Aboard the Air Force One on Wednesday, en route from Japan to South Korea (amidst North Korea's cruise missile tests), Donald Trump acknowledged the constitutional reality he's been dancing around for months: "If you read it, it's pretty clear", he told reporters. "I'm not allowed to run. It's too bad."
The concession came with the familiar Trumpian regret, as if the 22nd Amendment were merely an inconvenient technicality rather than a foundational democratic safeguard. Just two days earlier, when asked about the prospect of a 2028 presidential bid, Trump had been characteristically noncommittal: "I would love to do it. I have my best numbers ever." When pressed on whether he was ruling out a third term, he responded: "Am I not ruling it out? You'll have to tell me."
He dismissed one proposed workaround—running as vice president and maneuvering this into presidency—as "too cute", saying "the people wouldn't like that. It's not—it wouldn't be right." A rare moment of constitutional deference. Or perhaps he was simply accepting that the scheme sounds too absurd even for his brand.
The comments follow months of third-term merchandising. A few weeks ago, during a meeting with Democratic and Republican congressional leaders, red "Trump 2028" hats suddenly appeared on the president's desk in the Oval Office. Trump subsequently posted images celebrating the hats on social media, including an AI-generated video of him tossing a cap onto House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries.
House Speaker Mike Johnson later described the whole performance as Trump "trolling the Democrats, whose hair is on fire about the very prospect," adding that "the Trump 2028 cap is one of the most popular that's ever been produced." Johnson acknowledged speaking with Trump about "the constrictions of the Constitution," a telling phrase that frames constitutional limits as frustrating obstacles rather than essential architecture.
The Legal Baseline: What the Constitution Actually Says
The 22nd Amendment couldn't be clearer in its intent, even if Trump's supporters strain to find daylight in its syntax. Section 1 states: "No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice." The amendment continues by clarifying that anyone who has served more than two years of another president's term can only be elected once more.
The amendment has its roots in concerns raised after President Franklin D. Roosevelt was elected to four terms between 1932 and 1944. Roosevelt broke the unwritten two-term precedent established by George Washington, citing the need for stable leadership during World War II. Congress passed the 22nd Amendment on March 21, 1947, and it was ratified by three-quarters of the states on February 27, 1951.
The historical context matters. The amendment wasn't a partisan rebuke. It was a bipartisan recognition that term limits serve as a check on executive power accumulation. Washington's voluntary two-term limit had been a democratic norm for 150 years before FDR, and Congress moved swiftly after his death to codify it as law. The message? American democracy doesn't do presidents-for-life, even popular ones.
Feasibility of Changing the 22nd Amendment
Anyone serious about repealing the 22nd Amendment confronts a constitutional obstacle course designed to be nearly insurmountable. Article V requires either a two-thirds vote in both chambers of Congress, or a constitutional convention called by two-thirds of state legislatures—a method never successfully used in American history.
Even if Congress approved an amendment, ratification requires three-quarters of states (38 out of 50). In all of American history, only one constitutional amendment has been repealed—the 18th Amendment establishing Prohibition, which required another amendment (the 21st) to undo it.
Since 1992, when the 27th Amendment was ratified, elected officials have introduced more than 1,400 proposed amendments in Congress, and not one has received the two-thirds vote required in both chambers to advance to the states. Constitutional amendments aren't political wish lists; they're the product of overwhelming, sustained consensus—precisely the thing Trump's polarizing presidency has made impossible.
Speaker Johnson himself acknowledged the mathematical reality: "I don't see a way to amend the Constitution, because it takes about 10 years." With Trump turning 82 in 2028, the timeline alone renders the exercise academic.
The "Loopholes" and Legal Fantasies
Where constitutional text is inconvenient, creative interpretation blooms. Trump's camp and various legal theorists have floated several speculative routes around the 22nd Amendment, most of which collapse under scrutiny.
The Vice President Gambit
The most frequently mentioned workaround involves Trump running as vice president in 2028, with the presidential candidate subsequently resigning to elevate him back to the Oval Office. However, the 12th Amendment's final sentence is explicit: "But no person constitutionally ineligible to the office of President shall be eligible to that of Vice-President of the United States." If you can't be president again, you can't be vice president either.
Scholars confirm that Trump is barred from running for vice president precisely because he's not eligible to be president. Trump himself seems to have grasped this, dismissing the idea as "too cute."
The "Elected" vs. "Serving" Distinction
A 1999 law review article by Scott E. Gant and Bruce G. Peabody argued that the 22nd Amendment's language specifically limits being "elected" president more than twice, potentially leaving open non-elected service—such as through succession as Speaker of the House or under the Presidential Succession Act.
This theory is technically fascinating and practically absurd. It would require Trump to give up the presidency, get elected to the House, become Speaker (which requires only a House majority vote, not constitutional qualifications), engineer both the president's and vice president's removal or incapacity, and then assume the presidency through succession. Even in Trump's reality-optional universe, this seems like a heavy lift.
Constitutional scholars have debated whether a former two-term president could serve through the Succession Act, but as the Congressional Research Service noted, such questions "may be more unlikely than unconstitutional." The translation? It's constitutionally ambiguous enough that we'll never need to find out because it's politically impossible.
The Grover Cleveland Precedent
Trump is the first president since Grover Cleveland in the 1890s to serve non-consecutive terms. Some supporters have suggested this creates a loophole, but the 22nd Amendment explicitly addresses this. It limits anyone from being "elected" president more than twice, regardless of whether those terms are consecutive. Cleveland himself couldn't run under current rules, and neither can Trump.
Political Strategy: Why Float a Third-Term Fantasy?
If the constitutional path is blocked and the legal workarounds are nonsense, why does Trump keep this conversation alive? The answer lies in power maintenance, not constitutional law.
Keeping alive the possibility—however remote—that Trump might stick around beyond January 2029 helps him stave off lame-duck status. The term typically refers to the period between an election and inauguration, when an outgoing president loses political leverage because everyone knows they're a short-timer.
For Trump, whose presidency relies on projecting dominance and keeping allies in line through fear of retribution, even the fiction of a potential third term serves strategic purposes. As long as people think there's a chance Trump could remain in power, it plays into his hands—and arguably matters more to him than to an average president, given his demonstrated interest in consolidating power.
But that's not all. The claims of a third-run serve to energize the MAGA faithful base. They love the idea of Trump forever. Third-term talk functions as red meat, keeping the base engaged and loyal even as policy battles bog down.
The potential of fundraising and merchandising is equally attractive. "Trump 2028" merchandise has proven wildly popular, with Speaker Johnson noting it's "one of the most popular that's ever been produced." Why leave money on the table?
Trump's third-term tease also avoids definitively anointing a successor amidst the internal fighting over the direction of MAGA as a movement. Trump's presidency has remained ideologically fluid, and he seeks to maintain control over the 2028 primary contest, keeping potential heirs competing for his favor.
Finally, Trump's allies think that the idea of a third-term works as a perfect bait for the democrats, helping the Republicans mould a narrative about the 'elites' being scared of Trump's allure among the masses.
Regardless of whether or not the noise is a facade, one thing is sure: Donald Trump will not serve a third term. The constitutional barriers are real, the political obstacles insurmountable, and even his most devoted congressional allies acknowledge the mathematical impossibility. It's only the conversation that can continue.
The real test, in the midst of this noise, is whether American institutions, political parties, and voters treat constitutional limits as negotiable or sacrosanct.
