Commentary
Reproductive rights is a hot-button issue that dominates political debate, with both sides convinced they hold the moral high ground. But the real reproductive rights we should be focused on are the rights of our children and grandchildren to be able to reproduce at all. In fact, that’s what the phrase really means: the right to produce. At the current trajectory of men’s sperm health, many scientific outlets have warned that by 2040, the average sperm count in much of the developed world could reach zero. I have four children, all of whom will be in their childbearing years at that time.
Why isn’t this the rallying cry in the streets? Why aren’t people pouring the same passion into protecting their children’s ability to have children as they do into the right to terminate a pregnancy? Statistically, no modern nation is at replacement fertility rates—meaning, as a species, we are not reproducing enough to sustain our population. That fact alone should alarm us. With the exception of Mongolia, which made a slight rebound by socially uplifting motherhood, no nation has ever reversed this trend once it fell below replacement.
And yet, we are largely apathetic to the collapse of our own species. We mobilize for endangered animals. We pass laws to protect ecosystems. But when it comes to the reproductive collapse of humanity, we shrug.
The decline has many causes: poor metabolic health, endocrine-disrupting chemicals in our water and food, ultra-processed diets, birth control hormones in city water systems, synthetic clothing leaching microplastics, and toxins in household cleaning products. Women’s reproductive health is also on the decline, though it receives far less attention than political battles over abortion. And here’s the truth—reproductive health shouldn’t just be a catchphrase used by Planned Parenthood. It should literally mean the health of our reproductive systems: how well our bodies can fulfill the biological purpose of bringing life into the world.
Those of you who read me often know that, somehow, nearly everything I write circles back to soil. That’s because healthy soil is the foundation for healthy humans. Healthy soil produces more nutrient-dense food, and nutrient-dense food supports our epigenetics, immune function, and even the way our genes express themselves. Just because we have genes that predispose us to diabetes, cancer, or other illnesses does not mean we are powerless—what we put into our bodies determines how those genes fire.
The microbiology in soil is deeply connected to the microbiology in our own bodies. When we poison the soil with chemicals, we destroy those microbial networks. We degrade the quality of our food. And when the quality of our food declines, so does our health—including our reproductive health. This isn’t abstract. This isn’t distant. This is as real and as urgent as it gets.
Culturally, I believe part of our apathy comes from a deeper indoctrination—that humans are the problem. You see it under the surface of climate change narratives: the unspoken message that humanity itself is a scourge, a plague on the planet. But we are not the problem. We are the solution. We belong here. We were given the responsibility to steward creation with reverence for life.
And yet, there is no other mammal on earth that abandons reproduction the way humans have. In my book Debunked by Nature, I write about how mammals instinctively prioritize water, food, and reproduction—sometimes shelter as well. We as humans have mastered shelter and comfort to the point that we have forgotten our most basic biological purpose. We’ve traded a reverence for life for the worship of convenience.
This is not just a matter of science; it is a matter of the soul. Scripture reminds us that children are a blessing and that we are to be fruitful and multiply. These are not outdated instructions—they are part of the design. Every generation before us has fought, in some way, for the survival and thriving of the next. That fight now looks different. It’s not about defending against wild predators or famine—it’s about defending against chemical saturation, nutrient collapse, and the slow sterilization of our species.
I will fight for reproductive rights, but when I say reproductive rights, I mean the right for my children to be able to produce in the normal, natural way that God designed. The right for them to conceive without invasive technology, without endless medical interventions, without navigating a broken system that can’t explain why an entire generation is struggling to conceive.
The most sobering reality is that no modern nation is having enough children to replace itself. Population decline, once it sets in, is incredibly difficult to reverse. When you pair that with collapsing fertility health, you have a compounding crisis. This is not alarmism—this is not “New York City will be underwater by 1999”-style climate catastrophe talk. This is what the data shows about our current trajectory. And the trajectory is downward.
We can change course, but it will take both cultural and environmental shifts. We have to clean up our food system, detox our soil, and restore the nutrient density in what we eat. We have to reduce the chemical and hormonal burdens we place on our bodies. We have to re-honor motherhood and fatherhood—not as burdens to bear after you’ve “lived your life,” but as central to the human story.
This is the fight worth having. Not just for us, but for our children, and their children after them. If we can protect the health of our soil, the health of our food, and the health of our bodies, we can protect the ability of the human race to keep going. That is reproductive rights. That is worth marching for.
