When the "village" that is supposed to raise the child has been replaced by housing stress, climate instability, and a "war-first" budget, choosing not to procreate is a completely understandable and wise survival strategy, writes Matthew Peel.
The 'Great Australian Dream' – a house, a backyard, a dog, and a couple of kids – isn't just fading. It's been gutted, left to decay by a political class that refuses to take responsibility for the future it is actively destroying.
As of early 2026, Australia's fertility rate has crashed to an all-time low. The latest data from the Centre for Population projects the total fertility rate will fall to just 1.42 children per woman in 2025-26 — the lowest it has ever been, lower even than during the Great Depression and the World Wars. The rate is well below the replacement level of 2.1, a benchmark Australia hasn't reached for almost five decades.
The usual suspects – rising costs, housing unaffordability – are part of the story. But to stop there is to miss the deeper rot. For a growing number of Australians, the decision to remain child-free isn't a lack of maternal or paternal instinct. It isn't a sad accident. It is a clear-eyed, rational calculation. A deliberate survival strategy. And that should terrify us all.
The economics of impossibility
Let's start with the numbers, because they are brutal.
By March 2026, the national median house value reached $1,005,418, according to Cotality (formerly CoreLogic). In Sydney, the median house value now sits at a staggering $1.58 million. Saving a standard 20 per cent deposit now stretches to nearly 12 years for the average Australian. For too many 20- and 30-somethings, the housing market isn't a ladder — it's a trap door.
Add the cost of childcare to the mix, and the maths simply doesn't add up. Even with the Child Care Subsidy – which can cover up to 90 per cent of fees for lower-income families – out-of-pocket costs remain substantial. In metro areas, daily centre-based fees can range from $120 to $180 per child, and for families with two young children, the annual gap fees can still add up to more than $30,000 a year. When you consider that the full cost of a place can reach $36,000 annually – on par with private school fees – the financial barrier becomes clear.
During a March 2026 grievance debate in Parliament, Rebekha Sharkie MP noted that childcare in Australia consumes well above the OECD average share of household expenses, and that over half of Australians under 35 have delayed parenthood due to cost pressures.
Research from the 2025 Household, Income and Labour Dynamics in Australia (HILDA) Survey indicates that nearly half (46 per cent) of Australians aged 25-34 have altered their family plans due to financial concerns, and 15 per cent are ruling out children entirely.
For many, the choice is stark: personal financial survival, or a life of "working-poor" parenthood. More are choosing the former. Not out of selfishness, but to preserve what little mental health they have left in a system designed to chew them up and spit them out.
The weight of a burning world
Beyond the bank balance, a deeper, more existential dread is casting a long shadow over the nursery. "Eco-anxiety" isn't a fringe concern anymore — it's an unspoken weight carried by young Australians who see no safe place to voice it.
A nationwide survey commissioned by Professor Clive Hamilton and carried out by Roy Morgan Research found that about 40 per cent of Australian women without children say they are hesitant to have children because of climate change. Among non-parents, 40.4 per cent of women said they were moderately or very hesitant about having children because of the changing climate, compared with just 17 per cent of men. Hamilton suggests this greater hesitancy among women points to a "gendered calculus of risk".
Hamilton wrote:
"Compared to men, women expect it to become hotter, are more anxious, and feel more insecure due to the changing climate, suggesting values of care make them more open to the scientific warnings of danger,"
Two in five Australians believe the climate will be "much hotter" by 2050.
This sentiment is echoed across conversations with young Australians. The lived experience of 50-degree summers and bushfire smoke makes bringing a baby into what feels like a certain climate catastrophe seem like setting them up for a lifetime of fear. When the very planet your child would inherit is on fire, who can blame young Australians for saying "no"?
The shadow of endless war
And then there's the geopolitical shadow. The tightening military integration with the United States and the eye-watering $368 billion price tag of the AUKUS pact have created a creeping sense of "continuous war" readiness. In a world fractured by volatile conflicts like Ukraine, where conscription returned to the European continent overnight, the old Australian anxiety of the "lottery of death" no longer feels like a historical relic.
With the Australian Defence Force facing a chronic recruitment crisis, whispers of a return to some form of mandatory service are already hovering in the margins of defence policy debates.
As Zali Steggall MP pointed out in Parliament, the AUKUS submarine program is forecast to cost up to $368 billion over 30 years, yet the government is allocating only $1 billion over five years to the Disaster Ready Fund to strengthen community resilience against escalating national disasters. In a Senate debate, it was noted that AUKUS is set to take $368 billion from Australians — equivalent to over $13,000 from every Australian alive today — money that will go straight into the pockets of US and UK weapons manufacturers.
"It feels like we're just waiting for the next big one," is a sentiment frequently heard among young men. The fear of raising a son only to have him shipped off to fight a superpower battle that has nothing to do with Australia is not paranoia — it's a rational response to a government that seems more interested in buying submarines than building a future worth living in.
A government that voted against caring
Perhaps the most damning indictment of all came in October 2025, when the Senate rejected Senator David Pocock's Climate Change Amendment (Duty of Care and Intergenerational Climate Equity) Bill 2025. The legislation would have required decision-makers to consider the health and wellbeing of children in Australia when making significant decisions that impact the environment and climate. Both Labor and the Coalition voted against it.
Senator Pocock accused both major parties of denying a duty of care to Australia's children and future generations. He noted that the Bill had overwhelming community support, with 403 submissions to a Senate inquiry and more than 26,000 Australians signing a petition in favour of legislating a duty of care. Only one submission outright opposed it.
Senator Pocock said:
"In 2021, the Morrison Government argued in court they had no duty of care to children. Labor came to office promising better, but have now approved 31 new or expanded coal and gas projects...This is not just negligent, it is immoral. Future generations will look back and ask why, when we knew the damage we were doing, we chose not to accept our duty as a parliament."
Let that sink in. A majority of our elected representatives voted "against" having a legal duty of care for the next generation. It sent a clear, unmistakable message: the system is not legally obligated to protect your children's future if it gets in the way of short-term industrial or political goals.
The "breach of contract" between generations is now official policy.
Even the older generation, who once pressured their kids for grandkids, are starting to see the logic. The defeat of Pocock's Bill has been a turning point for many grandparents-to-be, who now struggle to encourage their children to bring babies into a system that explicitly voted against having a duty of care for those children's futures.
The ultimate act of responsibility
Ultimately, the choice to opt out of parenthood in 2026 is not an act of selfishness. For many, it is the ultimate act of responsibility — and the most rational decision available to them.
When the "village" that is supposed to raise the child has been replaced by housing stress, climate instability, and a "war-first" budget, choosing not to procreate is a completely understandable and wise survival strategy.
The question isn't why young Australians are saying "no". The question is: what kind of country have we become, where the most loving, responsible thing a generation can do is choose not to fill the cradle?
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Australia License
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Matthew Peel is a physiotherapist with an interest in the importance of critical thinking, exposing media bias and promoting progressive policy.
