One half of America’s “gerontocracy problem” is quite well known. Our last two presidents have turned 80 while in office. The median age of the U.S. Senate is 65, the age when Americans are eligible for Medicare. For House members, the median age is 58.
The median age for governors is 62. And for the 7,386 elected state legislators, a 2024 study by Rutgers’ Eagleton Institute of Politics put their average age in the mid-50s—with more state legislators older than 80 than under 30.
Far less discussed is the other half of America’s gerontocracy problem. It’s the age of those voting.
Fewer than one in four eligible citizens cast ballots during the 2026 primary election cycle, in which voters selected Democratic and Republican nominees for more than 6,000 federal, statewide, and state legislative offices. Once all states’ voting files are available, the median age of 2026’s primary electorate will likely be like what a national study of the 2024 state primary cycle revealed: Roughly 65 years old.
Since the nomination cycle began in early March, I’ve tracked primary election vote totals and official state voter registration figures for all 50 states. A collaboration with data analysis firm HaystaqDNA and L2, a national list vendor, has also allowed me access to official age-based primary election voter files for more than two dozen states.
Here are some of the most important takeaways:
In Pennsylvania—one of 30 states where voters formally affiliate with political parties—the median age of registered Democrats casting ballots was 65. Pennsylvania’s Republican voters were even grayer, with a median age of 70.
Michigan doesn’t officially register voters by party. But among voters who decided to weigh in on the Republican side, the median age was 68, compared to 60 for Democrats.
(Even if Abdul El-Sayed won the votes of every 250,000 18- to 34-year-old who cast a Democratic ballot—an obvious absurdity—most of his 745,000 primary votes still came from much older voters.)
Perhaps the biggest age differential was in Texas, where both parties had hard-fought (and expensive) primary contests between young U.S. Senate candidates. The median age of Texas voters who cast Republican ballots was 65—compared to 53 among those who voted Democratic.
Texas’s Democratic electorate also had the highest share (21 percent) of 18–34-year-old voters of any state.
Apply a bit of eighth-grade math, and America’s primary elections have become even more unrepresentative.
Assume an eligible citizen turnout rate of just 20 percent (involving both major parties), in a district or state with a solid 60-40 percent advantage for one of those parties. Win half the votes in the dominant party’s primary contest—which translates into a truly anemic 6 percent of all eligible citizens—and your path to power is virtually guaranteed.
If it’s a three-way race, that “magic number” is closer to 4 percent.
None of the above should be taken as criticism of older voters. Younger voters shouldn’t be excoriated for low participation either.
Indeed, the “enthusiasm gap” between older and younger voters is a chasm. As a recent New York Times Sienna poll revealed, a paltry 4 percent of 18- to 44-year-olds are “very satisfied” with the Democratic Party. Meanwhile, another (and presumably different) 4 percent say they’re “very satisfied” with the Republican Party.
Each party, of course, could field candidates who appeal more to younger voters. However you feel about Zohran Mamdani, in his 2025 Democratic primary election for New York City mayor, turnout among 18-29 voters (35 percent) was higher than in any other age cohort.
That voter turnout steadily increases with age (until around 75 or 80) is one of the longest-established axioms in American politics. Mamdani’s turnout dynamic was unprecedented in any election I’m aware of.
Several changes also hold genuine promise for pulling more younger voters into the electorate.
For example, three U.S. states currently run “totally open” primary election models in which all voters receive a single ballot. All candidates—including those affiliated with minor parties, or none at all—can run, with the top vote-getters then advancing to the general election, regardless of their party registration (or lack thereof).
Two U.S. states ran a “top two” version of this system in 2026—California and Washington state—and Alaska ran a “top four” primary in which ranked-choice voting (RCV) will be used in November to determine the ultimate winner if no candidate wins 50 percent of the vote outright.
All three states far exceeded the national turnout average of 25 percent of registered voters—especially in California (41 percent overall turnout) and Washington state (38 percent).
California’s turnout rate among registered voters ages 18–34 (23.5 percent) exceeded the primary election turnout among all voters in at least 20 states. This is even more remarkable given that California’s 18–34 voting cohort is predominantly Hispanic, a group whose turnout consistently lags behind that of white voters. (The L2 data show California’s Hispanic turnout among 18- to 44-year-olds at 20 percent—again, higher than turnout among voters of all ages in many states!—and white turnout among 18- to 34-year-olds at 32 percent.)
As for Washington state, its 18–34 turnout rate was a respectable 17 percent—at or nearly double the rate in states that had even higher-profile nomination contests on their ballots, including North Carolina (8 percent); Ohio (8 percent); Arizona (9 percent); Pennsylvania (9 percent); and Georgia (11 percent).
However, open primary advocates face stiff headwinds as party leaders (and their allied interest groups) tend to oppose this approach.
Six statewide open primary ballot measures in 2024 were all defeated. Alaska’s system survived a statewide vote by less than 1 percent—and this fall voters face another repeal attempt.
This fall, there’s just one such effort—a top two proposal in Massachusetts (Proposition 3)—that current polls show as evenly divided. Not surprisingly, party-faithful opponents are conjuring up horror scenarios, like two Republicans advancing in heavily Democratic districts.
But such situations have proven rare; far more common are competitive general election races in one-party-dominant districts that at least force same-party candidates to campaign actively.
Two other states that ran more traditional 2026 primaries—in which both Democratic and Republican nominees were selected—also saw impressive turnout among 18-34 voters: Oregon (19.5 percent) and Colorado (19 percent).
Along with California and Washington state, these two states also use “Vote at Home” election systems that automatically mail ballots to all active registered voters. Voters can mail their ballots back, return them in person, or choose not to vote. Oregon’s overall turnout rate—42 percent—is also notable because its primary system is fully closed. Nearly half of Oregon’s non-affiliated and minor-party voters were not allowed to vote for major-party nominees.
Unlike some other states, none of these boasted especially compelling candidates who garnered national media attention. So which policy did the heaviest lifting in boosting turnout—the “top two” or “Vote at Home” election systems approach—or was it a combination of both in two of these states?
It’s difficult to say. But even more important is this: There’s no inherent reason we should resign ourselves to these determinative but “micro-turnout” elections in which 9 of 10 younger voters are no-shows—and most who do cast ballots were born before astronauts landed on the moon.
Next week, even if the outcome provides great hope to those of us worried about the future of American democracy, let’s not play make-believe.
When it comes to how we elect more of the nation’s key political offices, our democracy is far more enfeebled and unrepresentative than most of us care to admit. This demands far more attention than we’ve been willing to give it to date.
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