On a brisk afternoon in October 2025, Teresa Mumm and Nathan Priest, a young couple living in the city, sat down with The Betoota Advocate to make a personal announcement that’s becoming increasingly common among their peers: they’ve decided not to have children. Their reasoning? A potent cocktail of climate anxiety, fears over artificial intelligence, late-stage capitalism, and the ever-present threat of global conflict. This decision, while deeply personal, is echoed by a growing number of young adults who see the world’s trajectory as uncertain, if not outright perilous.
"It’s actually so messed up," Nathan explained, his tone a blend of earnestness and frustration. "Like it’s irresponsible to be bringing another human being into this world." Nathan, a man in his late twenties, didn’t mince words about the gravity of the situation. For him, and for many others, the idea of parenthood has become entangled with existential dread. The climate crisis, in particular, looms large. Wildfires, droughts, and record temperatures have become yearly headlines, and the sense of impending disaster is hard to shake.
Teresa, who has been vocal about her anti-natalist leanings on social media and at parties, offered a slightly more nuanced perspective. "Yeah, like how can anyone have kids in this climate?" she asked, alluding to the environmental and geopolitical threats that seem to multiply with each news cycle. She pointed out that their own parents had children during the Cold War, a time shadowed by the threat of nuclear annihilation and what was known as mutually assured destruction. "It’s so bad. What kind of a future are they going to grow up in?" she wondered aloud. Despite her desire to have children, Teresa admitted, "I just can’t right now." Her words hung in the air, a testament to the heavy burden of contemporary uncertainty.
The couple’s concerns are not without precedent. As The Betoota Advocate noted, previous generations faced their own existential threats. The Cold War era was rife with anxiety about nuclear war, and yet, people still chose to bring new life into the world. But for Nathan and Teresa, today’s challenges feel uniquely insurmountable. The climate crisis is no longer a distant possibility; it’s a daily reality. Add to that the unpredictable rise of artificial intelligence, the volatility of global markets, and the specter of armed conflict, and the prospect of raising a child seems, to them, almost reckless.
This sense of dread and resignation is mirrored in the cultural sphere as well. On October 15, 2025, William Hartung published a review of Kathryn Bigelow’s latest film, House of Dynamite, in which he dissected the movie’s chilling portrayal of nuclear weapons and the illusions of safety offered by advanced missile defense systems. The film, already generating buzz for its unflinching realism, centers on a scenario where one interceptor after another fails to stop an incoming missile. The control room’s confidence quickly evaporates as reality sets in, and a junior official delivers a sobering truth: "Missile defense tests have failed nearly half the time." The line, which prompts a general to exclaim, "That’s what we spent $50 billion for?", encapsulates the frustration and futility that pervade both the film and, arguably, current public discourse.
According to Hartung’s review, House of Dynamite is more than just a cautionary tale about nuclear weapons; it’s a sharp critique of the belief that technology alone can shield us from catastrophe. The film’s fictional narrative is grounded in real-world skepticism about the effectiveness of missile defense systems. President Trump, for example, recently asserted that a leak-proof system, dubbed Golden Dome, could be built in just three years for $175 billion. The plan, he claimed, would simply add new features to existing anti-missile technology to achieve perfection. But as Hartung and many experts have pointed out, these promises ignore four decades of disappointing results since President Reagan’s 1983 "Star Wars" speech, when thousands of scientists declared such a flawless system physically impossible and refused to participate.
In practice, the track record is sobering. Tests of missile defense systems—particularly those designed to intercept long-range intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs)—have failed roughly half the time over the past 40 years. Even more troubling, none of these tests have realistically simulated an actual attack, which would likely involve a barrage of warheads interspersed with decoys. The implication is clear: the notion of a "leak-proof" defense is little more than a comforting myth.
Hartung warns that the pursuit of Golden Dome isn’t just a waste of taxpayer money; it could actively make the world more dangerous. "Pursuing the fool’s errand of a leak proof Golden Dome won’t just waste huge sums of our tax dollars. It could also accelerate the global nuclear arms race," he wrote. Military strategists, ever cautious, might respond to the perceived threat of an effective missile shield by developing more accurate, evasive, and numerous nuclear delivery systems. This could mean a return to the era of multi-warhead missiles and a renewed offense-defense arms race—a scenario that would undermine any efforts to control or reduce nuclear arsenals.
The only clear winners in this scenario, Hartung argues, are the weapons contractors: established giants like Lockheed Martin and RTX, as well as Silicon Valley newcomers like Anduril. These companies stand to profit handsomely from government contracts, regardless of whether the technology actually delivers on its promises. Meanwhile, pressing national needs—such as improving military training, building more resilient defense systems, or addressing non-traditional threats like climate change and pandemics—are left underfunded.
For Teresa and Nathan, these global dynamics feel deeply personal. The possibility of a new nuclear arms race, fueled by technological hubris and profit motives, only reinforces their decision. "No way dude, it’s actually just so selfish to bring a child into the world in this climate," Nathan reiterated, capturing a sentiment that resonates with many in their generation.
As policymakers debate the merits of missile defense and young couples weigh the risks of parenthood, the underlying question remains: what kind of world are we building for the future? For now, Teresa and Nathan have made their choice—a choice shaped as much by love and hope as by fear and pragmatism. Their story, and the broader debates it reflects, offer a sobering snapshot of a world at a crossroads, where the stakes couldn’t be higher and the answers are anything but simple.
In a time marked by uncertainty, both on the world stage and in the quiet moments of individual lives, the decisions we make today will echo for generations to come.