More Than A Magazine, A Movement
I never knew if it was safe for me to have a child.
For most people, that question is about timing or readiness. For me, it was about something more fundamental. Not whether my child would belong in the United States, but whether I would be able to stay with them, have access to them, and be able to be their parent without fear.
Title X is the federal program that funds family planning and reproductive health services nationwide—and under President Donald Trump’s proposed budget for 2027, it would be effectively eliminated, reshaping access to care for women across the country.
What is perhaps most jarring, on close reading, is not only what the budget proposes, but how it speaks. The language throughout the administration’s budget and HHS documents departs from traditional bureaucratic norms, adopting a tone that is at times openly mocking and vilifying. Programs serving women, LGBTQ people and marginalized communities are described in terms that signal not just opposition, but disdain. It is a stark reminder that federal budgets do more than allocate resources—they reflect who this government is for, and who it is not.
(This essay is part of an ongoing Ms. series examining the real-world impact of President Donald Trump’s proposed fiscal year 2027 budget. Across sectors—from healthcare and childcare to immigration enforcement and food assistance—the series explores what the administration’s funding priorities reveal about who government serves, and who it leaves behind.)
Even though I did not know Nancy Metayer, my heart is utterly broken by the loss of her life and the violence of her death. The night before her funeral, I joined a virtual vèyè in her honor—a space to keep watch, to remember her impact and to hold one another in communal care.
That same day, news broke about Dr. Cerina Fairfax, also killed in her home. I did not know her either, and still, I was gutted.
Nor did I know Pastor Tammy McCollum, Ashly Robinson, Qualeisha Barnes, Davonta Curtis or Barbara Deer—Black women killed in just a matter of weeks. And to think these are only the names we know.
In moments like this, I find myself returning to a question first posed by Abbey Lincoln decades ago: “Who will revere the Black woman?” The reality of this violence—and the way it is so often explained away or softened—makes that question feel as urgent as ever.
Black feminists have long named the patterns, the structures and the stakes. And still, we are left mourning, naming and insisting: We will not let their lives be forgotten. We will continue the work in their honor—because we revere them.
How on-brand for the federal government to announce that U.S. birth rates are falling—just as The Testaments, the long-awaited sequel to The Handmaid’s Tale, dropped on Hulu.
In the fictional nation of Gilead, first envisioned by Margaret Atwood in her 1985 dystopian novel and expanded on screen for nearly a decade now, declining fertility catalyzed a Christian nationalist revolution in modern-day America, spawning a society rooted in patriarchal dominance and state-sanctioned violence. The Testaments, now three episodes in, is making a deliberate appeal to Gen Z and young viewers, featuring the spectacularly savvy Chase Infiniti and Lucy Halliday among Gilead’s tradwife-in-training rebels.
Doubly fascinating then, that it is the real-life status of teen birth rates in particular now driving the news. In a drop considered “extraordinary” by statisticians, the number of babies born to mothers between the ages of 15 and 19 fell by 7 percent in 2025.
Nevertheless, many on the right jumped directly into the fray to publicly lament that teens are having fewer babies.
In honor of the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the right-wing Heritage Foundation—developers of Project 2025, the policy guidebook written to influence the Trump administration’s legislative priorities—has issued a 168-page position paper, “Saving America by Saving the Family: A Foundation for the Next 250 Years.”
The document is intended to “restore the family,” by elevating a male-led, heterosexual model of social relations.
The report is both absurd and terrifying—which is why the National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) is sounding an alarm about it. Emily Martin, the NWLC’s chief program officer and Amy Matsui, its vice president of childcare and income security, spoke to Ms. reporter Eleanor J. Bader about “Saving America by Saving the Family” in late February.
The American Revolution can feel like a legacy that belongs to a select few. It has often been told as the story of wealthy white men—many of them enslavers, many of them beneficiaries of Indigenous dispossession—who rebelled in the name of liberty while denying it to most of the people around them. From this perspective, those who are most marginalized—including women, LGBTQ people and communities of color—may feel as if they are reinforcing political amnesia, or worse, complicity, in patriotic celebrations of 1776.
(This essay is part of the FEMINIST 250: Founding Feminists series, marking the 250th anniversary of America by reclaiming the revolution through the women and gender-expansive people whose ideas, labor and resistance shaped U.S. democracy.)
For adults who’ve conveniently blocked out memories of their own teenage angst, director Paloma Schneideman’s Big Girls Don’t Cry may bring all those feelings roaring back—but it’ll also urge you to have a little empathy for the younger version of yourself.
A New Zealand entry in Sundance’s World Cinema Dramatic competition, the film is a sensitive, insightful portrayal of how teenagers struggle to sort out their own mixed motivations while shuttling constantly between big adult feelings and childlike urges.
(This is one in a series of film reviews from the 2026 Sundance Film Festival, focused on films by women, trans or nonbinary directors that tell compelling stories about the lives of women and girls.)
Since Trump’s re-ascendance to the White House, the reactionary conservative movement has become the most aggressive and unfettered it has been in my lifetime. And they are getting very, very clear on what they think an acceptable life looks like for women:
—Settle for any man who decides he wants you.
—Don’t go to college.
—Marry early.
—Have as many babies as possible.
—Quit your job (or don’t pursue one in the first place) to stay home full time and depend financially on your husband.
—Shoulder the blame if you wind up married to a jerk.
—Wind up impoverished if you divorce.
—Face social condemnation if you fail to follow the tradwife script.
—Contraception should be illegal or at least hard to get; same for IVF and other fertility treatments.
This isn’t hyperbole. It’s a plan they wrote down and published: Last month, the Heritage Foundation published “Saving America by Saving the Family: A Foundation for the Next 250 Years.” Think of it as Project 2275, a detailed plan that is mostly about how America can spend the next two and a half centuries undoing the feminist progress we’ve made.
Over 70 percent of Indian Americans support abortion access and reproductive rights. But you wouldn’t know it from the public conversation. We’re not testifying at hearings, writing op-eds or speaking openly about the messy, painful realities of our own reproductive lives. In a community that prizes privacy and propriety, the body remains one of the last taboo subjects—especially when it doesn’t cooperate.
Maya Shankar didn’t plan to break that silence. But then again, Shankar—a cognitive scientist, best-selling author and host of the award-winning podcast A Slight Change of Plans—has built her entire body of work around what happens when life refuses to follow the plan.
“There’s a special stigma reserved for childfree women,” she says. “And certainly that stigma holds in the South Asian community.”
“Society often says, ‘Always chase your dreams, never accept failure, keep going,'” she adds. “And there are limits on that.”
“It’s just an ongoing conversation,” she says. And then, without prompting: “I’m childfree today. And I feel more joyful and happy and peaceful than I ever have.”
The U.S. House passed the so-called SAVE America Act 218-213, with lone Democrat Rep. Henry Cuellar of Texas joining all House Republicans in voting yes for the Trump‑backed bill. The bill now heads to the Senate; it reportedly has “nearly unanimous” support among Senate Republicans on the merits, but there is no evidence of the minimum seven Democrat votes they would need to overcome the filibuster. (There is no specific date for a floor vote yet, but Senate Majority Leader John Thune has said the bill will get a vote and that he can move to it “as soon as he chooses.”)
Still, its renewed momentum makes one thing clear: The implications of the SAVE Act for women voters and women’s political representation are no longer hypothetical. They are immediate.