Birth rates are falling — and the experts still don't get it



When considering the issues of low birth rates and population decline, it's essential to differentiate between those who are pro-life and those who are pro-natalist.

While both have concluded that people around the world should have more children, their reasoning is almost diametrically opposed to each other.

Defining terms

Pro-lifers, often informed by Christian morality, believe in the dignity and value of each human life. They value the virtues of the nuclear family, believing it brings out the best in parents and their children. Their commitment to life and family means they vigorously oppose all forms of abortion and, by extension, in-vitro fertilization, surrogate parenting, and divorce.

In the pro-life view, lower birth rates are largely the result of cultural and moral decadence, which can be reversed only through a full reformation of social values and institutions.

By contrast, pro-natalists tend to be strict utilitarians, arguing for more children for primarily economic and political reasons. They worry about the public pensions going unsupported, schools emptying, and whole political systems collapsing due to depopulation. They fear a technological regression, a contraction in the markets, and even a revival of provincialism (or de-globalization) in a world with fewer people.

Unlike pro-lifers, they have no problems with employing artificial means of reproduction, legalizing abortion, and allowing any adult, regardless of background, to adopt and raise children for whatever reasons. In the minds of most pro-natalists, depopulation can be averted through twisting the right dials of social policy and letting go of the traditional expectations around parenting.

'No future is more likely than that people worldwide choose to have too few children to replace their own generation.'

Put more crudely, pro-lifers tend to be conservative and pro-natalists tend to be non-conservatives (which would include libertarians and moderates in addition to progressives).

Then, of course, there are the anti-natalists (usually on the political and cultural left), who believe overpopulation is a problem and oppose having more children. They believe a lower population will improve the environment and the quality of the life for those lucky enough to be alive.

'After the Spike'

Understanding these distinctions is key to understanding the latest best-selling book on depopulation, "After the Spike: Population, Progress, and the Case for People" by economists Dean Spears and Michael Geruso. This is a book by pro-natalists written explicitly for anti-natalists.

As such, the two writers end up spending more time on what they are not arguing (i.e., pro-life claims about morality and culture) than what they are actually arguing (i.e., the pro-natalist concerns about depopulation).

Not only does this approach shut out a large group of potentially sympathetic readers wanting to know more about the issue, but it also fatally undermines their main argument for stabilizing the population. Even though they use the language of anti-natalists and speak to their concerns, it’s doubtful they would even persuade the target audience since their claims are so qualified and open.

However, this is not necessarily the fault Spears and Geruso, but the presuppositions of utilitarianism itself, which prove to be wholly inadequate for addressing the challenge of depopulation.

Math over meaning

These problems begin early in the book. As the book’s title suggests, the writers mainly frame depopulation as a simple math problem. They explain how the world population will peak or “spike” in the coming decades and then swiftly drop over the course of a few generations right afterward.

Their “big claim” in the first two chapters is expressed in clinical terms: “No future is more likely than that people worldwide choose to have too few children to replace their own generation. Over the long run, this would cause population decline.”

Somehow proving this “big claim” takes up nearly a fifth of the whole book. Perhaps they do not want to be confused with Bible-thumping pro-lifers who lack their credentials and supposedly rarely bother with hard numbers. That said, pro-lifers would not deny the claim that depopulation is imminent — birth rates are below replacement, so yes, deaths will outnumber births and result in depopulation — but the anti-natalist crowd evidently struggles to accept this basic fact.

If so, this popular denial might be an interesting potential factor in depopulation to explore further, but the writers never go there. Instead, they review the usual anti-natalist arguments made in favor of depopulation: It’s better for the planet; it’s better for women; and it’s better for conserving resources.

In most cases, debunking these claims is as simple as looking at available social science data. It turns out that the world is cleaner, more equitable, and in less danger of running out of natural resources now with a larger population than it was in the recent past with a smaller population.

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Kukurund/iStock/Getty Images Plus

Again, this point is fairly easy to grasp, but not if a person casts human beings as irredeemable parasites. Spears and Geruso thus spend much of their time showing that human beings can generate new ideas and do useful things. Yes, a person represents another mouth to feed, but he or she also represents another set of hands who can produce food or anything else.

This means that humanity can clean up their messes, come up with systems that better support women and minorities, and find better ways to extract and use natural resources.

It follows that without these extra people, many innovations would never materialize, social progress would likely stagnate or go backward, and there would be too few workers to support today’s high standard of living. To illustrate how bad conditions could become, the writers bring up the fact that “small towns hardly ever have a great Ethiopian place and a great Indian place and a great Korean place. But big cities often do.”

If the prospect of ghost towns, lonely elderly people dying in squalor, and a full-scale devolution into a pre-industrial age fails to raise any alarms, then maybe the loss of one’s favorite greasy spoon will do it.

Values without roots

Although Dean and Geruso carefully avoid moral questions throughout the book — it's taken for granted that abortion is good, modern feminism has zero downsides, and human-caused climate change is a critical matter — they make their one moral claim in favor of having children in the most generic tautology they can muster: “More good is better.”

In other words, a bigger overall population means a bigger number of worthwhile lives. But what makes a life worthwhile? True to utilitarian philosophy, it's all about material comforts and basic necessities.

For those who argue that this makes an insufficient distinction about the moral worth (or worthlessness) of each life and the surrounding context in which a life is lived, they will have to settle for the writers’ quantifications and graphs.

Once Spears and Geruso establish that people are good and that depopulation is bad, they move on to possible solutions. Unfortunately, nothing seems to work. Compelling people to have children (as Romania did under Nicolae Ceausescu) or offering money and additional maternity leave (as the Swedish government has done) have done little to fix the sliding birth rates.

The main problem seems to be that women will have fewer children if the opportunity costs of parenting are too high. As the writers declare in their inimitable prosaic style, “Spending time on parenting means giving up something. Because the world has improved around us, that ‘something’ is better than it used to be.” When men and women find fulfillment in their careers and self-indulgence, they have less interest in sacrificing this for the sake of having children.

While this assertion aligns with their value-neutral utilitarian premises, Spears and Caruso are completely uninterested in countries that still have high birth rates, like those in sub-Saharan Africa.

'Change needs vision and values and commitments before detailed plans matter at all.'

Would it offend their readers to suggest that these countries have high birth rates because there are relatively few opportunity costs that exist because these countries are less developed? Is there something to be said about traditional gender roles and the high regard given to parenthood and children in these cultures? What about the religious practices of these places?

For unspecified reasons, these obvious questions about population trends are scrupulously ignored.

Where science fails

Instead, the writers insist that there is no solution to the depopulation bomb set to go off after the spike: “No one has such a solution. The challenge is still too new.” For the time being, people need to be made aware of the difficulties that await them and consider ways they can organize and effect change.

In other words, it’s a weak ending to a weak argument in favor of a weak position. But even this could be forgiven if the book overall were interesting, but it isn’t. By avoiding moral questions, ignoring cultural factors, and rejecting all speculation, "After the Spike" is boring, basic, and dry.

Still, Spears and Geruso perform an important service by demonstrating the limits of pro-natalism. While it's perfectly reasonable to be worried about the global birth dearth and to try to use the scientific method to fix this problem, the formation of families and communities is a fundamentally human matter that largely transcends the scope of the sciences.

Although graphs can illustrate the superficial reality of declining populations, it will take the humanities disciplines to understand and effectively address this reality on a deeper level. Moreover, it will require letting go of progressive priorities and returning to certain beliefs and practices that made parenthood in the past more appealing than it is now.

This may be hard pill for pro-natalists to swallow, but as Spears and Geruso themselves conclude, “Change needs vision and values and commitments before detailed plans matter at all.”

This "vision and values” just happen to be pro-life — not pro-natalist.

The family that showed America what moral clarity looks like



Charlie Kirk’s alleged murderer came from somewhere. We all do.

Since the “In the beginning” times, our species has wrestled with the fundamental logic — and perceived unfairness — of holding parents responsible for the sins of their children. Or the other way around. In the Old Testament book of Ezekiel, the prophet makes this explicit:

The person who sins will die. A son will not suffer the punishment for the father’s guilt, nor will a father suffer the punishment for the son’s guilt; the righteousness of the righteous will be upon himself, and the wickedness of the wicked will be upon himself. (Ezekiel 18:20)

Yet, we mortals struggle with this idea. It’s a matter of self-preservation. The unifying idea is that we must bear some responsibility for the behavior of our own kids. Our kids are reflections of us because we put our stamp on them. Functional societies have a justifiable fear of the ripple effects of other people’s bad parenting.

What this family confronted deserves to be noticed, praised, and modeled.

Healthy families are civilization’s frontline schoolhouse of needed humans — producers of good men, women, and citizens. Bad parents can easily replicate themselves and often do. It is a rare and beautiful testament to the enduring nature of the good to see exceptions to the rule.

The inverse happens, too. I have met many good parents of bad kids — a bad seed that grows up to be a bad adult. Or a good kid who leaves the home for school, falls in with the wrong crowd, and rejects root and branch the ways of his family.

Modern parents know that at some point, we must let our offspring venture into a hard and secular world outside the home threshold, a world that undermines good parenting at every turn. A school system that inverts the established, time-tested ways for purposes of political indoctrination. A culture that has lost any sense of moral and natural limits. An algorithmic media that is set on setting people into warring tribes with desensitized, brutish ways.

Good soil, infected fruit

Charlie Kirk’s alleged assassin was born and raised in Southwestern Utah — Mormon territory. He was the son of a mother and father who raised their kids in the Mormon way, which produces exemplary fruits that are missionaries to the world. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — its formal name — instills family loyalty, stewardship, tolerance, sobriety, hard work, and sharing. Members tithe. They contribute. They are impressive people.

Even Matt Stone and Trey Parker, with their “Dumb, Dumb, Dumb” view of the Mormon religion (which is a cutout for all organized religion), recognized that Mormons have strong families and raise very good kids. The whole “Book of Mormon” craze began with a 2003 “South Park” episode featuring an impressive Mormon high school kid. His ending soliloquy put it best:

Look, maybe us Mormons do believe in crazy stories that make absolutely no sense, and maybe Joseph Smith did make it all up. But I have a great life and a great family, and I have the Book of Mormon to thank for that.

The truth is, I don’t care if Joseph Smith made it all up, because what the church teaches now is loving your family, being nice, and helping people.

I don’t know about you, but I admire the old-school way the accused killer’s father brought his son — his own flesh and blood — to face justice.

Would you have done the same?

The family saw the fruit of their loins on video surveillance in a national all-points bulletin. The family reached out to their own. Father and grandfather. They talked him into coming home. Once he was home, they convinced him to turn himself in for the crime — and to stanch the dishonor that he had done to his family’s name.

Would Luigi Mangione’s wealthy and well-connected Maryland family have done the same if they recognized his distinctive eyebrows? “Come home, son,” followed by, “You must turn yourself in to the authorities and be held accountable.” There’s no evidence they did anything of the kind. If they had, would Luigi have complied? I doubt it.

Fathers and mothers of America: Do you think you and yours could do similarly? To ask that question is not to answer it easily.

This Utah family has a quiet dignity to it. Their creed was not an assassin’s creed. Their kid is certainly a lost young man. He took a path outside of his family’s way, but his family retained a line of communication and influence over their prodigal son. They lost their son to dark, demonic forces, but appealed to the light remaining in him and brought him home and to justice.

What this family confronted deserves to be noticed, praised, and modeled. Our country was given clarity in real time. We very rarely get that. This young man did not come in lawyered up and with his phone locked and encrypted.

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Photo by Office of the Governor of Utah via Getty Images

A reeling nation did not have to suffer the indignity of mushroom management, where “We the People” are kept in the legalese dark and fed legalese doggerel.

Every family that has successfully raised a good kid to adulthood knows how hard it is in our present educational, cultural, and social media bathhouses.

A family in need of prayer

A family can hold a line, and a kid can transgress it. Once upon a time, the family had educational and cultural support systems that checked transgression and bolstered parents and kids. Kids heard a shared common and civilized creed in and outside the house. That cord has been cut for a while, and our families and nation are suffering at scale because of it.

This family summoned their prodigal son home. While we rightfully think of their son as a moral monster, they still had a familial claim and power over him. And with it, they brought him home and then to justice.

This family gave another grieving family and a nation the closure it needed. We owe them our thanks and compassion for displaying moral courage when it counted. The sins of their son are not theirs. They ought to be seen by the nation as neighbors in good standing. They need and deserve our parental prayers.

Under present grooming circumstances, there but for the grace of God go all of us.

Editor’s note: This article was originally published by RealClearPolitics and made available via RealClearWire.

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How marriage and fatherhood call men to greatness



While we were in the throes of babies and toddlers, pregnancies and postpartums, my husband would often walk through the door after work with groceries, pour me wine, and hold the baby in one arm while he made dinner with the other. I remember on some days being too exhausted to reciprocate with much except an ardent feeling and expression of gratitude to him, for him. That image of him still stands in my mind as the image of heroic manliness.

Another good father and husband we know once said that when he arrives home, he says to himself, “It’s showtime.” It’s his way of reminding himself that the crux of his day belongs to the moment he comes home from work and crosses the threshold into home. Rather than collapse on a sofa with beer and TV and be done for the day, he intended instead to bring his greatest efforts to his home life. What these anecdotes exemplify is a proper ordering of work and home that translates into specific small acts of love that echo throughout the family.

For too long we’ve repeated the cultural lore in movies and media about the domineering and distant man and the oppressed and under-actualized woman.

The good of home

To say that home ought to have primacy over work for men and women is not to say work is unimportant or that we shouldn’t develop professional skills or seek to advance careers. A job doesn’t need to be seen strictly as a means to an end; it can be a good in itself insofar as it is ennobling and sanctifying, and care should be taken to ensure it be done well. But it is a subordinate good to the good of home. Home isn’t a mere launch pad for a man’s success in the world — rather his success in the world is for the sake of home.

If a man sees his work life as a parallel good, divorced from the good of home, the two disparate goods will tend to become rivalrous, for the family wants from the father what is the family's due: to have a significance in his eyes greater than that of his career.

It’s not difficult to see how these two goods become inverted. Twenty-first-century Americans look to career for so much: an identity, the expression of some core passion, a measure of success and worth, a measure of where we stand in relation to others. It’s a compelling part of life, and the cultural stoking of its importance has coincided with the modern attenuation of home life.

These ambient messages grease the slide for us all to descend into an exaggerated view of work at the expense of home. Compounding that is the unavoidable fact that jobs often include deadlines and pressure that can understandably (and sometimes justifiably) claim a more immediate urgency than that of home life. All of this creates a tendency to subvert home for work, even without an explicit intention to do so.

Domino effect

But there are good reasons to be wary of such a tendency. When men fail to privilege home above work, as expressed in how they live each day, it has a domino effect on the family, and therefore society, in several ways.

Firstly, the husband can grow to see his family as a burden getting in the way of his higher purpose, which is his career. He begins to see his principal identity as derived from work and his primary relationships that of employer and employee. Home then starts to adopt similar characteristics; his family may be subconsciously reduced to the equivalent of employees in his charge.

Secondly, the mother’s mission is trivialized. She begins to sense her own work at home is not their common life’s work but merely her burden to endure in service of a higher mission that is his alone and to which she has not acquiesced. If work is a separate and vying good from home, it’s more natural that she begins to want that separate good for herself even at the expense of home life, which now has diminished in value for her as well.

Thirdly, their unity of purpose dissolves. The often tedious work of home is elevating and ennobling when acknowledged by both husband and wife as a taking part in an extolled good, valuable in itself and for the sake of their ultimate end of beatitude. Without this unity of purpose, these duties seem merely menial and heavy — and merely menial and heavy work will quickly feel suffocating and oppressive for whoever shoulders it. Resentment calcifies like a tumor as husband and wife become competitors rather than allies.

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Eliot J. Schechter/Getty Images

Finally, there are repercussions for society that might be obvious but are worth spelling out. Sons will learn about manhood and daughters about their worth in the eyes of men in large part based upon the axis on which a father orients his life. Both will begin to understand God’s love through their father. Far less than their father’s job promotion, children will remember how he prioritized their mom and them in the small details that make up the composition of their childhood. It’s not the work of one evening or a trip to Disneyland, but it’s the quiet, persevering work of a lifetime. This work, cheerfully and generously done, will reverberate into society and future generations. The neglect of it will as well.

Ordinary love story

The stories we tell as a culture about the dynamics between husband and wife matter. When men and women are united in giving pre-eminence to home, the story can be one of families working in concert, with generosity and gratitude exchanged back and forth in a currency that multiplies with each and every exchange. It’s the story of ordinary people living their quiet shared purpose, a purpose that saturates their hearts and inclines their wills toward God and one another. This love story is transformative and extraordinary precisely because of the seemingly everyday subjects and acts that constitute its operations.

For too long we’ve repeated the cultural lore in movies and media about the domineering and distant man and the oppressed and under-actualized woman, both wanting to break from the tedium of middle-class values. The modern response to this story of dissatisfaction has been that we’ve valued home too much and at too great an expense. What this critique fails to see is that when home feels like a prison, it’s not because we’ve given it too much importance but because we’ve given it far too little.

This essay originally appeared in the Family Revival Substack.

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Women’s infertility is Big Pharma’s cash cow



Falling birth rates have become a national obsession — for good reason. The U.S. fertility rate has plunged to 1.6 births per woman, well below the 2.1 replacement rate.

Earlier this year, the Trump administration floated proposals to reverse that trend — a $5,000 one-time “baby bonus,” expanded IVF funding, and fertility education classes. But while the high cost of having and raising children demands attention, a deeper, avoidable crisis hangs over women’s fertility — one under-addressed by doctors, nearly ignored in research, and scorned by the mainstream media.

If America is serious about reversing demographic decline, it must start with reproductive health at its root.

Millions of American women long to bear children but wrestle with infertility caused by conditions that doctors too often write off or treat only with drugs. Doctors prescribed “the pill” to teens to regulate cycles rather than investigate root causes of their irregularity; now, they too often rely on medications as default treatment instead of exploring environmental, nutritional, or lifestyle interventions. One glaring example is polycystic ovary syndrome.

Underdiagnosed, underfunded

Polycystic ovary syndrome remains the most common cause of female anovulation (absence of ovulation) and one of the leading causes of infertility in the world, affecting up to 13% of reproductive-age women. It disrupts ovulation, floods the body with androgens, like testosterone, increases the risk of miscarriages, and plagues women with irregular cycles — yet up to 70% remain undiagnosed.

PCOS research funding remains woefully low. From 2016 to 2022, PCOS received about $31.8 million annually — versus $262 million for rheumatoid arthritis or $420 million for lupus, “despite similar degrees of morbidity and similar or lower mortality and prevalence.” In 2022, the NIH reported just $9.5 million dedicated to PCOS. That’s negligible compared with the disease’s $15 billion-a-year U.S. cost in medical care, complications, and mental health impact.

Women as cash cows

Current treatment of women with PCOS indicates a culture of profit over prevention. Pharmaceutical companies and fertility clinics thrive on long-term medication and expensive IVF cycles — not on teaching diet shifts, endocrine-safe living, or stress reduction.

Nutrition and the environment's impact on health cannot be discussed without being labeled as “anti-science.” The tragedy is that PCOS is not only treatable but in many cases manageable through lifestyle interventions.

Though PCOS is often influenced by genetics — such as family history with type II diabetes — it’s also strongly tied to insulin resistance, poor metabolic health, obesity, and environmental stressors. Nutrition, exercise, weight management, and reduced exposure to endocrine-disrupting chemicals can dramatically improve fertility outcomes.

Even modest changes — a 5%-10% weight reduction in overweight women or a shift toward lower-glycemic diets — have been shown to restore ovulation in many women. But such non-invasive and inexpensive advice is considered “body-shaming.”

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Getty Images

Touch the holistic third rail

Women’s health, especially fertility, has become fodder for political punditry on both sides of the aisle — with little real research, funding, or solutions for root causes. Instead, women have become cash cows for an entrenched medical-industrial complex that profits from endless prescriptions and IVF cycles, while ignoring what might prevent infertility in the first place.

The “third rail” of holistic fertility care gets dismissed as “anti-science.” That’s part of the problem. It’s time to touch the rail.

If America is serious about reversing demographic decline, it must start with reproductive health at its root. That means early screening for PCOS, education about metabolic health, and shifting from a medical culture of symptom management to one of holistic fertility stewardship.

Women deserve it, and the future generations of Americans — literally — require it.

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After Charlie Kirk’s Assassination, Sitting On The Sidelines Isn’t An Option

On Wednesday, conservative titan Charlie Kirk was murdered while speaking on a college campus in Utah. His crime? Sharing the Gospel, defending the family unit, and loving his country. His ideas weren’t fringe. They’re the values millions of ordinary Americans hold themselves — and that’s why Kirk’s assassination has shaken people so deeply. Kirk wasn’t […]

Disney feeds on yesterday while starving tomorrow’s childhood



Disney still prints money, but creatively it feels like a company on borrowed time. Marvel and Star Wars once powered revenues, yet a collapse in quality and a relentless release schedule have dulled both brands. The animation studio that set the global standard now leans on sequels and live-action remakes.

Worse, Disney struck a devil’s bargain by cultivating the “Disney adult.” By chasing the childless consumer, the company bought short-term profits while starving its future. At this rate, the company will have no next generation to buy into its nostalgia-based market.

Disney once sold childhood to children and, by doing so, sold a future to parents. By pivoting to the childless super-consumer, it sold out both.

Walt Disney’s dominance came from talent and timing. He had a gift for stories that delighted children and amused their parents. He also built in an era when mass media suddenly reached every living room, the postwar baby boom swelled the audience, and families had disposable income for the first time. Walt converted that moment into a network of theme parks that became rites of passage. In America, childhood meant Disney, and Disney meant childhood.

The empire grew after Walt’s death. Parks multiplied. The company expanded into television, music, sports, and games. Disney stretched its reach to older kids and teens, building an ecosystem where a child could live almost entirely inside one brand. That was the genius: Every formative memory wore a set of mouse ears, and nostalgia was guaranteed on the back end.

But invention is hard. Replicating Walt’s spark isn’t a system you can scale. Disney wanted every demographic and every dollar. Children had been the untapped market, but kids don’t control income; parents do. Marketing directly to adults looked unrealistic — until executives realized nostalgia could do the work.

Nostalgia as strip mine

Nostalgia feels like striking gold. You don’t need to create; you need to repackage. Decades of artistry built so much goodwill that the faintest echo could trigger warm feelings: a musical cue, a costume redesign, a cameo. For young adults who discovered the world is harsher than childhood promised, revisiting Disney’s stories and parks delivered comfort on demand.

That same generation had fewer children, often none. The old route — enchant the kids to unlock the parents’ wallets — narrowed. Disney pivoted. Sequels, reboots, and remakes pushed out originality. Marvel briefly rescued the strategy, but social justice sermons plus a firehose of content burned out the audience. Lucasfilm looked like another bottomless mine, yet once the initial excitement faded, fans saw the studio couldn’t craft new myths. The product kept coming; the magic didn’t.

From children’s parks to adult playgrounds

The parks followed the money. Regular attendance became a status symbol among young adults eager to flaunt luxury consumption online. Disney obliged, hiking prices and layering on exclusive experiences squarely aimed at childless visitors with cash to burn. Elite dining clubs, after-hours parties, and “premium” line-skipping converted nostalgia into a subscription lifestyle. Even Walt’s no-alcohol rule vanished. Spaces designed for families became curated playgrounds for nostalgic adults.

Nothing exposed this shift like the Star Wars hotel. The Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser promised full immersion — actors in character, missions, staged set pieces, and themed cabins — at an eye-watering starting price of $5,500 for two nights for two people, but often much more. Families had no chance. The corridors filled with adults paying thousands for a few days of role-play and an Instagram dump. When the novelty faded and the numbers stopped working, Disney shuttered it.

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Photo by Axelle/Bauer-Griffin/FilmMagic

Eating the seed corn

For a while, the nostalgia economy worked. Remakes still posted strong weekends. Parks extracted more revenue per guest. But the company stopped enchanting children. Re-skinning "Beauty and the Beast" or "Aladdin" keeps cash flowing for a season; it plants nothing for the future. You can only harvest memories if children are making new ones now. Disney has been eating seed corn instead of planting for tomorrow.

That creative retreat shows up in the audience. The company trains adults to consume experiences rather than build households. Disney adults don’t just buy tickets and merch; many postpone or abandon the basics of civilization — marriage, kids, a home — so they can keep chasing the next “exclusive.” Some even treat continuing their bloodline as evil. Disney is not solely to blame for this wider phenomenon, but it reinforces it and profits from it.

None of this means Disney’s executives are uniquely foolish. They followed the incentives. The audience that most reliably spends money was the one you made last generation: the kid who grew up inside Disney’s ecosystem and never left it. Social media turned that audience into free marketing. Wall Street demanded predictable growth, and nostalgia delivered on time. The trap is that nostalgia always cannibalizes tomorrow to feed today.

The moral is bigger than one company. A civilization that feeds on recycled memory while sneering at renewal is a civilization drifting toward hospice. Disney once sold childhood to children and, by doing so, sold a future to parents. By pivoting to the childless super-consumer, it sold out both.

What Charlie Kirk meant to us



Charlie Kirk was killed on September 10, 2025.

Like all conservatives, I think I must have seen hundreds or maybe even thousands of Charlie Kirk videos over the years. On YouTube, on Twitter, on Instagram. Videos of him being interviewed on Fox, videos of him hosting his show in his studio, and endless clips of him talking with students on college campuses.

You can’t go out, sit at a table for hours and hours over and over again, talking with anyone who comes up to you, without revealing that you, too, are human.

I don’t remember the first time I heard about Kirk, but it was early on, when he — and I — were much younger. Before he had kids and before I had kids.

Over the years, I, along with many conservatives of our generation, watched Kirk evolve and his impact grow — usually via the particularly intimate medium of our phones. His killing — no, murder; no, assassination — hits home in a close and terrible way.

Endless stream of mourning

I’m not alone in that feeling. To scroll through X Wednesday afternoon into the evening was to encounter an endless stream of shock, anger, and mourning. I read lots of posts from young people reflecting that it’s hitting them harder than they thought something like this could.

There were posts from parents noting how broken up their high-school and college-age kids were. There were abundant tributes from just about every big name in conservative politics praising Kirk for everything he did. Ben Shapiro wrote that when he met the 18-year-old Kirk, he predicted he would be the head of the RNC one day.

Kirk wasn’t a politician; he never held office. There’s a distance between us and politicians. They aren’t so real; everything is kind of an artifice to keep up an image and satisfy constituents.

Kirk was an activist, speaker, and a strong advocate for the good and the American people. He was human, and we who watched him on our little screens felt that. You can’t go out, sit at a table for hours and hours over and over again, talking with anyone who comes up to you, without revealing that you, too, are human.

'I can't stop thinking about it'

Thursday morning, I woke to a text from my sister, a normal, not terribly online conservative with a 10-month-old son. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” she wrote.

As I was writing this column, a DM came in from a friend: "Just no words. It’s hitting me like crazy. He was my exact same age and stage [of life].”

So many young conservatives are hit so dreadfully hard by the killing of Kirk because, in some way, they felt like they knew him. They saw him express just what they believed — or what his words made them realize they believed — hundreds and hundreds of times.

For many, Kirk was them, a representation of their hopes and their collective sense about the world and the future. Kirk did everything we are supposed to aspire to, or everything we as parents would want our children to aspire to. He advocated for what he believed in; he stood up for what was right; he was a husband and a father.

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A deeply American value

How many minds did Kirk change during his time on earth? How many people watched him debate on college campuses and then start to question what lies they previously thought they believed? I’m not sure it’s possible to accurately calculate the tremendous impact he had.

It takes a lot of bravery to go out, sit on a chair, and answer any question any person brings up to the open mic. Would you be able to do it? I don’t think I could. He fielded questions from people — often pretty nasty people — from all over the spectrum, but he never lost sight of the good and was never dragged down to the bad, as all too many have been. He devoted his life to trying to change people’s minds (and the world) with words and debate. It's a deeply American value, and he was killed while he was doing it.

Leave a legacy

On Wednesday, I saw a post from Charlie dated July 27, 2025. It was a video of his young daughter running up to him as he sat on a couch in a Fox News studio. She jumped on his lap; he hugged her and smiled. The text accompanying the video read: “Get married, have kids, and stop partying into oblivion. Leave a legacy, be courageous. Happy Sunday. God Bless all the parents out there.”

Kirk believed in something, and he devoted his life to it. He didn’t sit around speculating, he didn’t spend his time waiting, he didn’t see a problem and decide not to do anything. He wanted to make a difference in the world; he wanted to make it better, and so he did. He changed American politics in the 2020s and invigorated young conservatives in a way few others have, and he did it all while raising a family. He did exactly what his post on July 27 called for the rest of us to do.

Charlie Kirk got married, he had kids, he was courageous, and he left a legacy.

God bless his soul in eternal rest.