Where is Mitch? Who is my senator right now? Is he even alive?

Following a rather prolonged absence from his job, questions arose as to the whereabouts (and breathing status) of the senior senator from Kentucky, Mitch McConnell.

The questions themselves were not unfounded. Given his age, 84, and his numerous lost battles with gravity, coupled with his on-air moments of freezes that earned the moniker “Glitch McConnell”, voters in the Commonwealth of Kentucky were curious what is up, and what information is owed to us in situations like this?

As people around the country joined in, the short and probably infuriating answer to what information was owed is: Nothing at all.

Unlike the presidency, which operates under strict succession protocols and medical reporting, Congress functions under a veil of legally protected secrecy. Getting a straight answer when a member goes missing in action isn’t just difficult—the system was explicitly engineered that way.

In comparison, if the President undergoes a routine procedure under anesthesia, the 25th Amendment triggers a formal, temporary transfer of executive power to the vice president. The White House physician releases a detailed medical memo, and the public is kept informed.

For a sitting United States Senator or Representative, no such accountability exists.

Members of Congress are independent constitutional officers under Article I of the U.S. Constitution. In other words, members of Congress are independent contractors of our votes. They are Uber drivers for a republic democracy.

Since they are not executive employees, no similar medical mandates exist for health disclosures. There is no statute, House rule, or Senate regulation forcing a legislator to disclose hospital stays, medical diagnoses, or cognitive declines.

And, since the people who elect them are their technical bosses, remember Uber, neither the Speaker of the House nor the Senate Majority Leader has the constitutional authority to declare a colleague “incapacitated.” A member is either sworn in or the seat is vacant—there is no formal “sick leave.” If called to work, taking a vote on the Capitol floor or in committee, an absence just amounts to a missed vote. Similar to someone who missed a flight, got stuck in traffic, or had a stomach ache, it is just business as usual.

Unless a member voluntarily resigns, dies, or faces an extraordinary two-thirds expulsion vote by their peers (see George Santos…diva), the seat remains theirs—even if it sits empty for months while constituents go completely unrepresented.

When a seat finally becomes vacant, federalism, our lovely split function of government, places the rules into two wildly different systems.

The House of Representatives is fairly straightforward. Article I, Section 2 mandates that House vacancies must be filled through special elections called by the state’s governor. Governors cannot hand-pick a temporary replacement. If a representative steps down or passes away, that congressional district simply goes without a voice until voters go to the polls.

The Senate, where the Mitch of it all arises, is a little, or, lot more confusing. Under the 17th Amendment, state legislatures decide how Senate vacancies are handled. Most delegate temporary appointment power to their governor, but state laws vary wildly:

Governors in states like California or New York have unrestricted appointments and can immediately appoint anyone of their choosing to fill the seat until the next general election. Strangely enough, Kentucky’s process has seen a pretty recent development. In 2024, Kentucky lawmakers passed House Bill 622 that took away the Governor’s power to appoint a temporary replacement. Under the revised law, the Governor issues a proclamation calling an election, with the winner serving the remainder of the unexpired term.

Further complicating matters, Section 152 of the Kentucky Constitution authorizes the Governor to appoint a replacement. The 17th Amendment already says that state legislatures can determine how this issue is handled, which conflicts with the state Constitution. Adherence to the 2024 law may seem to follow the 17th Amendment, but how does that fit within the framework of the state Constitution?

Is there a reason for the differing succession laws and little to no requirement for transparency? Due to the openness of the federal law (17th Amendment), state legislatures routinely manipulate succession laws right before an aging or ill senator steps down to favor their own party, see the 2024 bill. State control creates deep inequality: A constituent in one state might get an appointed senator within days, while a constituent in a neighboring state endured a half-year vacancy awaiting a special election.

The absence of clarity in some states and the lack of time to prepare for death or incapacitation has actually moved the needle of progress. Before modern primary elections, state party bosses solved sudden Senate vacancies using a cynical political convention known as the “Widow’s Succession.” Governors who wanted to avoid bloody primary fights over a vacant seat would appoint the deceased senator’s widow. The widow was expected to act as a quiet “placeholder”—keeping the chair warm, voting the party line, and stepping aside when the next official election arrived. This patronizing political trick unintentionally cracked open the door for women in the federal government.

In 1922, the United States had our first female senator. As a publicity stunt to appeal to the newly allowed-to-vote women, Rebecca Latimer Felton was appointed after the death of Sen. Thomas E. Watson. She was sworn in and served for a whopping 24 hours before her elected male successor took over—becoming the first woman in the U.S. Senate.

But getting back to the current Mitch predicament, none of these succession issues matter if the “proof of life” photo shared along with a statement purporting to assuage concerns and rumors, are to be believed.

Therein lies the issue:Many question why nothing has come out besides that photo and limited information. The act itself has done little to tamp down speculation, and the public is clamoring for something more. The public struggle to get clear information about absent leaders boils down to a structural conflict: individual constitutional privacy vs. democratic accountability.

Because the U.S. Constitution provides no mandate for medical transparency in Congress, disclosures remain entirely voluntary. Combined with 50 distinct state succession laws, the system inherently shields politicians—leaving constituents guessing until an official resignation occurs or an empty seat forces the government’s hand.

At the core of the issue is a fundamental clash of rights. While voters naturally expect transparency from those elected to represent them, members of Congress are individually protected by federal privacy laws like HIPAA. Because there is no statutory mandate or constitutional requirement forcing federal legislators to publish personal medical logs or report extended hospitalizations, any updates released to the public are purely voluntary.

Politically, the incentives are overwhelmingly aligned toward silence. A lawmaker’s power in Washington relies heavily on perceived strength, committee seniority, and vote counts. Admitting to a severe illness or long-term cognitive decline can instantly trigger primary challenges, provoke calls for resignation, or jeopardize their party’s tight legislative margins. As a result, congressional communications staff routinely resort to vague press statements or prolonged silence, framing absences as routine rest rather than significant incapacity.

Kentuckians demand answers. Americans demand answers. Unfortunately, within our political system, no answers are owed to either.