenecks prevent widely supported measures from advancing. Used strategically, they can restore a measure of majority rule and transparency to a system that increasingly struggles to reflect common sense.
Third, the coalition could operate in public, not as a protest movement, but as a reminder—a wake-up. Joint appearances, shared statements, and coordinated messaging would frame their actions not as defection, but as adherence to institutional responsibility, to constitutional design, and to the long-term health of the legislative branch and the government itself.
Skepticism is warranted. Many departing members still have ambitions. Some are running for higher office, where party alignment remains essential. Others may prefer a quiet exit to a contentious final chapter. And the incentives that shape congressional behavior do not disappear entirely, even in a final term.
But the countervailing force is equally real: legacy.
At the end of a congressional career, the usual metrics—fundraising totals, partisan wins, media appearances—begin to recede. What remains is a record. Not just how a member voted, but how they chose to act when the constraints were lowest and the stakes, arguably, the highest.
The Semiquincentennial will invite reflection on the country’s founding principles. It will also, whether intended or not, cast a light on the current state of its governing institutions. Congress does not need to be perfect to meet that moment. But it does need to function.
Departing lawmakers from both parties have a narrow window to help ensure that it does.
If you are leaving Congress in 2027, this is the only remaining political asset that is uniquely yours: independence. It cannot be carried forward. It cannot be reclaimed later. It exists only now.
Use it collectively, and it could alter the trajectory of a difficult moment. Use it individually, and it may not be enough to make a difference.
Or do not use it at all—and accept that the final chapter of a public career, in a year of historic reflection, passed much like the rest: constrained, cautious, and ultimately indistinguishable.
The Founders did not design Congress to be comfortable. They designed it to be accountable. For a brief period in 2026, a small group of lawmakers will have the rare ability to act with less concern for political consequences and greater accountability to the institution and the country.
History has a way of noticing such moments.
It also has a way of noticing when they are missed.
Jeff Dauphin is currently retired - Blogging on the "Underpinnings of a Broken Government." Founded and ran two environmental information & newsletter businesses for 36 years. Facilitated enactment of major environmental legislation in Michigan in the 70s. Community planning and engineering. BSCE Michigan Technological University.
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Leaders Are Stepping Away. Here’s What We Can Do About It.
Apr 05, 2026
From statehouses to Capitol Hill, public servants are stepping away from elected office. In Congress, retirement announcements are at their second-highest level in a century.
Why is this happening? Some leaders are worried about political violence. Others are frustrated by how difficult it has become to get things done. Many are simply burned out.
I remember a time when fierce policy disagreements could still end with a handshake. When public service, however imperfect, was anchored by a shared sense of purpose. Watching that culture erode has been painful, both for those in office and for the people they serve.
At LEE, we’ve been asking what needs to change. We know most leaders do not leave office because they stop caring. They leave because they feel overwhelmed, frustrated, and unsupported. Too often, they lack the tools, support, and community needed to remain in public service.
That’s why we’ve invested more intentionally to help leaders grow and stay in office.
Building on our Courageous Leadership Conference, last year we launched American Roundtable: an invitation-only convening for a select group of LEE elected officials serving in politically mixed, often difficult environments. We brought together state legislators, city council members, and other local leaders from across the country for a three-day gathering designed to offer what the political system rarely does: space to step away from the noise, reflect, learn, and engage seriously across lines of difference.
This intentional design mattered. Members told us the restorative environment helped them slow down enough to think more clearly, listen more openly, and reconnect with why they entered public service in the first place. The conversations were guided by people like John Deasy, Shaka Mitchell, and me, who brought policy depth, governing experience, and a real understanding of what it takes to lead when trust is thin and the stakes are high.
If we want leaders to solve hard problems in their communities and move beyond reflexive partisanship, we have to create spaces that help them practice a different way of leading. The American Roundtable is one step in that direction.
What our leaders need
We often talk about leadership as if it’s something that just happens. But the truth is that it takes practice.
This is even harder to do given the enormous strain folks are under. Members of Congress face relentless fundraising pressure and often the burden of maintaining two homes to do their jobs effectively. State and local officials are often balancing public service with full-time jobs, family responsibilities, and modest or inconsistent pay. In 2024, state legislator salaries ranged from just $100 to $142,000, with an average of $44,320. Over time, those realities make public service harder to sustain and can quietly shut out people who otherwise might run and lead.
These are the people making decisions about our schools, our safety, and our communities. Yet too often, we do not give them the leadership training, support structures, or breathing room they need to do the work well.
As one participant shared, “We’re not investing enough early in people’s political careers — in their orientation, their mindset, and their ability to work across lines of difference.” That’s exactly why we created the American Roundtable.
What we learned together
During our time together, a few reflections became clear.
First, effectively understanding and navigating differences takes time. Leadership is not about who can dominate a room. It is about who can listen long enough to understand what is really at stake for someone else.
Second, people are more nuanced than the stories we tell about them. We all carry assumptions about one another until we sit across the table from one another and have deep, direct conversations.
Third, values live in tension. Leadership often means navigating competing priorities, knowing when to hold firm, when to compromise, and how to move with integrity through complexity.
Fourth, leaders need community. No one can do this work alone. We all need trusted spaces where we can be candid, challenged, and supported, and relationships that force us to question our assumptions and grow.
Finally, today’s political climate too often pushes people toward anger and division. The harder work is choosing empathy and curiosity over outrage.
Where we go from here
If we want a different kind of politics, we have to invest in a different kind of leadership.
The American Roundtable can be a model for a different kind of leadership development: one that gives leaders the space, tools, and relationships to grow.
If you are a leader in the office and feeling the weight of this moment, do not carry it alone. Reach out. Find your roundtable, whether through LEE or in your own community.
And if you care about the future of public service, support leaders who choose nuance over noise. Demand systems that reflect the value we say this work holds.
Real change still happens when people are willing to sit together, listen, and do the hard work of understanding one another.
That’s where it begins, with us.
Mildred Otero serves as the President of LEE.Keep ReadingShow less
Caution tape near the front entrance of Temple Israel a day after an active shooter incident on March 13, 2026 in West Bloomfield, Michigan. Authorities say a suspect who rammed a vehicle into the synagogue and opened fire was killed after an exchange of gunfire with security, and the incident is being investigated as a targeted act of violence.
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A Tale of Two Cities
Apr 05, 2026
On March 12, Civic Spirit Day for high school took place at the New York Historical Society. Over 80 students and faculty from nine Jewish, Catholic, and Christian schools across Metropolitan New York gathered to learn about our nation’s history and explore the responsibilities and freedoms they share as citizens.
As soon as the program was over, I opened my iPhone and immediately stopped in my tracks as I heard the news about the terrorist attack on Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, MI. Thankfully, no one was killed, but no one in that community was untouched by the fear and anxiety that stems from senseless antisemitism and hatred.
Suddenly, I realized that at the same exact moment that our diverse group of students in New York was engaged in thoughtful conversation about “Telling America’s Story”, another type of story was unfolding 600 miles away as difference was threatened by fatal force.
The tale of these two cities collided in my mind. This is not the first time such a comparison has been made, as Charles Dickens writes:
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.
It was an age of wisdom; it was an age of foolishness.
It was an epoch of belief; it was an epoch of incredulity.
It was a season of light; it was a season of darkness.
It was the spring of hope; it was the winter of despair.
There was everything before us; there was nothing before us.
At the very same moment in two different cities, two visions of society were unfolding, one seeking to build the civic bonds that hold us together, the other seeking to tear them apart.
Watching students who did not know each other at 9 am exchanging their contact information just six hours later emphasized all of the positives Dickens mentions: hope, belief, and possibilities. However, the tsunami of hatred and violence flooding our country makes any advancement of societal cohesion feel illusory.
This contrast captures what is at stake today.
As our nation approaches the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, this responsibility becomes even more urgent. More than a national birthday, the Semiquincentennial represents our greatest opportunity to renew the civic commitments that allow our society to live together with an informed sense of common cause.
If we want the American experiment to flourish in its next chapter, we must invest in the civic education of the next generation. Civics serves to prepare the next generation to be informed and engaged citizens in their country, and in the USA that means participating in self-government. Further, the bedrock of civic education is the belief that democratic societies do not sustain themselves automatically. This requires citizens who understand their shared history, can engage one another across differences, and feel responsible for the communities they call home.
When students gather to learn together, listen to one another, and explore the responsibilities of citizenship, they strengthen the very bonds that extremists seek to tear apart. And in doing so, they help ensure that even in difficult times, “the spring of hope” will always prevail.
Charles Savenor is a rabbi and executive director of Civic Spirit, a nonpartisan organization that provides training and resources to faith-based schools across the United States.
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ASA's 322-foot-tall Artemis II Space Launch System rocket and Orion spacecraft lifts off from Launch Complex 39B at Kennedy Space Center on April 1, 2026 in Cape Canaveral, Florida.
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Moonshot hope amid despair of Trump’s Iran war
Apr 05, 2026
On Wednesday evening, two historic things happened, almost simultaneously.
First, four courageous astronauts successfully lifted off from Launch Complex 39B at Kennedy Space Center aboard Artemis II, which will attempt the first lunar flyby in more than 50 years.
It was a stunning sight, and one that turned out more than three million people just who watched the official NASA launch broadcast alone.
It recalled a nostalgia for the days of Apollo, which excited and inspired so many Americans, and for just a moment, stirred up the kind of patriotism and hope that’s felt hard to come by in recent months.
In a parallel universe this would have been the perfect moment for the president to address the nation with a soaring speech marking the moment. We could have seen the kind of speech John F. Kennedy gave in 1962, inspiring an anxious nation to believe in possibility and progress amidst a backdrop of Cold War fears.
But that’s not the universe or timeline we’re living in. America is at war, and we don’t really know why.
President Trump finally delivered his first national address more than a month into his self-proclaimed — and unauthorized — “excursion” into Iran, an incursion that’s resulted in numerous U.S. casualties, strangled the free-flow of oil, created turmoil in the markets and world economies, and created fear among the U.S. and our allies that our actions will have dangerous ripple effects in the region and here at home for months, possibly years.
But a speech that was meant to satisfy the concerns of a skeptical public — two-thirds of which disapprove of Trump’s war and don’t believe he has a clear plan — failed to meet the mark.
Despite Trump’s rah-rah declarations of victory and decimation, no one with even a cursory knowledge of Iran’s history and capabilities could believe this reckless and aimless war of attrition is anywhere close to being over.
Offering no real plans to recover the roughly 1,000 pounds of highly enriched uranium buried in the rubble at Natanz and Isfahan, offering no real plans to liberate the people of Iran from a regime that’s thus far no different from the last one, offering no real plans to reopen the Strait of Hormuz and the world’s free flow of oil, Trump blustered, boasted, and balked, all while wagging an indignant finger at our allies for not jumping into this ill-advised quagmire with us.
And in fact, in his attempt to brag about how short this war has lasted, his comparisons to other lengthy conflicts like Vietnam and the Iraq war only reminded Americans how costly and consuming this one is likely to be.
The speech also comes against the backdrop of Trump’s threats to withdraw from NATO, the post-World War II treaty that’s kept Soviet and other tyrant states from attacking the Western alliance for more than 70 years.
While Trump may not understand its importance, the world certainly does, and is collectively rebuking his reckless efforts to weaken the body that is crucial for ensuring our own national security and stability and that of Europe.
But times feel fraught, without question. A corrupt, ignorant, and self-motivated wannabe dictator is prosecuting an ill-advised war using American blood and treasure, all while threatening to isolate our nation and endanger others even further. He’s wreaking economic havoc at home and across the globe, and without much care or consideration.
If we look at this mess Trump’s created too closely or for too long, it feels impossible to have hope for a better tomorrow. Perhaps that’s why now, more than ever, we need to look up and away, toward the stars, where actual heroes are leading the way. We’re all cheering you on, Artemis II.
S.E. Cupp is the host of "S.E. Cupp Unfiltered" on CNN.
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