President Joseph R. Biden Jr
On a chilly January afternoon in 2021, amidst profound national turmoil, Joseph R. Biden Jr. stood on the West Front of the U.S. Capitol, placed his hand on a hefty family Bible held by his wife Jill, and took the oath of office to become the 46th President of the United States. The scene was starkly different from inaugurations past: the National Mall was largely empty, save for flags representing absent spectators, a precaution due to the raging COVID-19 pandemic. Just two weeks earlier, the very Capitol steps where Biden now stood had been the site of violent insurrection. Now, as the oldest man ever to assume the presidency at 78, Biden addressed a nation in pain and disarray. He spoke of unity, of restoring the “soul of America,” and of overcoming the cascading crises at hand—pandemic, economic collapse, political division. The journey that brought Joe Biden to this pinnacle was long, winding, and marked by personal tragedy, decades of public service, and a resilient faith in the power of government to do good.
Joe Biden’s life began in the blue-collar city of Scranton, Pennsylvania. Born November 20, 1942, he was the first of four siblings in an Irish Catholic family. His father, Joe Sr., worked various jobs—cleaning boilers, selling cars—and his mother, Catherine “Jean” Biden, was the family’s heart, instilling in young Joe a fierce belief in perseverance and dignity. The Bidens fell on hard times when Scranton’s economy declined in the 1950s. When Joe was 10, the family moved to Claymont, Delaware, in search of better opportunities, eventually settling in the neighboring town of Wilmington. There, Joe Sr. found more stable work selling used cars. The experience of seeing his father struggle but never lose his optimism left an indelible mark on Joe. It gave him a genuine relatability to working-class struggles and a chip on his shoulder about proving oneself.
As a child, Joe Biden faced a challenge that shaped his character: a severe stutter. Classmates mocked him with nicknames like “Dash” (a reference to Morse code’s dots and dashes). Determined to overcome it, Biden would recite poems in front of the mirror and practice speaking to himself. The effort paid off; by his late teens, he had largely conquered his stutter, a triumph of grit that forged empathy in him for others’ struggles. Still, decades later, in moments of high stress or fatigue, one could occasionally catch traces of that childhood impediment in his speech, though he seldom speaks of it unless to encourage others with stutters.
Biden blossomed as a student leader and athlete at Archmere Academy, a Catholic prep school in Delaware. He was a standout halfback on the football team, and though not a top-tier student academically, he had a natural ability to connect with people—genuine warmth and a gift for retail politics even in student elections. Those interpersonal skills would become a hallmark of his public life. Biden went on to the University of Delaware, where he initially coasted, more interested in social life and sports than studies. But during his junior year, he visited the Bahamas on spring break and met a Syracuse University student named Neilia Hunter. She was bright, kind, and from a well-to-do family. Joe was smitten. Neilia saw potential in Joe beyond the fun-loving frat boy veneer, and with her encouragement, he grew more serious about his future. After graduating in 1965, Biden followed Neilia to Syracuse for law school.
In 1966, Joe and Neilia married. Biden often recalled that Neilia had been his “everything”—the glue that held his ambitious dreams together. He wasn’t a top law student, ranking toward the lower middle of his class at Syracuse University College of Law, and even had a scrape with scandal when he was accused of plagiarizing parts of a paper (he acknowledged not knowing the proper citation rules at the time). But he did pass the bar and return to Delaware in 1968, setting up a law practice and dabbling in local Democratic politics in New Castle County. It was a time of great upheaval in America—assassinations, civil rights battles, Vietnam—and Biden, though just starting his career and family (he and Neilia soon had three children: Joseph III known as “Beau” in 1969, Robert known as “Hunter” in 1970, and Naomi in 1971), felt a pull toward public service. He would later say that listening to John F. Kennedy’s call to action had inspired him to think beyond himself.
In 1970, Biden won his first political office: New Castle County Councilman. It was a part-time position, and he continued working as a lawyer on the side. But he had bigger aspirations. Almost quixotically, 29-year-old Joe Biden decided to run for the United States Senate in 1972, challenging a popular Republican incumbent, Sen. J. Caleb Boggs. Boggs was a well-liked figure, and Biden was virtually unknown and very young—constitutional requirements mandated he turn 30 by the time of swearing in, which he would, barely, just after the election. The Vietnam War and civil unrest had made the political climate volatile, and Biden ran an energetic, grass-roots campaign. With Neilia as the “cornerstone,” handling much of the strategy and press, and a cadre of family and young volunteers, Biden went door-to-door and face-to-face. He positioned himself as a fresh voice for change, railing against the Vietnam War and talking about environmental issues and civil rights. In a surprise upset, Biden narrowly won. At 30, he was one of the youngest people ever elected to the U.S. Senate.
However, triumph soon turned to unfathomable tragedy. Just a few weeks after the election, in December 1972, Neilia and the three children went out to shop for a Christmas tree. A tractor-trailer broad-sided their station wagon. Neilia and 1-year-old Naomi were killed; Beau and Hunter, toddlers at the time, were badly injured but survived. Joe Biden was shattered. The shock and grief nearly drove him to give up the Senate seat before he even took office. He later wrote that he understood in that moment how despair could lead one to contemplate suicide. But his family and friends urged him to carry on, arguing that the best way to honor Neilia’s memory was to serve and to care for his boys.
In a moving scene that became part of Biden’s legend, he took the Senate oath of office on January 5, 1973, at the hospital bedside of Beau and Hunter. Returning to Washington that winter without his beloved wife and daughter, Biden found solace in work and in being there for his sons. He made a point of commuting every day by Amtrak train from D.C. to Wilmington (about 90 minutes each way) so he could be home each night to tuck them in. This routine earned him the moniker “Amtrak Joe” and lasted the entirety of his 36 years in the Senate. It symbolized his priorities: no matter the demands of political life, he put family first.
In the Senate, Biden quickly made a mark despite being a “young Turk.” He was assigned to the Committee on the Judiciary, and in his second term, to the Foreign Relations Committee—two areas where he’d focus much of his career. In domestic policy, Biden carved a profile as a liberal on most issues (supporting civil rights, consumer protection, and labor), but also someone willing to work across the aisle. He championed the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) years later, an achievement he often calls one of his proudest, providing stronger legal tools against domestic violence and sexual assault. But earlier, in the late 1980s and early 90s, he was also a key author of tough anti-crime legislation, including the Anti-Drug Abuse Act and the sweeping 1994 crime bill that, among other things, increased sentences, funded 100,000 new police officers, and expanded prisons. At the time, these measures were popular as crime rates were high, but decades later the 1994 law was criticized for contributing to mass incarceration, something Biden would grapple with during his 2020 campaign.
One area where Biden had a complicated legacy was busing for school desegregation. In the 1970s, he opposed certain federally mandated busing policies, aligning with some white working-class constituents who bristled at the social experiment, even as he insisted he supported the goal of integration but thought busing was not the best remedy. This stance generated controversy then and much later, illustrating Biden’s sometimes centrist, sometimes evolving positions in matters of race.
On foreign policy, Biden’s Senate career was long and eventful. He became a leading voice on arms control and post-Cold War Eastern Europe. As chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee (a role he would serve twice, in the mid-2000s and again later), he influenced U.S. policy on the Balkans in the 90s, advocating for intervention to stop atrocities in Bosnia. He initially voted in favor of authorizing the 2003 Iraq War under President George W. Bush, a vote he would later regret and deem a mistake once the war went awry. Biden also used his long tenure to foster personal relationships with colleagues; he was known for working out deals and defusing partisan tensions. He respected Senate traditions of courtesy and compromise, which sometimes frustrated more ideological voices.
Meanwhile, on the personal front, Biden found love again. In 1975, he was set up on a blind date with Jill Jacobs, a schoolteacher nine years his junior. Jill brought light back into Biden’s life and bonded with Beau and Hunter. Joe proposed five times (as the story goes) before Jill accepted—she wanted to be absolutely sure, especially since it meant becoming a stepmother to two young boys. They married in 1977. In 1981, they had a daughter, Ashley, completing the family that had been shattered a decade prior. Jill Biden continued teaching throughout Joe’s career, even when she became Second Lady, and later, notably, the first First Lady to hold a paying job outside the White House as a community college professor.
Biden’s first run for the presidency came in 1987. At 44, he was considered a rising Democratic star: youthful, articulate, and with broad experience. But his campaign stumbled badly amid charges of plagiarism—he had borrowed lines from a speech by British Labour leader Neil Kinnock without proper attribution. When past instances of borrowing from others’ speeches and exaggerations of his academic record also came to light, the media pounced and Biden’s image suffered. With sagging momentum and a health scare (he collapsed that winter and discovered he had life-threatening brain aneurysms that required surgery), Biden withdrew from the race. It was a humbling episode that taught him some hard lessons.
Biden recovered physically (the aneurysm surgeries were successful) and continued to build stature in the Senate, especially on foreign affairs. In the 1990s and 2000s, he was considered for Secretary of State positions and served as a key surrogate for Democratic presidential nominees. After the 9/11 attacks, he supported military action in Afghanistan and, as noted, initially the Iraq War, but became a critic of how that war was managed and later advocated dividing Iraq into federations as a solution. He also chaired contentious Supreme Court confirmation hearings. Notably, in 1991 he presided over the Clarence Thomas hearings where law professor Anita Hill testified about sexual harassment by Thomas. Biden’s handling of that, including not calling additional witnesses who could corroborate Hill, drew criticism from liberals and women’s groups for years to come; Biden later publicly expressed regret for how Hill was treated.
After a second brief, unsuccessful presidential run in 2008 (he dropped out after a poor Iowa finish), Biden’s political fortunes changed when Democratic nominee Barack Obama selected him as his vice-presidential running mate. Obama, young and relatively inexperienced on the world stage, valued Biden’s foreign policy expertise and blue-collar credibility in places like Pennsylvania and Ohio. The duo won in November 2008, making Biden the first Roman Catholic and at that time the longest-serving senator to ever ascend to the vice presidency.
As Vice President (2009-2017), Joe Biden served as a seasoned governing partner to President Obama. He was often the behind-the-scenes dealmaker, sent to Capitol Hill to negotiate with his former colleagues. In the first term, he was instrumental in securing the passage of the economic stimulus (ARRA) during the Great Recession and then oversaw its implementation, ensuring funds were disbursed and projects monitored (Obama jokingly called him “Sheriff Joe” for rooting out waste). Biden was deeply involved in foreign policy decisions, often being the last one in the room to advise Obama. Notably, he argued against the 2011 raid that killed Osama bin Laden, concerned about the risks, though he later lauded Obama’s decision to go forward and of course celebrated the successful result. He played a key role in shaping Iraq policy (managing the drawdown of troops and pushing a power-sharing agreement in Iraqi politics) and traveled extensively to represent the U.S., from war zones to summits.
Biden also took point on delicate domestic issues. He led the administration’s efforts on gun control after the 2012 Sandy Hook massacre, formulating proposals even though they ultimately stalled in Congress. He became a leading advocate for cancer research (after his son Beau’s illness) and spearheaded the “Cancer Moonshot” initiative. And in moments of national tragedy or personal loss for Obama (like the death of Beau to brain cancer in 2015), Biden was both consoler-in-chief and a sort of wise elder of the administration.
The partnership with Obama was famously collegial. Obama entrusted Biden with major tasks and Biden in turn brought loyalty and an earnestness that complemented Obama’s cool cerebral style. The two men, from such different backgrounds and generations, developed a genuine friendship. Obama at one point joked that picking Biden was one of the best decisions he made, and near the end surprised Biden with the Presidential Medal of Freedom, calling him “the best vice president America’s ever had.”
After leaving office in January 2017, Biden took some time to grieve and regroup. Beau’s death in 2015 had nearly convinced him to run in 2016, as Beau had urged him to, but Biden ultimately decided not to challenge Hillary Clinton for the nomination given his emotional state and the late start he would have had. Instead, he devoted time to the Biden Foundation and the Biden Cancer Initiative, and enjoyed some quieter moments as “Citizen Joe.” But the tumult of Donald Trump’s presidency gnawed at him. Biden watched Trump’s divisive leadership and felt that the values he held dear—decency, honor, respect for institutions—were being shredded. The last straw, as he often said, was Trump’s response to the 2017 Charlottesville neo-Nazi march, where Trump equivocated about neo-Nazis and anti-racist protesters, saying there were “very fine people on both sides.” Biden later wrote that he thought then: we are in a battle for the soul of this nation.
So, in April 2019, Joe Biden launched his third campaign for the presidency, framing it explicitly as a fight to restore America’s character. He entered a crowded Democratic primary, facing younger progressive stars like Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren and newcomers like Pete Buttigieg. The primary started rocky for Biden. He finished poorly in the overwhelmingly white Iowa and New Hampshire contests, raising questions about whether his time had passed. But his fortunes turned in South Carolina, where African American voters—remembering his loyalty to Obama and comforted by his moderation—delivered him a resounding victory after Congressman Jim Clyburn’s influential endorsement. One by one, moderate rivals dropped out and endorsed Biden, consolidating the anti-Sanders vote. By March 2020, Biden had effectively secured the Democratic nomination.
However, the general election took place under the shadow of the COVID-19 pandemic, which upended traditional campaigning. Biden largely hunkered down at his home in Delaware, campaigning virtually via online events and carefully controlled, socially-distanced appearances. Trump mocked him as hiding in his “basement,” but Biden’s disciplined approach contrasted with Trump’s large rallies that public health experts warned risked spreading the virus. Biden chose Senator Kamala Harris as his running mate, making her the first Black and South Asian woman on a major ticket. They campaigned on a platform promising a robust federal response to the pandemic, economic relief, expanding health care, addressing climate change, and racial equity. Biden positioned himself as a steady, compassionate leader who would listen to science and unify rather than divide. Though not the most stirring orator, Biden’s empathy shone in town halls and one-on-one interactions. He often spoke of the empty chairs at American dinner tables from COVID and shared his own experiences with grief to connect with hurting families.
The election, held November 3, 2020, saw record turnout. It ended up not being the quick, decisive result many hoped for, as it took days to count an unprecedented number of mail-in ballots. But by November 7, media outlets called the race for Biden, who flipped key Midwestern states and even some formerly Republican Sun Belt states. Americans spilled into the streets in many cities celebrating the end of Trump’s tumultuous term and the historic ascension of Kamala Harris to the vice presidency. Meanwhile, Trump refused to concede, falsely alleging widespread fraud and launching legal challenges, as recounted earlier.
Thus Biden’s transition was far more fraught than any in 150 years. Yet he pressed ahead, assembling a team that reflected his promises of experience and diversity: he chose seasoned professionals and some groundbreaking picks, like Janet Yellen as the first female Treasury Secretary and retired Gen. Lloyd Austin as the first Black Defense Secretary. Biden was determined to hit the ground running, especially on COVID-19.
When Biden took office January 20, 2021, the immediate task was tackling the pandemic and its economic fallout. America was averaging over 3,000 deaths per day; the vaccination program, while begun, needed rapid scaling up. On Day One, Biden signed a flurry of executive orders demonstrating a clean break from Trump’s approach. He rejoined the World Health Organization and the Paris Climate Agreement. He revoked the Muslim travel ban, halted construction of the border wall, and imposed a federal mask-wearing requirement on transportation and federal property. The tone from the White House shifted overnight: press briefings returned with an emphasis on facts, experts like Dr. Fauci were elevated, and Biden addressed the nation frequently with empathetic notes for lives lost and calls for unity and resolve.
Biden’s first major legislative accomplishment was the American Rescue Plan, a $1.9 trillion COVID relief and stimulus bill passed in March 2021 with only Democratic votes (taking advantage of a narrow majority and budget reconciliation rules). It sent $1,400 checks to most Americans, extended enhanced unemployment benefits, expanded the child tax credit (which temporarily lifted millions of children out of poverty), and funded vaccine distribution, school reopenings, and support for small businesses and state/local governments. Economists largely praised the relief, crediting it with jumpstarting a rapid jobs recovery, though some also argued it contributed to inflationary pressures later as the economy bounced back.
With vaccines rolling out by spring 2021, the acute crisis began to ease. By mid-April, all adults were eligible for shots, and by July, two-thirds had gotten at least one dose. Biden cautiously celebrated July 4, 2021, as a turning point where America could begin to “declare independence” from the virus. However, that summer the Delta variant emerged, driving another wave, and later the Omicron variant in late 2021 would do the same, tempering optimism. Vaccine uptake plateaued with a significant minority refusing, something Biden had to combat with persuasion and, eventually, mandates for federal workers and large employers (which sparked political backlash and some court fights). Still, by the end of 2021, COVID deaths and disruptions had declined from their peak, and the nation’s focus was shifting to economic concerns like rising inflation—a side effect of both pandemic supply chain issues and the roaring demand fueled in part by Biden’s stimulus.
On the legislative front, Biden pursued two big packages in 2021: the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law and a broader social spending/climate bill. The infrastructure push succeeded—remarkably, in an era of partisan gridlock, Biden got Republicans and Democrats to agree on a $1.2 trillion investment in roads, bridges, rail, broadband, water systems, and more, the largest such public works bill in generations. He signed it in November 2021, heralding it as proof that bipartisanship still lives. The other initiative, initially called “Build Back Better,” proposed expansive investments in childcare, education, healthcare, paid leave, and climate programs, funded by taxing the wealthy and corporations. However, moderate Democrats like Senators Joe Manchin and Kyrsten Sinema balked at the size and some provisions. After drawn-out negotiations through 2021, Build Back Better stalled when Manchin withdrew support, citing concerns about inflation and debt. It was a blow to Biden’s agenda and to progressives counting on major social reforms.
Biden pivoted in 2022 to salvage key elements of Build Back Better in a slimmer form. By summer 2022, Democrats passed the Inflation Reduction Act (IRA). Despite its name (politically chosen as inflation was a top voter concern), the law was essentially a landmark climate, healthcare, and tax package. It allocated roughly $370 billion over a decade for clean energy investments—by far the biggest U.S. action ever to combat climate change (incentives for solar, wind, electric cars, energy-efficient appliances, etc.)—and it allowed Medicare for the first time to negotiate some prescription drug prices (a huge deal for seniors’ drug costs), extended health insurance subsidies for millions of Americans, and imposed a new minimum tax on large corporations. Though dramatically smaller than the original proposal, the IRA’s passage in August 2022 was a significant victory for Biden, proving he could still get big things done with razor-thin congressional margins. Not a single Republican voted for it, but its components like cheaper drugs and clean energy investment were broadly popular.
Foreign policy quickly tested Biden’s mettle as well. In April 2021, following through on an agreement struck by the Trump administration, Biden announced that the U.S. would withdraw all troops from Afghanistan by September 11, 2021, ending America’s longest war after nearly 20 years. He argued that no amount of U.S. military presence could stabilize the Afghan government if the Afghans themselves could not, and he was not willing to have more American lives sacrificed in an unwinnable conflict. However, as U.S. forces pulled out, the Taliban launched a lightning offensive, retaking the country far faster than U.S. intelligence predicted. In mid-August, Kabul fell to the Taliban as the Afghan army collapsed. The world watched chaotic scenes at Kabul’s airport: thousands of desperate Afghans trying to flee, some clinging to departing planes; a suicide bombing that killed 13 U.S. service members and dozens of Afghan civilians; U.S. troops racing to airlift over 120,000 people out in two frantic weeks. Biden faced harsh criticism for the execution of the withdrawal, even from some supporters—why hadn’t the administration better planned evacuations for allies? Why did the Afghan government’s collapse seem to catch Washington off guard? Biden defended his decision, saying ending the war was going to be ugly no matter what, and pointing out that continuing it indefinitely wouldn’t have yielded a different outcome. Still, the tumultuous exit dented his image for competence and drew down his approval rating.
In early 2022, another international crisis dominated Biden’s agenda: the looming threat of a Russian invasion of Ukraine. For weeks, Biden’s administration declassified intelligence warning that Russian President Vladimir Putin was poised to launch a massive attack. Some allies were skeptical at first, but Biden was adamant in rallying NATO unity and preparing sanctions. On February 24, 2022, Russia unleashed a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, aiming to swiftly capture Kyiv and decapitate the Ukrainian government. It was the largest military onslaught in Europe since World War II. Biden, who had met Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky in happier times and knew the stakes, moved to coordinate a strong Western response. Under U.S. leadership, dozens of countries imposed crippling sanctions on Russia’s economy and elites. Biden authorized unprecedented arms shipments to Ukraine—from anti-tank Javelin missiles to advanced artillery and air defense systems—and urged Congress to approve tens of billions in aid. The U.S. provided intelligence that helped Ukraine defend Kyiv and inflict surprising losses on the Russians. While Biden vowed U.S. troops would not directly fight in Ukraine, avoiding an escalation to world war, he made it clear that NATO territory was a red line and bolstered U.S. forces in Eastern Europe to reassure allies. The war in Ukraine turned into a grinding conflict, but under Biden’s tenure, American support for Ukraine remained robust, enabling Ukraine to withstand Russia’s assault and even push Russian forces back in key areas. Biden’s handling of the crisis earned plaudits from many allies—he managed to keep the transatlantic alliance unusually unified and displayed deft statecraft. Critics, mostly in the far-right of the U.S. political spectrum, grumbled about the cost and argued against blank-check aid, but bipartisan majorities in Congress largely backed Biden’s stance.
One of Biden’s guiding credos in foreign policy was to prove that democracies can still deliver in a 21st-century contest against autocracies like China and Russia. He convened summits of democratic nations, rejoined and revitalized partnerships like NATO, the EU, and the G7, and sought to repair relationships strained by Trump (e.g., reassuring allies in Asia of U.S. commitments, engaging with allies instead of belittling them). Relations with China remained tense, however. Biden kept tariffs in place and escalated export bans on advanced technology to China. A flashpoint came when a Chinese spy balloon traversed U.S. airspace in early 2023; Biden ordered it shot down, causing a diplomatic rift. He continued arms sales to Taiwan and forged new security pacts (like AUKUS with the UK and Australia for nuclear submarines) to counter Chinese influence, while also insisting he sought to avoid conflict with Beijing.
At home, as 2022 progressed, Biden contended with an issue bedeviling many countries: inflation. Economic recovery had been rapid—unemployment dropped to around 3.5%, growth was strong—but supply chain snags, huge consumer demand, and energy shocks (exacerbated by the Ukraine war) drove prices up at the fastest rate in 40 years. Gasoline exceeded $5 a gallon at its peak, groceries costs soared, and rent and housing were suddenly far less affordable. The Federal Reserve belatedly but aggressively raised interest rates to tame inflation, raising recession fears. Biden’s approval ratings took a hit as Americans felt pessimistic about the economy despite the low jobless rate. Republicans hammered him for “Bidenflation,” though factors were global and multifaceted.
Mid-2022 brought an event that galvanized Biden and his party: the Supreme Court’s conservative majority (bolstered by Trump’s appointments) overturned Roe v. Wade, ending the federal constitutional right to abortion that had stood for half a century. The Dobbs decision in June 2022 threw abortion law to the states, leading to bans in many red states and sparking widespread outrage among pro-choice Americans. Biden decried the ruling as extremist and pledged to defend reproductive rights within the limited powers he had (for instance, protecting the right to travel for abortion and ensuring abortion pills’ availability to the extent possible). He urged voters that the only way to restore Roe was to elect a Congress that would codify it. Indeed, the backlash to Dobbs seemed to energize Democratic voters.
The 2022 midterm elections defied historical patterns and expectations of a “red wave.” Usually, the president’s party suffers major losses in the first midterm, but Democrats held their own remarkably. They even gained a seat in the Senate, achieving a 51-49 majority (though it reverted to 50-50 after one Democrat became an independent, still caucusing with them). They narrowly lost the House, but the Republican majority was so slim it had trouble unifying to pass legislation. Many candidates endorsed by Trump, especially those who falsely claimed the 2020 election was stolen, lost key races, suggesting voters in the middle rejected extremism. Biden framed it as a victory for democracy—a vindication for his warnings that Trumpist election-deniers threatened America’s political stability. It was also seen as an affirmation of Biden’s approach: achievements like the IRA and infrastructure law were popular, and voters did not punish Democrats for inflation as severely as pundits predicted, perhaps because they also worried about GOP extremism on abortion and democracy. Biden emerged from the midterms politically strengthened, a rarity for a president in that position.
Emboldened, Biden spent 2023 continuing to implement his policies, particularly the economic ones collectively branded as “Bidenomics.” His theory was to grow the economy “from the bottom up and middle out” instead of the top down. This included massive investments in infrastructure, green energy, semiconductor manufacturing (via a bipartisan CHIPS Act to boost U.S. production and competitiveness with China), and nurturing of high-tech and electric vehicle industries through the IRA’s subsidies. Job growth continued robust, and by mid-2023, inflation was gradually cooling too, though still above the Fed’s target. Biden touted that the economy was transitioning to stable growth without losing the gains in employment—a soft landing that some economists had deemed unlikely.
On the social front, Biden was a staunch supporter of LGBTQ+ rights, issuing orders protecting transgender students and service members (reversing Trump-era bans), and signing the Respect for Marriage Act, a law to protect same-sex and interracial marriage at the federal level, which passed with bipartisan support as a backstop in case the Supreme Court ever revisited those rights. He spoke forcefully against a rise in anti-Semitism and anti-Asian hate, emphasizing unity against hate crimes. On guns, progress was limited, but after a spate of mass shootings, a modest bipartisan gun safety law was enacted in 2022—the first in decades—tightening some background checks and encouraging red-flag laws. Biden acknowledged it didn’t go as far as he wanted (like renewing an assault weapons ban) but called it a start.
By mid-2023, speculation about Biden’s plans for 2024 loomed. Many observers noted his age; at 80, he was already the oldest president in U.S. history and would be 86 at the end of a prospective second term. Some voters, even Democrats, expressed concern about this. But Biden, citing the results and unfinished work, decided to run for reelection, formally announcing in April 2023. His campaign pitch framed 2024 as a continuation of the battle for the soul of the nation, specifically warning against the threats to democracy still posed by Trump or “MAGA extremists.” It was clear the rematch with Trump, who maintained a grip on the GOP base and was once again the leading Republican candidate despite multiple criminal indictments, would be combative. Biden’s strategy was to lean on his record and argue that he was the steady, experienced leader needed to protect American democracy and progress.
As President Biden approached the end of his first term in late 2024, the nation had, in many respects, stabilized from the tumult he inherited. COVID-19 was no longer the all-consuming crisis—thanks to vaccines and treatments, life largely returned to normal, albeit with lessons learned. The economy, while having endured inflation, was still growing and avoiding the worst fears of recession as of the time, with unemployment near historic lows. America’s alliances were fortified, and support for Ukraine remained a cause Biden rallied others around. Yet partisan divisions at home remained stark. Republican leaders, having taken the House in 2023, launched aggressive investigations into Biden’s administration and family, particularly scrutinizing Hunter Biden’s business dealings—an issue that, while not directly implicating Joe Biden in wrongdoing based on current evidence, provided ample fodder for partisan sparring.
Throughout all this, Biden leaned into his persona as “Uncle Joe” — folksy, sometimes long-winded or prone to the occasional verbal stumble, but fundamentally decent and caring. Where Trump reveled in chaos and conflict, Biden projected empathy and a desire for conciliation. He often quoted his father’s sayings (“Don’t compare me to the Almighty, compare me to the alternative,” or “Joey, a job is about a lot more than a paycheck, it’s about dignity”). Though his age meant he moved a bit slower and his speech could be softer, he used self-deprecation about it and doubled down on showing vigor through his schedule and negotiations.
In November 2024, Americans went to the polls with a clear choice between two starkly different visions. Joe Biden cast the contest as a crossroads for democracy and the middle class, while his opponent (Trump once again) centered on a return to his brand of disruptive leadership. By the time the votes were counted, Joe Biden emerged unsuccessful in his bid for re-election, defeated in the Electoral College by Donald Trump’s unprecedented comeback. It was a historically unparalleled moment: a former president ousted in 2020 returning to oust his successor in 2024, something only Grover Cleveland had done in the 19th century. For Biden, it was a painful coda to a career of public service. Yet he accepted the voters’ judgment with grace, phoning to congratulate Trump and instructing his team to ensure a peaceful, orderly transfer of power—the very outcome he had fought to preserve on January 6, 2021, and a ritual he considered sacred to the American experiment.
Joe Biden left the White House on January 20, 2025, closing out over half a century in public life. In his farewell address, he reflected on the progress made: a nation rescued from plague and economic despair, investments laid for future generations, alliances renewed, and democracy’s flame held high even in headwinds. He also acknowledged the work unfinished—political divisions to mend, climate change to battle more aggressively, rights to safeguard. He quoted Irish poets (as he often did) about perseverance and unity, urging Americans not to see each other as enemies but as neighbors, not to give in to cynicism but to remain hopeful and engaged. “I have always believed,” Biden said, “that America can be defined in one word: possibilities. We have shown that when we come together, there is nothing beyond our capacity.”
Stepping back into private life, Joe Biden returned to Wilmington, Delaware, to the home where his late son Beau had once lived, and where he’d campaigned from that basement during the pandemic’s darkest days. At 82, he intended to keep advocating for the causes close to his heart—cancer research, unity, and supporting the next generation of leaders. Historians began early assessments of Biden’s presidency. Some likened him to a modern FDR or LBJ for the breadth of domestic programs he enacted (albeit narrower than the New Deal or Great Society), especially in revitalizing American industry and infrastructure and addressing climate change. Others noted the challenges that persisted—especially the polarization Biden earnestly wanted to overcome. But nearly all would agree Biden’s tenure was consequential: he steered the nation out of a deadly once-in-a-century pandemic, through economic recovery, and navigated foreign crises that reshaped the global order.
Above all, Joe Biden’s story is one of resilience and faith. Faith in God, which he leaned on in tragedies; faith in America’s institutions and ideals, which he defended under threat; and faith in ordinary American people—the Scranton families and Claymont neighbors like those from his youth—to whom he always tried to give a voice. It is the story of a public servant who suffered unimaginable personal losses yet turned that grief into empathy, a leader who was never flashy in intellect or speech but had a core of decency that resonated with many. In the twilight of his career, Biden summed up his philosophy in one of his favorite sayings: “May history be able to say that the end of this chapter of American darkness began here, tonight, as love and hope and light joined in the battle for the soul of the nation.” Whether history will fully concur remains to be seen, but Joseph R. Biden Jr.’s chapter in that history is indelibly written—as a man who strove, in turbulent times, to bind the nation’s wounds and light a way forward with the soft but steady glow of decency, experience, and hope.