Less than a week out from the 2026 midterms, Republicans across the country are feeling the heat from their party’s vote last year to shrink Medicaid by roughly $1 trillion over the next decade. The cuts, driven largely by new work requirements and eligibility checks, are expected to leave more than 7 million Americans without insurance by 2034. They’ll also hit hospitals, clinics, and nursing homes that everyone uses, whether or not they’re on Medicaid.

These cuts weren’t supposed to be noticeable to voters just yet. Republicans designed them to take effect in 2027, after the midterms.

But some of the damage is already showing up. Paired with a reduction in tax credits to help buy insurance through the Affordable Care Act, and rising employee premiums, the cuts are colliding with a broader voter revolt against the high cost of living — and have turned healthcare into a top midterm issue.

A slew of recent polling shows healthcare costs sitting at the top of voters’ economic worries as the campaign season winds down. A KFF poll from earlier this month found healthcare outranked food, housing, and utilities as a top concern, with nearly half of voters saying it was “extremely important” for candidates to be talking about. And in late September, an Associated Press and KFF survey of rural voters found that twice as many said the Trump administration’s healthcare policies had hurt the health of people in their community as said they’d helped. 

Republicans have tried to rebrand the One Big Beautiful Bill Act as the “Working Families Tax Cuts,” but Politico found voters largely unmoved by the new name, and Fox News recently gave Democrats a 22-point lead on who voters trust to handle healthcare.

Democrats, for their part, have put healthcare costs at the center of their closing argument. It’s the issue they’ve spent more on than any other, according to the Cook Political Report’s Battleground Issue Tracker, with more than $215 million across the  most competitive House and Senate races this year. Democrats trying to flip red seats are running ads on reversing the Medicaid cuts and on having relied on Medicaid once themselves, while outside liberal groups are spending millions of dollars in ads tying Republicans to the cuts, and leading an 8,000-mile bus tour through 36 cities. 

They’ll have even more to work with next year. The new Medicaid work requirements and the six-month eligibility checks that Republicans delayed past the midterms will all take effect in 2027, which means the first wave of people losing health insurance coverage will hit right as the 2028 campaign begins.

Republicans’ defenses aren’t holding up

Reducing Medicaid spending became a critical part of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act in order to help offset the multitrillion-dollar cost of extending President Donald Trump’s first-term tax cuts, adding some new ones, and funding ICE.

Mindful of the potential for political backlash, Republicans took steps to ward off attacks.

The main defense Republicans have relied on is to point to a $50 billion rural health fund that was also included in the bill. The GOP is touting it as “the single largest investment” in rural healthcare in over 20 years.

But fact-checkers and health analysts have been clear that this temporary infusion of funds, spread out over five years, doesn’t offset the $137 billion in permanent cuts projected to hit rural areas over the same decade. 

Maine Republican Sen. Susan Collins, who voted to let the One Big Beautiful Bill Act reach the Senate floor but against final passage, leaned on this rural healthcare fund in a debate earlier this month. “If I had not allowed the bill to go to the floor, I would never have been able to author the $50 billion fund to help rural healthcare,” she said. Troy Jackson, her Democratic challenger, emphasized that the fund comes nowhere close to covering what Mainers stand to lose. “Senator Collins is like an arsonist who helped set the fire, and then she wants credit for bringing a cup of water to put it out,” he said.

Voters don’t need a fact-check to notice when a hospital shuts down or reduces service. In some cases, medical institutions aren’t waiting for the cuts to arrive, and are making decisions based on the federal funding they expect to lose. In Iowa, for example, MercyOne Clinton Medical Center ended labor and delivery services earlier this year, citing decreased Medicaid funding as part of the reason.

“The public’s not stupid, and we’re all already absorbing a lot of additional costs that we shouldn’t have to because of Republican decision-making in Washington, DC,” Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer told Politico recently.

The second is to deny there is reduced spending at all. “It’s not an actual cut,” as GOP Rep. David Valadao of California said in a debate several weeks ago — the savings, Republicans argue, come from cracking down on waste, fraud, and abuse. 

This distinction is an important one in certain campaigns. Medicaid covers over 60 percent of Valadao’s California district, and he voted for the bill. Valadao also led a letter, signed by 12 other Republicans from battleground districts, declaring that “we cannot and will not support a final reconciliation bill that includes any reduction in Medicaid coverage for vulnerable populations.” Every one of them ultimately voted for it. 

Loss of coverage is already happening in Nebraska, the only state to start enforcing its new Medicaid work requirements ahead of the deadline.

The “no actual cuts” claim rests on a technicality that the law doesn’t reduce benefits for anyone who stays enrolled. But the roughly $1 trillion in savings the Congressional Budget Office scored comes almost entirely from people losing coverage. When Arkansas tried the same 80-hour-a-month work requirement in 2018, more than 18,000 people lost their health insurance within months. This happened mostly because people didn’t know about the changes or couldn’t handle the new paperwork.

Loss of coverage is already happening in Nebraska, the only state to start enforcing its new Medicaid work requirements ahead of the deadline. Millions more across the country are getting notices in the mail that they could lose their insurance next year.

The problems driving voter anger are about to get worse

Nebraska offers the clearest preview of what’s coming. The state began enforcing its Medicaid work requirements in July, well ahead of the federal deadline, and more than 1,000 residents have already lost coverage, according to the Washington Sun. Republican Sen. Pete Ricketts, who voted for the bill, is tied with Dan Osborn, an independent, in a state that Trump carried easily.

“One out of two Republicans either are, have been or have a family member that is or has been on Medicaid,” Bob Ward, a pollster with the GOP firm Fabrizio Ward, told the Washington Sun. “It’s not like a theoretical thing.”

The rest of the country will experience these new administrative burdens beginning in January. Adults covered under the Medicaid expansion will have to prove every six months that they’re working, volunteering, or attending classes at least 80 hours per month, or demonstrate that they qualify for an exception.

There were Republicans, including some who ultimately voted for the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, who warned in 2025 that voters would not respond well to billions of dollars in Medicaid cuts. Polling at the time found that 71 percent of voters who backed Trump also said they’d oppose cutting the federal health insurance program.

Several months before voting for the bill Missouri Sen. Josh Hawley warned that cutting Medicaid would be “both morally wrong and politically suicidal.” Trump himself told his fellow “cost-cutting Republicans” to avoid going “too crazy” and “REMEMBER, you still have to get reelected.”

Leaders working in healthcare say these changes will drive up costs for all patients, irrespective of whether they use other forms of insurance. For example, if there are fewer people able to access primary care through Medicaid, then more patients will need to utilize hospital emergency rooms for care, and hospitals are required to provide treatment there regardless of whether they’ll be reimbursed. To cover that lost Medicaid revenue, experts expect that some hospitals will need to cut staff, services, or close clinics. They’ll also likely shift costs onto everyone else, through longer ER wait times and higher premiums for patients still on insurance.

Workers who get insurance through their employers are bracing for hikes, too. KFF’s annual employer survey found the average worker is paying more than $600 more toward a family plan this year than in 2025, and the cost-shifting that follows Medicaid cuts is expected to push premiums higher still. One August survey of employers found average plans are projected to rise next year by more than 8 percent. Roughly 160 million Americans get coverage this way.

Republicans have made a bet that higher costs won’t hurt them next week or in two years. Sen. Thom Tillis (R-NC), who announced his retirement days before voting against final passage of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, warned that voters would come to understand who took away their health insurance coverage.

“If you’re a competent Democrat, you’re going to figure out how to communicate to them how it affects their lives,” he said that summer. “And it almost certainly will.”

The midterms are racing to their conclusion, but the presidential contest is right around the corner. As the next primaries begin to take shape, how Democratic hopefuls intend to address childcare is already shaping up to be a major question. 

Kentucky Gov. Andy Beshear, who is weighing a run for president, is one of the potential contenders with hands-on experience around this issue. Facing Republican opposition in the state legislature, he recently redirected federal funds to launch a pre-K pilot program, standing up 3,000 new seats since May. And he believes national Democrats should be making a push to expand access to preschool as well.

We wanted to better understand not only how Beshear is thinking about early childhood initiatives, but also his approach to spending on new federal programs more broadly, and what he’s learned from past efforts to expand access to families that failed. On Tuesday, we spoke with Beshear remotely about his work in the state — and his message to Democrats outside of it. Our conversation has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.

Since 1991, Kentucky has supported voluntary preschool, yet today still only about a quarter of 4-year-olds can attend the state-funded program. Why has it been so hard to make preschool available to every family who wants it?

Well, it shouldn’t be hard. You know, pre-K is an opportunity for every child to get off to a good start. And right now in Kentucky, because of the history you just mentioned, over half of our Kentucky children show up not ready for kindergarten. So before they’ve ever walked into a public school they are already behind. 

So why has it been hard to make that happen?

Well, so at least in my tenure, somehow pre-K has become political. You know, 4-year-olds aren’t registered to vote. They’re not Democrats or Republicans. But I’ve pushed every year to get this in the budget. We can easily fund it given that I’ve produced a surplus every year I’ve been governor, yet our Republican leadership simply will not let it happen.

So, as you mentioned, there have been attempts at expanding this before. What have you learned from those earlier attempts, and what are you doing differently now?

So it’s interesting you bring that up. The same leadership that will not pass pre-K funding in our current budget cycle voted for it under the last Republican governor, but won’t vote for it under me. The last Republican governor vetoed the expansion, and they expressed their displeasure. So the only thing that’s changed here is the party of the person in charge. And what I hear is our Republican leadership saying they don’t want to give me a win, but they’re willing to hand a loss to all of these 4-year olds.

But for me as governor, I don’t get to accept excuses. So what I’ve done is I’ve taken flexible workforce training funds called WIOA funds, which you can use for a lot of different things. They’re used in a number of states for pre-K. And we have launched five pilot programs in different parts of the Commonwealth that are already a stunning success. 

The smallest county in Kentucky is called Robertson County and has zero childcare. You have to drive 40 minutes one way or an hour another way just for any form of child care. It’s one of the places we started this and just to see the parents and the impact that it has on them — most of those parents don’t share my political party — but this is a great opportunity for them that they’re embracing. 

It sounds like it’s gotten pretty polarized in your state. When you talk with Republican lawmakers privately, what do they tell you about why they won’t support expanded preschool?

Well, many rank-and-file Republicans in our state legislature want pre-K, and a number of them helped us to push for it this time. But leadership that’s been here for far too long and gotten far too partisan is simply blocking it at this point. What we need is for it to get to a vote, because this is the top polling education issue among Republicans. Again, because it’s not political.

If we had ballot measures and we put this on there, it would pass 80-plus percent because everyone wants that opportunity for their children. My hope is now that we have started these pilot programs, including one in Franklin County, which is where the seat of government is, that they can go and see how good this program is and not allow the next set of 4-year-olds or the next set of 4-year-olds or the next set of 4-year-olds to miss out on it. But I’m gonna do everything I can with the funding that I can find to provide as much of this opportunity as possible.

So there’s a lot of speculation about whether you might run for president. Without asking you to make any announcements here, I wanted to ask how you’re thinking about these issues nationally. You recently called yourself a more “practical” candidate when explaining your concerns about Medicare-for-all. When you look at something like childcare or pre-K from a federal perspective, what does being practical mean?

I think it means that there is a role for the federal government, and I’m supporting a number of congressional candidates right now and talking to all of them about pre-K. When people talk about the different sides of the Democratic Party — which I think is an overblown story, but still — like when Elizabeth Warren and I get together, we try to find some different things that we both agree on that we could work together on, and pre-K is one of those areas, so is housing.

“I do believe that Congress should take action to make sure that every state provides pre-K for 4-year-olds.”

I do believe that Congress should take action to make sure that every state provides pre-K for 4-year-olds. That’d be something that would be good for the United States that could actually bring Democrats and Republicans together and lift up people in all 50 states. And wouldn’t that be nice? To do something that is the right thing, that is the smart thing, and to do it in a nonpartisan way.

I know you mentioned pre-K for 4-year-olds. What do you think parents should be able to count on from the government before their kids turn four?

I believe that there is a role for government in childcare, and we’re working on it right now in Kentucky. We launched our first childcare center for state employees, and we’re learning a lot from it. Now I admit that the child care challenge is complex. You know, we have private childcare, we have public childcare, we have nonprofit childcare, and making sure we can get in and understand the real cost drivers of that.

What we would do as a state, or what the federal government could do, is develop an effective understanding of all those different parts and pieces. But just pre-K could put 70,000 more people into our workforce in Kentucky, so think about what better childcare could do to the workforce in our country. And it’s something that we could afford because we would see more dollars coming back in terms of tax revenue from that many more people in the workforce than we would ever pay out in child care.

Representative Ro Khanna recently proposed a federal program that would cover childcare costs for nearly all families with kids under age six, including care by relatives and neighbors, and offer a thousand dollar a month to parents who stay home with children under three. Would you support that kind of program?

Yeah, I haven’t seen the details of it. I think that that would present some real challenges with our current system as it is. What I would see is getting into the complexities of each of the forms of child care and how we can augment it, how we can build out on the system that we have right now, but also to address those child care deserts that I’m not sure this plan would fix. I mean, we’ve got counties that have no options — public, private or nonprofit. 

And so I agree that it’s a challenge. I think it’s going to take us being both surgical on the micro and adopting policies on the macro. And I believe it probably won’t all happen at once, even though that sounds great. It’s how do we make improvement after improvement after improvement and expand and expand more as we understand the underlying mechanics better.

When I talk to people about why childcare and universal pre-K fell out of Joe Biden’s Build Back Better agenda, some say that Democrats tried to do too much and that they needed to narrow their agenda and prioritize specific issues more. Others, like Senator Elizabeth Warren, say that Democrats didn’t fight hard enough for child care, for universal pre-K.

What lessons do you take from the last federal child care push?

The federal government has to act with more urgency. We get in a lot of these debates about whether a plan is perfect or if a plan’s only 80 percent perfect. Listen, take the 80 percent and start working it. Provide the American people with some help which they need.

Now, the Biden administration could have had an imperfect plan. But if they’d implemented that imperfect plan, there would be more childcare options right now. And I admit as a governor, I’m practical. You know, getting stuff done is incredibly important. I want to provide relief to all families, but if I can provide relief to a lot of families, let’s start there and then let’s get bigger.

Just to clarify that, what would you have done differently? What would it look like if you had been part of the conversation?

“If it were me, I would push for universal pre-K for 4-year-olds immediately. That is the immediate relief that takes 25 percent of that burden off of working parents.”

If it were me, I would push for universal pre-K for 4-year-olds immediately. That is the immediate relief that takes 25 percent of that burden off of working parents and then I’d work on a bill that addresses childcare, that makes sure that we have all the stakeholders at the table.

Something that I hear in DC while reporting on childcare is that Democrats in Congress are working to make big new plans for 2027 and 2028. But we know they’d also face real pressure to restore things like the billions cut in Medicaid funding.

As you think about the future, where does childcare or universal pre-K fall on your list of priorities?

It’s high on the list of priorities because my priorities are the American people, their well-being, and the ability to chase that American dream. Right? That American dream is about having a job where you can support your family, being able to see a doctor when you’re sick, driving safe roads and bridges, getting your kids the best education possible, and feeling safe in your community. And so pre-K and childcare falls right there. I believe that.

When Democrats retake Congress or when they retake the presidency, we have got to be laser focused on people’s lives and how hard they are right now, but also do it in a smart way that increases the size of our workforce when there are people that want to go back to work, but simply can’t afford to because of the cost of childcare or a lack of those education options.

You recently praised Bill Clinton for running a budget surplus. Do you think that bringing down the deficit should be a priority for the next Democratic president?

Yes, and and I believe that you can and should run a surplus in that job. Now I think what you do is you grow the economy and that helps you pay for those services, but you’ve got to be careful about new spending. That doesn’t mean that you don’t engage in it because there are some things that you could spend on, I believe, like childcare and pre-K that would result in more federal revenue coming in that would allow you to run that surplus. But over time, we’ve got to start addressing the national debt.

Did the Biden administration’s experience with inflation change your thinking about how much the federal government should spend?

Well, I believe the Biden administration was attempting to get us out of the recession that was Covid. Now you saw a huge recession in Covid, and they put these policies in place that shot us out of that recession faster than anyone ever thought was possible, but it probably overshot that target. I think we should have been communicating to the American people about how we had gotten our economy back on track in record time, but it had gone a little too far, and that we were going to make it through. That could have even been a patriotic call because I believe it was a patriotic time. You know, defeating a pandemic that came to kill as many of us as possible.

You’ve talked in this conversation and elsewhere about being pragmatic, acting with urgency, not being overly ideological. A lot of Democrats today make the case now that the pragmatic thing to do is to go big on new programs, push for universal childcare, push for universal health care, abandon these half measures and incremental steps.

I’d love to hear you talk about that. Is that your instinct? 

Well, I’d have to see a program that would actually work. You know, it’s great to talk about a massive program, but then you’ve got to get down in the details, and will it deliver on day one? Or will it crash a system that is imperfect but is delivering to a degree and could deliver more? I’m not against the big idea, but what I’m against is throwing something out there that in the practical real world can’t work.

What role do you see for employers in building out our childcare and early education systems? 

I think that employers have a big role to play. And I see families where an employer has childcare, excited to go to work, knowing their kid is in the building or or close by, the convenience that that provides. They can go down and have lunch with their kids, which is something that I’ve missed out on in my work life. so I think it is critical. 

What we’ve seen in Kentucky is our large employers, we can work with them on it and we can get it done, but it’s midsized employers that we have to rise to that challenge. You know, places that only have a couple hundred employees, or maybe even 12 or 15, how we can band together for those businesses to be able to provide it. And I believe the federal government should be working directly with those companies, because we’ve got to make the economics work. The federal government, in coordination with those employers, could get this right, create a lot more slots, and help people get back to work.

Last month, a former Cornell University student identified in court papers as “Jane Doe” sued her university and seven members of the Chi Phi fraternity, alleging they raped her at the group’s house in October 2024. Cornell’s own disciplinary process for the incident had ended with two of the men expelled, two suspended and put on probation, one (who had already graduated) barred from campus, and two found not responsible but ordered to complete trainings and write reflection papers. The local district attorney declined to press charges.

Since the lawsuit was filed, the DA has reopened the case and New York state officials have launched an investigation. Students have also held sit-ins, and some are calling for the university’s president, Michael Kotlikoff, to resign. Cornell has suspended fraternity parties for the rest of the year.

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But this kind of case — and the issues it raises about campus life — are not new. Educators, students, activists, and politicians have spent decades debating how to prevent sexual assault, how to protect victims, how to balance the rights of the accused, and what to do about Greek life. At times, those conversations have resulted in significant changes to policy — which in turn have also generated backlash and brought more changes in response.

Elizabeth Armstrong, a sociologist at the University of Michigan, began researching campus sexual assault in the early 2000s, embedding at a Midwestern university to understand how fraternities, alcohol, and the lack of anywhere else to go put students at risk. She has seen attention to the issue come and go in the public discourse across generations of students, often spurred by high-profile incidents like a Time magazine cover in 1991 spotlighting a first-year William & Mary student who was date raped, and a Stanford swimmer in 2016 who was sentenced to six months in jail for assaulting an unconscious woman after a frat party.

I wanted to know what Armstrong makes of Cornell, and if she thinks anything is different this time. Has anything actually gotten better since the Title IX fights of the 2010s? What do people who haven’t been on a campus in a while misunderstand about how students socialize? And what could a school like Cornell do right now, without waiting on the courts or Washington, DC?

I talked to Armstrong about Greek life, what survivors of sexual assault actually want from their schools, and the reforms she thinks colleges need to be paying attention to. Our conversation has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.

Could you start by sharing briefly the kind of research you’ve done on campus sexual assault?

I did ethnographic and interview work at a Midwestern university, starting in 2003, and published a paper in 2006 on the organizational conditions that lead to sexual risk on campus. I later co-authored Paying for the Party: How College Maintains Inequality, a 2013 book based on that research.

Were there many people talking about this back in the early 2000s?

It was in something of a hiatus period. Interest in this issue essentially goes in waves. There was interest in the ’70s, then again in the late ’80s, and then there was a hiatus. My research and writing happened right before things started to build back up again with interest. 

So before we get into Cornell specifically, could you paint a bit of a picture of how campus social life tends to work? Where students gather, who hosts parties, and where Greek life fits in?

So the basic gist is that at four-year American residential universities, students often live in residence halls or they live off campus, or if there’s residential Greek life, they live in fraternities and sororities. 

Young people like to congregate, and they like to party, to have fun, and drink, and figure out opportunities to hook up. One of the things that has emerged, particularly on campuses with fraternities that have their own houses, is that these organizations control the party resources — like the space and alcohol, and time and energy to host.

So it’s hard to avoid them if you are someone who wants to party.

Yes, and one of the things that’s been coming out of the discussion related to Cornell is that the pandemic really flattened the number of bars, restaurants, and cafes in Ithaca — places where people might have otherwise had opportunities to hang out. So it gave an already really dominant Greek scene even more centrality and power over the way students socialize.

My next question was going to be what do people who haven’t been on a college campus in a while tend to misunderstand about the party scene, and that pandemic shift seems like an answer to that.

Yes, and people often don’t understand that for a lot of first-year students, who are generally under 21 but still wanting to drink, figuring out how to get alcohol, where the parties are, where the fun is going to be, is a challenge for them. Students entering college often don’t have good resources to know what’s safe and not safe. 

Yeah, and it seems like colleges just cover their eyes and deploy a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy on underage drinking.

Yes. Years ago, when I was doing more traveling and speaking on college campuses, cab drivers would be telling me how they’d deposit students drunk all the time. And if a school was religiously affiliated or anything, they would just deny that their own students were partying with alcohol at all. And so the students were just vastly more at risk than even at campuses where officials were willing to admit what actually goes on. 

Based on your research of party rape, what parts of campus life do you think we should be paying attention to with Cornell and other colleges? 

Here I’d bring up a book, Sexual Citizens by Jennifer Hirsch and Shamus Khan. They did ethnography at Columbia University, and they pointed out some concepts like “sexual geography” — which is this idea that you can go onto any campus and see the ways things are organized to be more risky. 

They point out, for example, that if students have nowhere to socialize except in dorm rooms with beds, that’s more risky than if they had lounges or other kinds of nonsexual spaces to congregate. And like, are there fun things to do that are substance-free if people want that? Are there spaces for queer students or students of color to hang out? What are the social options, and who controls where the fun happens?

That makes so much sense. If there’s no alternative, then people will go to whatever option is available, even if it’s less safe. 

Yeah, and I mean it’s tricky because sometimes it’s not considered hip or cool to do that. When we were doing our observation research way back in the early 2000s, the university we were studying was trying to create some non-frat party options, and the women that we studied thought those were just hopelessly nerdy and uncool, and they didn’t want to go because they were not seen as being high-status things to do.

What do you think colleges could be doing differently when it comes to parties?

One thing I think that colleges could do — like now that we do have Uber and Lyft — they could get a Lyft subscription where students can call up 24/7 to get home safely from wherever they happen to be, no questions asked. That could be expensive, but it’s a lot more expensive when serious harm happens. So ensuring people can get home safely could be one measure.

And Michael Roth, the president of Wesleyan, had an op-ed this week in the New York Times suggesting that universities consider making these organizations co-ed. That’s another option. Not abolishing them completely, but transforming them.

I’ve been really struck by the dissonance of having this conversation around male loneliness and male bonding on one hand, and this separate conversation about fraternities and whether they’re good or bad on the other.

I have a student, Anna Wood, who’s done interviews with fraternity men. She’s very interested in young men’s mental health, and loneliness, and friendship, and she’s finding that men get a kind of brotherhood more than friendship in fraternities. In other words, the fraternities aren’t really solving the male loneliness problem.

Are there any campuses today that you think are modeling something that is safer or better? Are there any other schools you think we should be paying attention to?

Well, there’s Wesleyan and Swarthmore; the students a few years ago organized to abolish Greek life on their campus. And I think in a lot of universities there are these “learning-living” communities that are organized around various kinds of themes or interests, like it could be organized around being interested in business or interested in international relations or STEM. But something where universities take on the project of helping young people form friendships.

I know we’ve been talking a lot about Greek life, but there’s sexual assault on campus outside of Greek life, too. 

Yes, it happens everywhere from honors dorms to sporting teams to residence halls. And it’s not just sexual assault; it’s also intimate partner violence in more committed relationships. I mean there are undergraduate students who are murdered by their boyfriends. So just addressing Greek life would not solve the problem across the board.

So I was in college between 2010 and 2014, when the Obama administration’s 2011 Title IX letter reminding colleges to address sexual assault complaints helped ignite a national debate over campus investigations and discipline.

Ah, you were right in the Dear Colleague letter era.

Exactly. It was a big issue on my campus and across the country. I understand those guidelines were loosened under Trump. As I’ve been following Cornell, I’ve seen a number of people respond by saying, “Well, nothing has changed or improved, and Title IX doesn’t work.”

I would love your thoughts on all of this, on where things stand. Do you see progress as just a ping-pong back and forth, or do you feel like things have improved at all from when you first started studying this?

One thing that seems to me that is better over time is that every single time this issue rises to the level of public awareness, there’s more people who get it. Like in each wave, more people understand that women don’t report sexual assault because they’re afraid of retaliation, because of trauma. More people understand this.

Like this time, as soon as the facts of the case became widely public, there was just sheer horror on the part of so many people. When I was in college in the ’80s, that would not have been true at all.  I mean, there was a case here at the University of Michigan when I was an undergraduate where it felt like just four feminists on campus understood what was going on. So there’s really been a gradual sort of cultural awareness over time

Even just talking to you, the composition of journalists writing on this is very different now.

What do you mean?

You’re a woman who graduated from an elite college around the time when the Dear Colleague letter was introduced. Not that long ago in the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s, where anyone who had a position to have any kind of way of impacting the public conversation, it was all men. There weren’t women who had access to that kind of public conversation. So I think that’s also a really, really important piece of what’s changed. The journalists are changing and helping the public get it. 

Can you talk about what happened beginning with the Trump administration?

So on the Title IX front, and after the Dear Colleague letter from 2011, and the whole campus anti-rape movement that happened around that time — well, on the heels of that there was a really major backlash. And that’s something my colleagues and I are studying, like the men’s rights activists and people who are more middle of the road, like civil libertarians, who felt things had gone too far.

And then the Dear Colleague letter was revoked under Trump, and in 2020 new Title IX regulations were put forward as a result of the Department of Education’s work during the first Trump administration. Those regulations made it very, very, very, very difficult to find somebody on campus responsible for sexual misconduct. Those are still in effect, so from that perspective, the fact that Cornell actually managed to expel a couple of those men and hold all of them, you know, responsible in some way, shows just how compelling the evidence against them was because it’s actually really, really hard now. 

And this was all wrapped up in the backlash to Me Too?

The backlash to the campus sexual assault stuff was already well underway when Me Too was getting started, but yes, there was this wave of stuff, and then we get the 2020 regulations, and the Biden administration tried and failed to undo them. 

Why did they fail?

Well, it took a really long time because they went through this notice-and-comment period, and they got everything redrafted, and then as soon as Trump was elected again, it was legally challenged.

So it took too long, and then they ran out of time?

It’s not even clear that the regs the Biden administration wanted would have fixed anything because we also have these processes where there’s just so much legalization and complexity. I mean, what survivors want is they want this to stop. They want people to believe them. Survivors want different things, but often they don’t want some yearlong process where everyone’s asking them what happened again and again and again. They want to just do school.

We still don’t have a good process in place for survivors on campus through either Title IX or the criminal justice route.

No, and one of the things I think that is most straightforward that could be improved is on the notion of what’s known as supportive measures. So those are the things that are very consistent with Title IX, because the point of Title IX is for people to not be deprived of their access to education. So if you think about it from the point of view of the survivor, what do they need to be well, healthy, and stay in school?

They may need their tuition refunded for a semester. They might need mental health services. They may need somebody to contact all of their professors and tell them that they can’t get their work in. They may need some sort of immigration support. At Michigan State, after the Larry Nassar scandal, they built something called the Center for Survivors, which is supposed to operate as a kind of one-stop shop where a survivor can go and get all of their various needs met. You can imagine more schools building those out.

Hopefully not every school needs a Larry Nasser type figure to get them to step up.

Yeah, hopefully not. I don’t know if that’s come up in any of the Cornell conversations, but one of the things they could do is use this as an opportunity to really, really massively build out their supportive measures. 

If you live in Colorado and buy your own health insurance, there’s a good chance you’re one of the 139,000 people enrolled in a public plan crafted by your state leaders. You’re paying $0 for primary care visits and certain mental health visits, $0 for prenatal and postnatal care, and you don’t have to meet your deductible first.

On average, enrollees in these plans pay an estimated $14 to $33 less a month in premiums than people in comparable plans, and their annual out-of-pocket spending has fallen about 15 percent while holding steady for everyone else on the marketplace. 

Colorado didn’t build a government insurance company, rather, it designed the plan itself, down to the copays, and then required private insurers to sell it alongside their own.

A public health insurance option was supposed to be part of the Affordable Care Act. President Barack Obama supported the idea throughout his time in office, endorsing a government plan that could, in his words, “keep insurance companies honest” by giving them a government-backed competitor. But the idea was stripped from the bill before passage, after it became clear Senate leaders couldn’t get garner enough votes. Joe Biden campaigned for president on reviving a public option in 2020, but he never prioritized it once in office, and the progressive activists who championed it under Obama largely turned their sights to single-payer health care, which would cover all Americans.

The problems a public option was intended to address — access, costs, reliability — have still not gone away and a growing number of policy wonks and elected officials have started to ask if the idea deserves a spot again on the national agenda. 

Healthcare costs are soaring, and voters tell pollsters it’s among their top economic concerns. Medicaid work requirements are set to take effect in January, which could leave millions of low-income Americans uncovered, and private insurers have asked to raise ACA marketplace premiums by a median of 15 percent next year, after a roughly 20 percent hike in 2026. Two-thirds of adults say they favor a national government health plan, and polls suggest most voters imagine proposals like Medicare-for-all as a competitor to private insurance, rather than a systemwide replacement.

While the debate around public options stalled in Congress, three states have gone ahead and built their own. Washington state launched a public option in 2021, Colorado in 2023, and Nevada earlier this year. They all built on a provision of the Affordable Care Act that lets states apply to run their own version of the law — one Sen. Bernie Sanders fought for in the hopes that Vermont would use it to build a single-payer system.

Their experience also shows the challenges involved: Not only in overcoming political objections from competing insurers, but medical providers as well, who may have to accept lower payments in order to keep the public option’s premiums affordable.

Colorado leaders say this push to control costs was critical to their success.

“The driving point behind what we were doing was to set hospital prices,” said Michael Conway, Colorado’s insurance commissioner and an architect behind the program. “That was what we were driving towards and that’s what we did.”

It’s not clear if other states, or the federal government, will be willing to pick those kinds of fights with the broader medical industry. But if ever there was a time for it to happen it would be now, with affordability a massive political issue, and the public seemingly eager for serious action on health care. Just as the ACA began with a state-level experiment in Massachusetts, the success or failure of these early public-option states could presage much bigger changes nationally.

What Colorado did

The motivation behind the public option in Colorado was simple enough: Healthcare was simply becoming too expensive.

Dylan Roberts, the Colorado state senator who sponsored the bill, represents mountain counties that had some of the highest individual-market premiums in the United States.

“Back then, the top issue on the minds of my constituents was the cost of healthcare and the cost of health insurance,” Roberts told the Century Foundation, which interviewed the officials and advocates behind the Washington and Colorado programs for a report last year.

Colorado Gov. Jared Polis made the issue a priority as well. One of his first acts in office was creating an Office of Saving People Money on Healthcare, run out of his lieutenant governor’s office.

When the state finally moved, it moved against unified opposition. Hospitals and insurers were lined up against essentially everything public officials proposed. Roberts described the opponents as “basically anybody in the status quo health care industry” — meaning insurers, doctors, hospitals, and pharmaceutical companies.

Colorado first introduced a bill for a state-run insurance plan, where the state itself would sell coverage. This is the kind of arrangement closest to Obama’s ACA vision, and what most people think of when they hear “public option.” 

“It was really in large part to scare the bejesus out of the insurance companies that we were going to really come in and truly be a state-run competitor against them,” Conway, the state’s insurance commissioner, said last month at a panel in Washington, DC.

But then in 2021, when Colorado officials mapped out what building a state-operated insurance company would involve, they concluded that a state-run plan would not have been able to sell a single policy until 2025 or 2026.

Officials decided that was too long given the urgent need, so they rewrote the bill before it passed, requiring the insurers already operating in Colorado to sell a marketplace plan the state would design. This coverage launched in 2023.

“We would just be starting today if we actually truly stood up a public option,” Conway said on the late September panel. He thinks this is what the federal debate around a public option keeps getting wrong. “People want action now. They’re pissed off, they’re hurting. … They don’t have four years to wait.”

Importantly, while hospitals in Colorado were not mandated to participate, the state gave itself the power to force them. Colorado gave private insurers a target: By 2025, the state-designed plans had to cost 15 percent less than that insurer’s plans had cost in 2021, adjusted for inflation. How they got there was up to them, but an insurer can only squeeze its own profits and overhead so far. So the rest effectively had to come out of the costs insurers paid to hospitals. And if an insurer missed the target, the commissioner could haul both the insurer and the hospitals responsible into a public hearing to defend their prices — and then order the hospitals to take less.

That threat of a hearing was a powerful enforcement mechanism. “No one wants to be called in front of a public hearing where press are going to be there,” Kyla Hoskins, Colorado’s deputy insurance commissioner, told the Century Foundation. The hospitals cared about that more than the insurers did, according to Conway. The state launched complaints against nearly every carrier in the individual market and then pulled hospitals in with them. After that, according to Adam Fox of the Colorado Consumer Health Initiative, the price negotiations started happening, meaning no enforcement hearing actually took place.

Doctors complained early, but Conway said hospitals were the harder fight. The state worried that a single large hospital system refusing to participate could sink the entire plan, but in the end, no hospital refused. 

The result is the Colorado Option, a standardized plan that every insurance company in the state’s individual and small-group markets has to sell. There are 36 of these plans on the individual market for 2026. 

And people are choosing it. Enrollment went from about 14 percent of the state marketplace’s customers in 2023, the first year, to a third in 2024, to roughly half today.

Researchers at Brown University found the savings weren’t limited to the public option. Across Colorado’s individual market, the cheapest silver plans — a benchmark middle-tier ACA plan — now cost more than $100 a month less than equivalent plans in similar states.

Not everyone is celebrating Colorado’s policy development. Two industry-funded groups, the Partnership for America’s Health Care Future and its state affiliate Colorado’s Health Care Future, have campaigned against the program for years, citing a 10 percent rise in individual market premiums in its first year, and a 2024 report they commissioned from Hoover Institution researchers, which estimated Coloradans in public option plans collectively paid $13.3 million more in 2023 than if they had chosen the cheapest nonpublic options plans. 

Andrew Shermeyer, a doctoral candidate in health policy at the University of Minnesota, found the program made coverage cheaper for people receiving federal subsidies but more expensive for those who don’t. Hoskins, who oversees the program, disputed that, pointing to the Brown analysis finding premiums fell across the state, including on private plans.

Cara Welch, a spokesperson for the Colorado Hospital Association, pointed to the looming Medicaid cuts with HR 1. “Public option plans that would further weaken the healthcare system and shut doors to care are the wrong solution,” she told me.

How the public option died in 2009, and where it went

While states are working to implement their own public options, a national version would still have to overcome the same barriers it faced the last time it was tried.

The original idea for a national public option was a government-run insurance plan that would be sold on the new Obamacare exchanges, next to the private plans. 

Jeanne Lambrew, who worked on the Affordable Care Act in the Obama administration and now directs health care reform at the Century Foundation, said on the DC panel that there were several reasons that made that particularly hard at the time, and that she doesn’t think those reasons have been resolved. 

The first challenge was determining who would end up in the plan, because if sick and expensive patients concentrated in the public option, then it would cost too much to run. But if sick people were concentrated in private plans instead, that could also make it too expensive for those insurers and they could pull out of the market. Something like that second scenario, what economists call “adverse selection,” played out in the early years of Obamacare, when insurers raised prices and pulled out of unprofitable areas, leaving some counties on the brink of having no insurer at all.

The second challenge Lambrew outlined is whether doctors and hospitals would take the public plan, and what they would get paid. In 2009 Democrats pitched participation in a public option as voluntary, which was a problem because it meant that in order to induce the most desirable doctors or the hospital everyone wants, the government would have to pay them high enough rates — which would make the savings effectively disappear. 

The third challenge was whether a government agency would sell insurance directly, or whether private companies would sell a plan the government designed, as Colorado later decided to do. 

While the public option was ultimately cut from the Affordable Care Act, what survived was a provision letting states apply for federal waivers to try their own designs, so long as coverage stayed as broad and affordable and didn’t cost the federal government more. 

That provision’s biggest champion was Sanders, who wanted Vermont to use it to build the first single-payer system in the country. Though Vermont tried and gave up in 2014, the clause instead became a legal opening for Washington, Colorado, and Nevada to later use. So although the ACA didn’t include a public option, Lambrew emphasized, it still built the path to the ones that exist now.

Washington state went first, passing its law in 2019, and made the opposite choice from Colorado on hospital mandates. Instead Washington asked hospitals to participate voluntarily, and many unsurprisingly didn’t. In the first year the plan was sold in 19 of the state’s 39 counties, cost about 11 percent more than the cheapest comparable plan, and drew roughly 1 percent of enrollees.

So the legislature went back and passed a second law in 2021, this time requiring hospitals to contract with at least one public option plan if one made them an offer. The requirement took effect for 2023, and enrollment has climbed every year since. By 2025 the plan was available in every county in the state. About 115,000 people signed up for a public option plan for 2026, or roughly 40 percent of Washington’s marketplace.

Nevada’s plans went on sale this year, and the state gave itself the least leverage of the three. It sets premium targets but cannot set hospital rates, and it suspended its provider participation requirement for the program’s first year. Enrollment has come in below projections. “The story is unfinished here,” Lambrew said of Nevada.

Taking the public option national

The hospital industry uses the plight of rural hospitals, which are often struggling financially, to argue against public options or the government getting involved more generally to lower costs. 

Healthcare reformers tend to respond by exempting rural hospitals from price caps, though Conway, Colorado’s insurance commissioner, says that is a mistake. Rural hospitals are generally paid far less by private insurers than large systems are, and at the price levels under discussion, he said, a cap would actually represent a raise for most of them. Tell a rural hospital it will get three times what Medicare pays and “they would think you were the savior,” he stressed.

Conway has been getting a lot of calls from other states interested in adopting what they’ve done. But in every conversation he’s blunt with the person on the phone, saying they’d have to be prepared to take on hospital prices. “When I bring that up with other states, the appetite isn’t there right now,” he said on the September panel.

Conway blames Medicaid cuts for the reticence. The Congressional Budget Office estimates 7.5 million Americans will lose their health insurance by 2034, and states bracing for that are not eager to pick fights with hospitals at the same time. Undoing those Medicaid cuts, Conway said, is “an incredibly important floor” and “the foundation to actually doing anything else past that.”

The federal government does have one tool that Colorado and other states lack: a public insurance program that already exists. Hannah Garden-Monheit, a former Federal Trade Commission official on the healthcare panel, pointed out that Medicare, unlike a private insurer, is “a price setter, not a price taker.” Meaning it can announce what it will pay rather than negotiate for it. Some public option proposals in Congress would let people buy into Medicaid through the marketplace, or create a new plan that pays what Medicare pays, instead of building something from scratch. 

Roberts, who sponsored the Colorado bill, told the Century Foundation that the goal should be saving customers money, getting more people insured, and getting them the care they need. He said what the public program “actually looks like at the end of the day doesn’t matter as much as the outcomes of the product that people have.”

Laura Kate Zaichkin, who runs competition and affordability at Washington’s exchange, says the path to a workable public option might not be easy, but the rewards are worth it.  

“It takes a lot of political will, collaboration with partners, thoughtful design and implementation,’ she told the Nation’s Health. “It is a long-term investment that states can make to lower healthcare premium costs.”

With Democrats potentially set to expand their statehouse presence after the midterms, there may be more room to act on healthcare in other states next year. Even if Democrats don’t end up enacting a public option at the federal level, they could boost states in their efforts by restoring Medicaid funding, which could give lawmakers more room to stand up to health providers on costs. If these public options continue to grow, they might end up an unexpected ACA legacy.

In late September, Democratic Rep. Ro Khanna of California introduced the Free Child Care for America Act, an $80 billion-a-year proposal to make childcare free for nearly every family with kids under six. The bill would let families choose between sending their child to a daycare center, having a relative, friend, or neighbor paid a living wage to care for them, or taking a $1,000 monthly stipend to keep the child home for the first three years. It comes from a lawmaker who openly says he’s considering a run for president. “I want 2028 to be a big-ideas primary,” Khanna told ABC. “A contest on who’s going to have ideas of the future that meet the moment.”

Khanna’s is not the only big Democratic childcare proposal released in the last few months. In July, Project 2029 — a group of liberal policy experts developing an agenda for the next Democratic administration — proposed something similar to Khanna’s plan: giving families a choice between free daycare and $1,000 a month to provide care at home or pay a trusted caregiver. The group estimates that would cost about $200 billion annually. Third Way, a centrist Democratic think tank, unveiled its own universal childcare pitch, guaranteeing every family at least three affordable options within a 15-minute drive of home or work by expanding home-based, infant, and after-hours care, and leveraging employers as partners. 

Early childhood policy is quickly becoming a defining issue for 2028 hopefuls. On the right, Vice President JD Vance has staked out an early and controversial position, to pay married stay-at-home parents roughly $9,000 per child annually using existing federal childcare funds. On the left, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is spearheading a new House working group to develop a federal childcare plan. Kentucky Gov. Andy Beshear has been pushing free pre-K for all 4-year-olds, something California Gov. Gavin Newsom has already enacted in his state. And New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, who can’t run for president but is widely seen as an influential voice in the party’s future, has made universal childcare one of the top goals of his administration.

Michelle Lujan Grisham, the Democratic governor of New Mexico, recently told Semafor that any politician seeking to run for president in 2028 “absolutely should” run on universal childcare proposals. Last year New Mexico became the first state to offer free childcare to families regardless of income. Her advice echoed David Plouffe, a Democratic strategist who managed Barack Obama’s 2008 campaign, who said that universal childcare should be in the Democrats’ 2028 party platform.

This new wave of enthusiasm marks a pivot for an idea that has long been seen as a distant pipe dream in American politics. It wasn’t always that way: When women filled factories during World War II, the federal government funded thousands of daycare centers to watch their kids. In 1971, Congress actually passed a bipartisan childcare bill, though President Richard Nixon vetoed it, saying it would weaken the family. In the 50 years since, Washington lawmakers have focused their energies on other big battles, offering little on childcare beyond subsidies for some low-income families. Over that time, the US has fallen out of step with nearly all its peer nations around the world, which help parents pay for childcare, on top of offering paid parental leave after birth.

It’s not hard to understand why the idea is finally getting a serious look in the US. With voters citing affordability as a top concern, politicians are looking for ways they can bring down costs facing families. After paying rent or a mortgage, childcare often stands as many parents’ biggest monthly expense. Businesses have started to care too, as access to reliable care affects both people’s ability to hold down jobs and businesses’ ability to attract and retain workers. It’s why organizations like the Chamber of Commerce have taken up the issue and why red, blue, and purple states alike have been elevating childcare in recent years.

In Congress and in the Democratic campaign world, there’s a strong sense that childcare, long overshadowed by climate, infrastructure, voting rights, and health care, is now at the front of the line should Democrats regain power. Insiders credit both donor influence and a feeling that childcare advocates have duly waited their turn.

But as Democrats begin jockeying for 2028 and universal childcare becomes a rallying cry, it’s also become clear that there’s a big unanswered question at the heart of the politicking: No one yet agrees on what “universal childcare” actually means. Does it refer to care that’s totally free, or just affordable? Is it for everyone, like public school, or targeted at families below an income line? Does it start at birth, and include parents who stay home? Are employers involved, or neighbors and grandparents? 

The answers will determine who benefits, how much it costs, and whether the party’s next big promise to families is one it can actually keep.

What is universal childcare?

When I asked Rep. Khanna how he defines universal childcare, he said that it means “childcare should be free” and that families should have flexibility and choice of how to get that care. Workers, he added, should also be paid a living wage in a universal childcare system. 

Later, he described the vision for universal childcare as a public good, akin to public school. “From the time a child is born to the time they’re finished college,” he argued, America has the wealth to provide for kids’ education and development. 

Others, however, are defining the idea differently. Linda Smith, who leads Child Care Trust, a national policy think tank, helped design the military’s well-regarded childcare system and oversaw federal early childhood programs under Obama. Earlier this summer, she released a framework for universal childcare that emphasized it does not inherently mean free care.

Smith says she wrote it after realizing that even the legislative staffers drafting childcare bills didn’t mean the same thing by the term. “After some candid conversations with congressional staff this summer working on child care policy, it became clear that there are many interpretations of ‘universal child care,’” she wrote on LinkedIn. “If we can’t agree on what the term means, we can’t build durable policy around it.”

She argues the “universal childcare” slogan tends to blur three separate goals: universal access, universal affordability, and universal free care. To Smith, the urgent priority is access. Her vision for universal childcare policy would be a system where all families have access to “affordable, high-quality options” that reflect their needs. Her organization estimates that about 4.2 million children under six with all available parents in the workforce lack a childcare slot within a reasonable distance of home, and she warns that cutting costs without adding new supply could worsen shortages and leave families without available options.

Her answer is a mix of building more supply and sharing the cost. She recommends families paying what they can and employers and government covering the rest. Spreading the cost across several payers, she argues, is likelier to sustain the full mix of care families actually use — including home-based care — than leaning on government or parents alone.

Chris Herbst, a childcare policy expert and professor at Arizona State University, told me he agrees with Smith that there’s no consensus regarding what universal childcare means today. Even in New Mexico, he pointed out, which is regularly touted as an example of universal childcare, a light work requirement exists for families to be eligible. “These are fluid definitions, and as such they are a bit up for grabs at the moment,” Herbst said. 

His own view is that a universal childcare system should make the subsidy easy to get and be guaranteed by law, so eligible families get it automatically instead of landing on waitlists when funding runs short.

Another childcare expert, Elliot Haspel, has embraced a definition closer to Khanna and Sen. Elizabeth Warren, arguing that universal childcare means all families can easily secure the type of care they want, and pay no fees to do so. He acknowledged, though, that many things can be called “universal” and be technically correct. “The ambiguity of the term is both what lends it rhetorical power and what can present a major weakness,” he writes.

Some states are adding benefits — but avoiding “universal”

With federal childcare legislation stalled, many states have spent the past few years trying to patch the system themselves. Some states are investing in making care cheaper for families, others in paying childcare workers more, and most in trying to get more providers to open their doors.

The National Conference of State Legislatures has also aimed to get involved. Over the course of a year and a half, state lawmakers across 13 states worked together to hash out a bipartisan policy framework for strengthening childcare systems, a rare cross-party effort on the issue. The NCSL report, released this past summer, steers clear of the term “universal childcare,” but does describe state systems under strain and concludes that incremental fixes alone are unlikely to solve it. The lawmakers stressed there is no one-size-fits-all solution and offered a menu of options organized around seven priorities, from expanding access to investing in the childcare workforce.

In interviews with the working group’s two co-chairs, I asked why their cohort stayed away from the “universal” language. Jim Burgin, a Republican state senator from North Carolina, told me he doesn’t find it to be a helpful term because it could conjure up the image of public schools, which are mandatory and government-run. “I don’t like the term,” he said. “I think we ought to have safe, affordable childcare available to everybody and I don’t want everybody to immediately think we’re setting up government indoctrinated childcare…a lot of people would just push back from that.”

The Democratic co-chair, Washington state Sen. Claire Wilson, said her hesitation was more about precision. “When you say ‘universal’, I think that alone is a question about what do we mean by universal?” she said. In Washington, she explained, it means care open to all families regardless of income, employment status, or immigration status, “but for other states, universal may mean something different.”

Where the public stands

Polling suggests Americans do want to see lawmakers take action on childcare, even if it’s not voters’ top priority when asked to rank among different issue areas. An AP-NORC poll from last year found about three-quarters of Americans say childcare is a “major problem,” and majorities across both parties backed federally funded “free or low-cost” daycare. More recently, YouGov and the 19th News found 52 percent of Americans think the federal government should increase its spending on childcare.

The evidence that most Americans want childcare to be free rather than affordable is less clear. The recent YouGov/19th News found about 40 percent of Americans think parents and government should share in the cost of daycare, compared to 21 percent who thought the government should pay the full cost, and 26 percent who thought parents should cover it all.

A recent New America survey found similar results. When asked if K–12 public education should be a free, taxpayer-funded right, 60 percent of respondents agreed. But only 38 percent said the same of childcare. And among those who “somewhat” or “strongly agree” that childcare should be offered to families for free, paid by taxes, and considered a right, only 31 percent of independents agreed, and just 23 percent of Republicans.

Lena Bilik, a childcare researcher at the Roosevelt Institute, a progressive think tank, told me she thinks public opinion will shift more in favor of free universal childcare when public programs can demonstrate a track record of success, as the country saw with Social Security and more recently the Affordable Care Act. “If we build high-quality public goods that work, I think that with time that problem solves itself,” she said. “But they have to be well-resourced.”

The politics ahead

While states like New Mexico, Vermont, and Connecticut have taken major steps in recent years to expand access to affordable childcare, Bilik of the Roosevelt Institute said even those places vary in how explicitly they pursue the goal of universal childcare, or define it.

The last time Democrats went big on childcare, via the Build Back Better Act, they failed. The bill packaged much of the Democratic agenda into one piece of legislation — climate, healthcare, housing — with childcare bundled alongside paid family leave, elder care, universal preschool, and an expanded child tax credit. It collapsed in late 2021 after talks with West Virginia Sen. Joe Manchin fell apart. 

When I interviewed lawmakers, advocates, funders, congressional aides, and policy experts in 2024 about what lessons they drew from that experience, I found the field divided over strategy. Childcare never got a vote of its own, and the argument ever since has been whether it should have been pulled out and pursued separately. Some argued activists should have narrowed their focus to one or two care priorities. Others saw that critique as premature capitulation, a sign of a limiting “scarcity mentality.” Many of those advocates emphasized that they had come very close to passing everything, losing in the Senate by a single vote, and pointed to the climate movement, which took decades of sustained organizing and spending to win major federal legislation. Care advocates, they said, just needed to keep pushing.

Two years later, the consensus view among Congressional Democrats and national childcare advocates has shifted, with far more now saying what’s needed first and foremost are “big and bold” solutions that the party can run on — even bigger than the ideas laid out in the Build Back Better Act.

Sen. Elizabeth Warren argued this year that childcare failed in Build Back Better because not enough Democrats were “willing to fight for it” and because the $400 billion proposed spending package for childcare and universal pre-K wasn’t nearly big enough. It was “an exercise in how weak and ineffective we could make the childcare program and still call it childcare,” she said. 

Bilik has watched the same change from the research side. The coalition she works with, she told me, has moved away from programs that help only families below a certain income. “What I’m excited about is that we’ve gotten more ambitious with our proposals across the board since Build Back Better,” she said. “We’re finally having conversations about whether implementing something halfway will cause more problems than solutions, so I think the field has moved really far towards being open to a true public program.” 

These sentiments are reflected in the recently released Khanna bill, the Project 2029 proposal, and comments over the summer from Democratic Rep. Sara Jacobs, who said free childcare for all should be at the top of the House’s legislative agenda if Democrats take control after the midterms. 

How that vision translates into legislation remains an open question. Some advocates I talked to for this story, who spoke off the record to describe private coalition conversations candidly, said they worried their allies were going to make the same mistake of over-promising and then failing to prioritize goals when faced with tough budget realities. Should Democrats take power, leaders will also face pressure to restore Medicaid and SNAP funding, expand ACA subsidies, and address housing costs, all while large federal deficits make new spending harder to finance.

Khanna told me his proposals could be funded by shifting priorities away from increased military spending, particularly the $200 billion increase in the Pentagon budget and the war with Iran. The Project 2029 proposal suggests financing through raising the corporate tax rate, repealing the pass-through business tax deduction, and reforming estate taxes and the “stepped-up basis” tax break on inherited assets. Third Way would also fund its plan partly through a corporate tax increase. But those same dollars could be claimed by other Democratic priorities, which means childcare advocates may end up competing for them.

“Everyone is excited to put out the biggest idea, but there’s no real conversation about how to get there, and I feel like that’s the frustration, where ‘how to get there’ just means electing Democrats and demonizing any incremental progress,” one advocate told me. “That is not a strategy.” 

For now, think tanks, presidential hopefuls, and congressional working groups are testing the waters, floating ideas that meet families where they are and, in some cases, go further than what voters say they want. The practical details are unlikely to get settled once the 2028 race is fully underway. If a Democrat wins, the window will narrow further, with unresolved details colliding with other priorities in the first months of a new administration.

“Universal childcare” may remain an amorphous term, meaning free care to one politician, shared costs to another, and a menu of state options to lawmakers who avoid the word altogether. But all of us voters should expect to hear much more of it.

This work was supported by a grant from the Bainum Family Foundation. Vox Media had full discretion over the content of this reporting.

As rents and homelessness climbed in San Diego over the last decade, leaders watched in frustration as affordable housing projects took months to get approved. The longer a project dragged on, the more expensive it became.  

Housing in America is notoriously slow and complicated to build, so San Diego Mayor Todd Gloria decided to use one lever he had available. In January 2023, he signed an executive order to speed up project approvals, so every fully affordable project now had to be reviewed in 30 business days or less.

To meet this new goal, San Diego had to overhaul how it had been handling permitting. The city streamlined work that had been spread across multiple departments and filled positions it had budgeted for but left vacant. Within a year, fully affordable projects were clearing review in nine days on average. Citywide, 2023 marked San Diego’s biggest year for housing permits since at least 2005, with 9,691 homes approved, or an 82 percent jump from the year before.

Austin, Texas embraced a different approach to tackling its housing shortage. After years of local zoning reform, the city legalized up to three homes on most single-family lots in late 2023, then cut the minimum lot size from 5,750 square feet to 1,800 in 2024. Those changes made it easier to add homes, including backyard accessory dwelling units (ADUs), and followed a broader construction boom that has helped bring rents down. Austin, which was becoming increasingly unaffordable, is now one of the few major American cities where asking rents have fallen since the pandemic.

Atlanta adopted a third housing strategy that didn’t require changing any laws at all. Mayor Andre Dickens rallied the heads of every public agency that affects housing, from the city’s housing authority and school system to the transit agency and land bank, and convened them in one room on a regular basis. He called it a “housing strike force” and it has helped advance the city’s broader effort to build or preserve 20,000 affordable homes by 2030. Every housing deal now comes to the mayor’s office, Dickens told me, and “I just start pushing buttons to push them out the door.” 

Seen as a nationwide issue, the housing shortage is an enormously difficult problem, sitting at the nexus of the economy, the financial system, and decades of local zoning decisions. But the fixes don’t all have to be complex. A mayor can do all three of these — faster permitting, ADUs, a housing strike team — without waiting on Congress or their state legislature to act. And now one major nonprofit is betting that other cities could adopt them too.

On Tuesday, Bloomberg Philanthropies is announcing that it will fund up to 30 cities to adopt one of those three housing ideas. Each will get between $450,000 and $750,000 directly and two years of help from Accelerator for America and the digital consultancy Public Digital, also funded by Bloomberg. The philanthropy has already selected the first 15 cities, including Albuquerque, Chattanooga, Cleveland, Durham, Louisville, Miami, Nashville, Pittsburgh, and San Jose.

By housing construction standards, the money doesn’t go very far. The grants are geared toward hiring city staff, buying new software, and helping cities quickly develop the expertise that let San Diego, Austin, and Atlanta do what they did.

“You don’t need everyone to be innovating everything all the time when there are good ideas in the world that are working,” said James Anderson, who leads Bloomberg Philanthropies’ government innovation program. “They need help adapting those ideas to local contexts.”

According to Anderson, the cities were chosen because their mayors had already taken hard political votes on zoning, and wanted help now to do more. Their timing is also intentional. On the federal level, the 21st Century ROAD to Housing Act became law in July, and it creates competitive grants for cities that modernize their permitting, for preapproved housing plans, and that open up their public land. These are the same reforms Bloomberg is now funding, and cities that can show they’ve already done work around it will be better positioned to tap into new federal dollars.

Mayors say they’ve seen big federal programs pass before and then found that actually leveraging those new funding streams in practice can be quite difficult. “We saw that with the Inflation Reduction Act,” Cleveland Mayor Justin Bibb told me. “Even some of the aspects of the bipartisan infrastructure bill, there was a lot of red tape to get some of that stuff across the finish line.”

The Bloomberg bet is that figuring out what to do isn’t as hard as organizing the knowledge of how to do it. The philanthropy thinks that with enough money and hand-holding, good ideas can spread.

It’s an experiment worth testing, but even at the outset there are real limits to what kind of help a short-term infusion of cash can do in practice. San Diego, Austin, and Atlanta all had substantial housing staff in place before they started, and many cities don’t have the same depth to draw on. A two-year grant covers a few staff roles, but doesn’t guarantee they’ll stay long-term in a city where most of the local budget is already committed.

What a “housing strike force” actually is

Dickens had campaigned for office in Atlanta on building 20,000 affordable units in eight years. When he became mayor in 2022, his staff told him the city was on pace to fall 4,000 to 5,000 units short of this goal, and that the main federal subsidy for affordable housing, which gets rationed out by the state in fixed amounts each year, wasn’t going to make up the difference.

What Atlanta did have was land, spread across more than a dozen public entities, each with its own board and its own ideas about what the land was for. One 10-acre city site just northwest of downtown was being used to store trash cans before delivery to residents. “It’s not the highest and best use of the land, but we’ve been doing it for decades,” Josh Humphries, then Dickens’ senior housing adviser, told The Guardian.

So Dickens pulled the heads of those agencies into one body reporting through his chief housing officer. The transit system and school district both answer to their own boards, so his pitch was that they weren’t giving anything up by getting involved. “You are still in charge of your organization, these are your deals, but we are an accelerator,” Dickens told me.

They spent nothing setting it up and hired no new staff for the strike force itself — though when Dickens advises other mayors, he’s blunter about the pressure a mayor would need to exert in convening such a team. An agency that opts out of participating, he said, is “outside of the scope of the mayor’s vision” and “that’s not a safe place to be.”

“I didn’t need another task force,” Dickens added. “Task forces are good, but we know what we’re doing. We don’t have to describe the task. No, this is a strike force. We know the deals, we have the land, we know where the money is for most of these deals, and we have the political will.”

What Dickens did was create “a horizontal way of organizing otherwise vertical players,” as Anderson of Bloomberg Philanthropies put it.

As part of the strike force, agency leaders meet monthly, and quarterly with the mayor. Each one reports what they will produce in the next 30 days, whether that’s a signed agreement, bank financing, or a permit, in front of everyone else. The goal is to move everything as fast as possible to keep down costs.

“You’re in a meeting with 20 colleagues talking about your four or five projects, and everybody is aware of everybody’s projects,” Dickens said. “You don’t want to come back to that meeting saying nothing happened over the last 30 days.”

The limits of the model

Dickens was fairly blunt about where the model stops working. “It works best in cities that have a sizable amount of competent housing development people,” he told me. “A strike force is Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines. You all are capable.” A city still standing up its housing program, he added, should just focus on collaboration, because it would be hard for a small city without “the knowledgeable skills, the capacity” to operate like this.

Most cities can’t easily build that internal bench. Local governments pay less than state or federal employers for the same specialized work, and between half and three-quarters of a typical city’s operating budget is already locked up in salaries, pensions, debt payments, and basic services before the mayor makes a single discretionary call.

In Cleveland, they’re hoping to use the Bloomberg funding to bring in some new support. “Right now it’s a capacity game for us,” Bibb told me. “IT staff, planning staff, development staff, the list goes on. Policy staff as well.”

Cleveland also faces different challenges than Atlanta, which built its strike force for a growth market that already had projects lined up. Cleveland is an older, industrial city with an aging housing stock and a population that has only recently stopped shrinking, so Bibb needs code enforcement and rehab as well as new units. He plans to point the strike force first at a housing innovation district he launched earlier this year, an area spanning parts of three East Side neighborhoods where the city has concentrated its financing and permitting reforms.

Two-year grants can generally be a challenge for cities. Philanthropy often pays for staff long enough to prove a policy works, but when the foundation money goes away, cities can struggle to find the dollars to keep the positions going. While Atlanta’s strike force was organizing around people the city already employed, Cleveland’s will require new ongoing resources for a growing payroll.

Asked what happens when the money runs out, Bibb maintained he’s concentrating on the near term. “Right now we’re just focused on securing the grant, getting the team in place, and really seeing some positive results with the strike force team in our housing innovation district,” he said.

Can a good idea be scaled?

The 30 cities won’t be working alone. Bloomberg is running them as a cohort, meaning each city will pair with the city that pioneered the idea. The goal is to trade advice, mentorship, and opportunities for city leaders to visit and tour. Cleveland is one of roughly 10 cities that will take up the strike force model, meaning Bibb’s team will work with Dickens and his staff.

“One of the major reasons that good ideas do not spread is a lack of clarity around what it took in the original city to get the hard work done,” Anderson said. Adopting cities need to hear from the originals on both a political and a technical level, he told me, to understand “the trade-offs, the costs, the errors, and lessons learned” before they start.

Bloomberg has been testing a version of this model since 2024 through its Idea Exchange, which now includes more than 1,000 cities across 95 countries and has nearly 200 policy replications completed or underway.

Within two years, cities pursuing permitting reform are expected to cut their housing approval timelines in half, those pursuing ADUs to double their pipelines, and participants ultimately to post gains in citywide housing supply.

The housing shortage runs into millions of homes, and these proposed strategies don’t touch challenges like interest rates or the price of lumber. But across the country, they could show how quickly a good idea can spread.

This story was originally published in The Highlight. To get access to member-exclusive stories like this every month, become a Vox Member today.

Todd Waller wasn’t expecting to spend the latter half of his 30s living with roommates. But in late 2022, following a breakup with his girlfriend, he needed to find a new place to live, quickly. 

A social worker based in the Atlanta metro, Waller started googling “efficiency apartments” and stumbled onto an ad for PadSplit, a company founded in 2017 that lets property owners rent out individual furnished bedrooms in single-family homes by the week. “It said I could get approved right away and move in tomorrow,” he recalled. There was no security deposit required.

All of a sudden, Waller found himself living with six other people and able to save a lot of money. His rent was just $180 per week, or less than $800 per month. Though he earned a decent salary, he never really had anything left over after all his bills were paid, and the new financial breathing room made the tradeoff of housemates feel worth it.

After a while, Waller decided he would be willing to upgrade to a nicer PadSplit unit, one with more amenities but still with roommates. Now he pays $1,250 a month to live on one side of a 2,000-square-foot home, with access to his own private bathroom, a private entrance, and a renovated kitchen. Three other people live on the other side of the house, and he rarely interacts with them.

“My house is awesome; I pay $500 less a month than I would if I were renting [a place of my own] without roommates, and I just was able to buy a new car,” he told me. He knows one day he’ll move somewhere else and perhaps even buy his own home, but he likes that he feels he can make that decision comfortably at his own pace.

With rents outpacing wages in most of the country, legislators are increasingly looking at co-living — sometimes called house-sharing or adult dorm rooms — as an overlooked piece of America’s housing stock. Zillow counts roughly 21 million “empty nest households” — or homes where older residents living with no children have at least two extra bedrooms. Some lawmakers want to make it easier for those homeowners to rent them out, which could put workers closer to their jobs and help seniors stay in houses they can no longer afford alone. Others are eyeing a different kind of vacancy: Post-pandemic remote work has left about a fifth of American office space empty, and there’s growing interest in turning some of it into apartments. 

Many advocates for people experiencing homelessness also argue that co-living is a needed solution, something that could help people going through emergencies avoid the scary slide into shelter living, especially models where you can move in almost immediately and without a deposit. PadSplit surveyed its renters in December and found a population that mostly works (83 percent were employed) and mostly hadn’t been to college. The median income was $32,500.

That co-living needs advocates at all is a legacy of the last century. Renting a single room in a boarding house or residential hotel was once an ordinary way to live in an American city, but in the decades after World War II those rooms became shorthand for poverty and vice, and cities responded by banning new ones and paying landlords to get rid of the old. Half a century later, many people still see sharing space with strangers as a last resort, or feel embarrassed about having roommates past a certain age. And discriminatory zoning codes written in that era are still on the books in most communities, enforcing traditional nuclear family arrangements when it comes to single-family housing, by defining “family” as people related by blood, marriage, or adoption. Those rules can be wielded against home-sharing, and against specific renters neighbors want to keep out.

But these longstanding barriers are starting to finally give. Doubling up with people you aren’t related to is less unusual than it used to be. Between 2017 and 2022, the number of households sharing space with nonrelatives grew by more than 500,000. Lawmakers desperate for anything that adds more housing supply also seem less picky about where it comes from. Companies like PadSplit are putting private capital behind the model, and a wave of new laws and litigation — much of it led by conservative legal groups arguing on property-rights grounds — is making it harder for cities to tell homeowners who can and cannot sleep in their spare rooms. 

For the first time since cities banned cheap rooms, the people trying to bring them back have the momentum, and the next couple of years will go a long way toward deciding whether co-living stays a niche workaround for people like Waller or becomes something a lot more people are able to consider.

The return of SROs

At the turn of the 20th century, as American cities swelled, immigrants, day laborers, and factory workers crowded into downtowns looking for somewhere cheap and temporary to sleep. A small room could be rented by the day, the week, or however long someone needed it. Some “boarded” in private homes while others took beds in bottom-rung hotels known as flophouses. These arrangements varied widely, but became broadly known as single-room occupancies (SROs).

The turn against them came after World War II, as middle-class white families decamped for roomy new houses in the suburbs, and SROs grew more closely associated with shoddy housing for the poor and the deviant. New York and other cities started banning SRO construction in the 1950s. By the 1970s, SROs were a regular media villain, even as they still housed hundreds of thousands of people, including the mentally ill who had been turned out by the closing of state asylums. Cities started to offer landlords incentives to convert their SROs into luxury rentals. Between the mid-1970s and the 1990s, roughly a million of these affordable market-rate units disappeared from the market across the country.

The idea that perhaps cities made a mistake in banning these lower-cost housing options has been simmering in urbanist policy circles for the last 15 years, particularly as the homelessness crisis has gotten worse. The Furman Center at NYU argued in 2018 that reintroducing SROs could help address the housing shortage. The architecture critic Karrie Jacobs argued in 2021 that cities had blamed a kind of housing for problems that belonged to the people living in it. “The notion took hold that if you eliminated the housing, the marginal people would simply vanish,” she wrote in Curbed.

Still, lawmakers have dragged their feet on actually making it easier to rent these kinds of units again, and until recently the people pushing for it had little to show beyond op-eds and white papers. What’s different now is that the fight has moved out of the world of policy papers and into places where it can produce actual results, including a lawsuit that could reach the Supreme Court.

Suing over who counts as family

In early 2022, a home-sharing startup called HomeRoom was renting out two houses in Shawnee, Kansas, a suburb of Kansas City. The company rented rooms one at a time to unrelated adults who wanted cheaper housing, and at a local city council meeting that year, Shawnee’s community development director asked whether the city should support such arrangements in single-family neighborhoods at all. Two months later, the council passed an ordinance banning “co-living groups,” which it defined as four or more unrelated adults sharing a home. 

Under the ordinance, if even one adult in a house wasn’t related to the others by blood, marriage, or adoption, the whole household counted as unrelated.

While the new law forced HomeRoom to evict its tenants, it also put Val French, a Shawnee homeowner, in a bad situation. She lived with her husband, their two adult sons, and one son’s girlfriend. Because the girlfriend was related to no one, the house was now deemed in violation of the city’s occupancy rules. Her son and his girlfriend had to move out, and French couldn’t rent the empty room to anyone else.

French and HomeRoom sued in federal court in May 2023, with assistance from the libertarian Pacific Legal Foundation. They argued that their right to choose who they live with is protected under the 14th Amendment, but they ran into legal precedent from a 1974 Supreme Court case, Village of Belle Terre v. Boraas, which upheld a Long Island village’s nearly identical rule against six college students sharing a house.

The decision came down in the same years cities were clearing out their SROs, and it has given local governments cover to decide who counts as a family ever since.

A federal judge dismissed the Shawnee suit in September 2023, citing Belle Terre, and this past April the US Court of Appeals for the 10th Circuit upheld the dismissal. A few months later, the Pacific Legal Foundation (PLF) petitioned the US Supreme Court to hear the case and reconsider Belle Terre once and for all. The precedent has already frayed in places — state courts in California, Michigan, New Jersey, and New York have struck down local “unrelated occupants” limits under their own laws — but it still governs everywhere else. 

There is “a fundamental liberty right to choose household living companions — whether as an articulation of the right of intimate association or independently — that is deeply rooted in American history and tradition,” PLF’s lead attorney on the case, David Deerson, told me. 

The Supreme Court hears only about 1 percent of the cases it’s asked to take, and even if it took this one, the plaintiffs would be asking a conservative majority to recognize a new constitutional right, which that majority has spent the past few years insisting courts should almost never do. 

Deerson’s argument is aimed at that skepticism, though. When the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade in 2022, it held that an unwritten right counts only if it is “deeply rooted in history and tradition.” Deerson and his allies are arguing that living with people you aren’t related to qualifies as such because, for most of American history, boarding houses and lodgers were typical staples of family life. Belle Terre is also a short opinion written by William O. Douglas, a liberal justice whose legacy has little connection to today’s conservative justices. 

The legislative front

A Supreme Court reversal would be the cleanest fix for co-living, but advocates aren’t waiting on it. State legislatures have already shown they’ll act: Iowa barred cities from enforcing relationship-based occupancy limits in 2017, Oregon and Washington followed in 2021, and in 2024, Colorado lawmakers passed a law prohibiting cities from restricting how many unrelated roommates can live under one roof absent a clear health or safety reason. 

The Pacific Legal Foundation worked on that last bill too, and has since turned it into model legislation for other states. They colloquially call it the “Golden Girls bill” since occupancy caps like these would have prevented the four unrelated women of the hit 1980s sitcom from sharing a house. 

This year Pennsylvania lawmakers introduced their own version, with supporters citing not private property rights but the potential to ease the state’s affordable housing shortage. As legislators considered the proposal, Pacific Legal Foundation published research showing that nine of the 10 most populous cities in Pennsylvania capped the number of unrelated adults who could live together. The state House passed the Golden Girls bill this summer, though the Pennsylvania Senate version has not yet received a vote. 

The objection lawmakers hear most is the same one that animated Belle Terre — that lifting occupancy caps could turn quiet, orderly, neighborhood homes into de facto frat houses. That college partying concern killed Connecticut’s proposed Golden Girls bill this year. While the bill cleared the state Senate, it never got a vote in the House, amid reported concerns from the speaker about college students moving into wealthy neighborhoods. “What if a neighbor is unhappy about four unrelated people who are 19 years old or 22 years old living in the house?” state House Speaker Matt Ritter asked in an interview with the Connecticut Mirror. 

Pennsylvania’s sponsors tried to head off those fears by amending the bill to exclude protections where someone is enrolled at a college or university. In other words, the law would have covered Blanche, Dorothy, Rose, and Sophia from Golden Girls unless one of them signed up for a class at their community college.

Nevertheless, advocates are expanding their push. Jim Manley, state policy director for the Pacific Legal Foundation, told me he expects Texas, Florida, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, Rhode Island and Utah to take up new versions of the legislation in 2027.

And occupancy caps aren’t the only co-living target. Sam Hooper, a lawyer who has been lobbying state legislatures to re-legalize SROs, and his former colleagues at the Institute for Justice are now focused on the ROOM Act, model legislation that would bar cities from restricting SROs and other co-living arrangements, including rules that make it hard to convert offices into apartments. A version was first introduced in Rhode Island earlier this year. 

For Meagan Forbes, Institute for Justice’s director of legislation, the goal is for co-living to be treated like any other form of housing. “Other local laws can regulate things like noise and fire safety, but current regulations just go way too overboard in preventing this kind of housing,” she told me. 

Hooper, who drafted the ROOM Act, says he wanted to “take a massive sledgehammer” to existing restrictions. The resistance he runs into isn’t only the frat-house worry, but older cultural fears that SROs would recreate the poor tenement conditions of the early 20th century. “I think there’s this real problem of letting the perfect be the enemy of the good in housing policy,” he told me. “People accuse us of wanting people to live in undignified housing, but they just struggle to understand that it can be a perfectly fine option for many people at different points in their life.” Hooper credits his own London co-living experience in his 20s with introducing him to some of his best friends and his wife. 

Even so, he cited a broad political coalition backing him up, from property rights champions in conservative states to Democrats and progressive YIMBYs drawn to the housing justice and homelessness angles. There are business leaders interested in workforce housing, he said, and he noted that the AARP testified for the ROOM Act in Rhode Island. “I’m hopeful we’ll be able to keep this bipartisan coalition that hasn’t succumbed to the culture wars,” Hooper added.

Not every co-living proposal is about removing rules. DC’s Senior Co-Living Program Establishment Act, also nicknamed the Golden Girls bill, would pay senior homeowners $300 a month to rent a room to another senior, plus up to $2,500 for home modifications. 

The 21st Century ROAD to Housing Act, the federal housing package that became law in July, doesn’t touch occupancy rules. But it does fund a pilot program for converting vacant commercial buildings into housing, which could make adult dorm office conversions easier.

The demand question

While momentum for co-living is real, demand is also complicated. Americans are doubling up more than they were before the pandemic — about 8.2 million households in 2024, up 4.3 percent since 2019, according to analysis shared by Zillow. Yet the share made up of unrelated adults living together actually fell slightly, by roughly 50,000 households, while homes shared with couples or families grew by nearly 400,000. In other words, when Americans need to save on rent, they still mostly turn to people they already know.

PadSplit is betting that changes. Atticus LeBlanc recently announced his company is expanding into New York, Chicago, and San Francisco, three of the most expensive rental markets in the country.

“Does that mean things have gotten more desperate, that it’s forcing this cultural acceptance?” he asked me in an interview. “I think there’s certainly an argument to be made there. But you could just as easily make the argument that, holy cow, we are really, really wasteful with space.”

Six months ago, first lady Melania Trump walked into a White House education summit next to a faceless robot powered by artificial intelligence, which she said could one day give children personalized instruction.

“Imagine a humanoid educator named ‘Plato,’” she said. “Access to the classical studies is now instantaneous…humanity’s entire corpus of information is available in the comfort of your home.” 

Weeks earlier, her guest at the State of the Union had been a 10-year-old from Alpha School, a fast-growing private school network where children learn reading and math from AI software for two hours a day, and spend the rest of their time on workshops and projects overseen by adults the school calls “guides” rather than teachers.

The Trump administration had chosen AI as the future of American schooling, and wanted everyone to know it. But they picked a bad year to ask Americans to trust the technology with their kids.

Earlier this month, top leaders at Anthropic, OpenAI, and Google DeepMind publicly urged for an AI development slowdown, warning that companies racing to build ever more powerful systems could lose control of them, threatening not only large swaths of infrastructure but even humanity itself. Trump responded by calling the panic a “hoax” and said the US would not “hinder or stifle” the industry, because “whoever wins AI wins.” This “let them cook” mantra has met nearly every AI fear this year, from job loss to data center construction.

Yet the public is not convinced, and parents perhaps least of all. Efforts to bring AI into classrooms have run into organized opposition, and much of it is coming from inside Trump’s own coalition, setting up a fight between the administration’s pro-tech allies and conservatives who think screens have already done enough damage to kids.

In the nation’s two largest school districts, New York City has recently pulled student-facing generative AI from classrooms through eighth grade and Los Angeles blocked it on all student devices. But it’s not just Democratic-run cities that are pushing back. Earlier this year Utah barred students from using generative AI on assignments without a teacher’s say-so, and required schools to notify parents when it’s used in class. Oklahoma followed suit with a law, passed without a single “no” vote, that requires districts to tell parents which AI tools they use and what data they collect, and lets families opt out. Florida went further last week, when its Board of Education adopted rules for parents to opt their children in before they use AI at school, guaranteeing non-AI alternatives, and banning “companion” chatbots outright. 

Even at the Heritage Foundation, a conservative think tank with close ties to Trump, leaders are warning about the risks of AI in the classroom. In a March report, Heritage officials cautioned that AI tools built with addictive design features can harm children’s attention, mental health, and learning, and said schools should set limits rather than assume the technology will regulate itself. In July, the Manhattan Institute, another conservative think tank, recommended New York State bar students from using AI until third grade and keep it out of tests at every grade.

All the while, the Trump administration continues to push in the opposite direction, casting the wider AI race as one the US cannot afford to lose to China. Last year, Trump signed an executive order creating a White House task force to bring AI into K-12 classrooms, train teachers to use it, and build an “AI-ready workforce” to keep America as the global leader.

Polling data released in August found voters across the political spectrum concerned about AI in classrooms, with 85 percent worried about students using it to finish assignments without learning anything. Republicans were, if anything, slightly more eager than Democrats for government guardrails, 80 percent to 76 percent. Put differently, Republican voters appear closer to the Heritage Foundation than to the White House, which points to a coming clash inside the GOP over parental rights, innovation, and whether schools that take public money should have to prove their tactics work.

Up to this point much of the AI backlash has focused on regulating the tech in public schools, while some of its most ambitious boosters have concentrated on building private schools and developing new tools. A state can cap screen time in its elementary classrooms and let another family down the road pay thousands of dollars for Alpha, and everyone can call it a win for parent choice.

That peace may start to fray though as more public money comes on the table. Texas recently expanded vouchers to Alpha network schools and the company has also sought to open publicly funded charter schools. Other states are likely to confront these issues as well, meaning the AI education fight on the right may soon be unavoidable — and would land before an electorate whose patience for the tech, in schools and increasingly everywhere else, has been running thin all year. 

The Trump administration’s AI bet

The AI-in-schools executive order came just three months into Trump’s second term, and called for AI education to begin as early as kindergarten. Within five months, Education Secretary Linda McMahon was touring Alpha School’s Austin campus, describing it as “the most exciting thing” she’d seen in education in a long time. 

Alpha is hardly the first education company to promise a shiny new school model, but it has quickly become an influential player in the growing national debate around AI in schools. Its story so far reflects many of the big questions around AI in the classroom, including how to determine if the tech is helping or hurting kids, who is profiting, and what role governments should play in facilitating its adoption.

Alpha had been a small operation for most of its existence. MacKenzie Price, a Stanford graduate, co-founded it in 2014 after her second-grade daughter complained that school was boring. The tech billionaire Joe Liemandt became Price’s partner and the school’s principal financial backer. As recently as 2024 it served about 300 students across three campuses. 

Growth exploded in summer 2025, when Alpha took over campuses from a shuttered Montessori chain and announced plans for 10 new schools. This August it announced plans for 27 more.

Behind the school’s growth is its claim that students enrolled can cover a full day’s worth of academics in just two hours with AI, learning twice as fast as they would at a traditional school. Alpha can “enable the increase in human intelligence,” Price declared on a panel in Washington, DC, earlier this month, because “our academics can be delivered so much more efficiently and effectively.” 

Alpha says results from MAP tests, a widely used measure of academic growth, show its students learning 2.6 times faster on average than similar students at other schools. But no outside researcher has audited or independently verified those results.

That may soon change. MIT’s Blueprint Labs, the group behind some of the most rigorous charter school research in the country, told Vox it is designing pilot studies to measure the effects of the school’s programs on achievement and engagement, using experimental designs. Alpha is paying for the research; the lab says its own researchers will set the questions and methods. Harvard’s Human Flourishing Program is separately planning to study students’ life skills and well-being via a longitudinal study during the next academic year, Christina Hinton, who is involved with the research, told me. For now, Alpha’s academic claims remain its own.

Meanwhile, scrutiny of Alpha has grown. A Wired investigation last year described the school’s surveillance system as capable of recording students’ screens, keystrokes, and mouse activity and potentially tracking their eye movements. A 404 Media report published this winter claimed Alpha’s own internal documents said its AI-generated lessons sometimes did “more harm than good.” Alpha has disputed both reports, saying they relied on cherry-picked examples and accounts from fired employees, and provided me with an open letter it says every current family at the Brownsville campus signed, stating that the school Wired described doesn’t resemble theirs.

But education officials are still wary. This month, ProPublica and the Texas Tribune reported that at least nine states, Texas among them, had turned down Alpha’s bids to open publicly funded charter schools, with officials repeatedly pointing out that the model had only been tested on affluent students. (Tuition varies based on location, ranging from $10,000 a year at its Brownsville campus to $75,000 at its most expensive California schools.) Where Alpha had worked with lower-income students, ProPublica and the Texas Tribune found, it either hadn’t released enough data to back its claims of student growth or state test scores fell well short of what its leaders had predicted. 

After the Texas State Board of Education rejected Alpha’s charter bid in the summer of 2025, Alpha didn’t reapply. While policy advocacy was “frustratingly slow,” Price wrote, Alpha’s goal was “for students everywhere at every income level to be able to use this model of learning.” They turned instead to Texas’s new voucher program, which lets families spend public money at private schools. Unlike a charter, a private school in the program doesn’t have to give state tests or show anyone how its students perform. The comptroller, which runs the Texas Education Freedom Accounts (TEFA), approved most of Alpha’s Texas schools, which, counting virtual programs and specialty academies, now number more than 30.

None of the concerns that Texas’s State Board of Education had raised about Alpha’s test scores, missing data, or AI applied. “That wasn’t relevant,” Travis Pillow, a spokesperson for the TEFA voucher program, told ProPublica. “Our role is to make sure that a school meets the requirements in the law.” 

The five most expensive Alpha schools in Texas opted to leave the voucher program earlier this month, but many Alpha network schools are still participating, including Texas Sports Academy, Montessorium, NextGen Academy, Nova Academy, and Waypoint Academy. TEFA confirmed to me that students are attending Alpha affiliates via vouchers this year. 

Anna Davlantes, a spokesperson for Alpha, told me that in lieu of vouchers for their most expensive campuses, her network is offering families financial aid. 

The conservative revolt

Despite Alpha’s enthusiastic embrace in the White House, the introduction of AI in schools is increasingly challenged by forces on the right, from grassroots MAGA parents to social conservatives and technocrats.

The new AI rules in Florida, Oklahoma, and Utah, for example, grew out of a broader conservative push against screens in classrooms that predated the rise of chatbots and was turbocharged by parents’ frustrations with virtual learning during the pandemic.

Earlier this year Iowa capped elementary school screen time at an hour a day in a bill Gov. Kim Reynolds signed with Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. at her side. Tennessee passed a weakened version of a bill that would have banned devices in elementary schools outright, while similar bills in Missouri and Kansas died after school districts and teachers unions objected.

Uniting these efforts is a growing conviction that the last 15 years of education technology has failed most kids. The sponsor of Kansas’s bill used to sit on his state’s board of education and remembers thinking that ed tech held such promise. “What we found out is that not only is it not the education of the future, but it is destroying the education of the past,” he told Education Week. A growing number of lawmakers and parents have been citing The Digital Delusion, a book self-published in 2025 by neuroscientist Jared Cooney Horvath, that blames the proliferation of screens for declining student achievement. In January Sen. Ted Cruz (R-TX), who is otherwise one of the Senate’s leading opponents of AI regulation, invited Horvath to testify about the harms of AI on student learning and mental health.

The screen skeptics overlap with a more traditionalist wing of the GOP that objects to classroom technology on principle. Missouri’s original bill would have required cursive and kept 70 percent of student work on paper. The classical education movement, which holds up teachers as a moral example, has grown fast on the right. (Of the 895 identified classical schools nationwide, roughly one-third opened or converted to the model between 2020 and 2024, according to a Heritage Foundation tracker.)

The strand of conservatism that cuts closest to Alpha School comes from a third group, the school choice advocates. On paper, Alpha sounds like what the school reformers have wanted for years: It can offer an alternative to underperforming local public schools, its AI programs can theoretically compensate for inconsistent teacher quality, it provides personalized instruction, and it checks mastery on every lesson, so families can easily know whether their child is learning. Those are problems the education reform movement was launched to solve, and Alpha claims to fix them all.

The reformers, though, want proof. Mike Petrilli, who runs the conservative Thomas B. Fordham Institute think tank and has spent decades advocating for charter schools, wrote recently on his Substack that parents who want to pay for Alpha out-of-pocket should be able to, but “that doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t be skeptical, or that we shouldn’t worry about fraud, or that we should allow public funding to flow to these school.”

This split was on display in DC this month at the education conference where Price appeared. Molly Hart, who runs Utah’s public schools and calls herself a school choice supporter, argued that once a school takes taxpayer money, “the game changes,” and parents can’t make a real choice without data about how it performs. Erika Donalds, who chairs the education center at the America First Policy Institute and is one of the Trump administration’s closest allies on schools, said parents, not the government, should decide which results matter. Donalds compared the choice to picking a restaurant on Yelp. 

The evidence has started to catch up with parental concern. In a randomized trial involving nearly 1,000 students at a Turkish high school, those given access to a GPT-based math tutor that readily supplied answers scored 17 percent lower on a subsequent exam taken without it. A version designed to withhold answers eliminated that penalty but produced no statistically significant learning gain. A newer working paper tracking nearly 27,000 Chinese students found that adopting AI raised homework scores by 18 percent but lowered monthly exam scores by 20 percent within six months.

Alpha School is working to add more detail to that pile, and other studies will surely follow. It’s at least possible that some aspects of AI in education prove more promising with further study. But public skepticism will remain a major barrier, either way. On an issue where parties are still sorting themselves out, the White House and its allies are swimming against a growing anti-tech tide that extends far beyond just AI or even schools. That’s unlikely to change before 2028, and whoever wants the Republican nomination will have to say which parents they’re listening to.

Nationally, abortion has faded as a campaign issue. Four years after it helped Democrats stave off a red wave, candidates in battleground races are focusing their attention on cost-of-living issues, immigration, and policing. As of mid-August, abortion was mentioned in less than 5 percent of Democratic Senate ads, a key difference from the past two cycles, according to the Wesleyan Media Project.

Maine is different. As of September 16, Democratic advertisers had spent roughly 15 percent of their $40.8 million broadcast TV and streaming dollars on ads focused on abortion rights, according to Nate Schwartz from AdImpact. It’s one of the biggest topics there, he told me, after ads about President Donald Trump and healthcare. Planned Parenthood’s political arm is also making its biggest ad buy of 2026 against Susan Collins, at $600,000, and WinSenate, a super PAC aligned with Senate Democratic leadership, has spent 70 percent of its TV, streaming, and digital money in Maine on abortion-focused ads.

The target is Collins, the only Republican senator up for reelection in a state Trump lost in 2024, and one of Democrats’ best chances to flip a seat. Seeking her sixth term, Collins is running in a year when Democrats lead the generic congressional ballot by about 9 points. It’s also the first time she will face voters since Roe v. Wade was overturned — a decision Justice Brett Kavanaugh helped deliver after Collins, who has long described herself as “pro-choice,” cast the pivotal vote to confirm him in 2018. 

For the abortion rights movement, this is the race that has to work. Groups are pouring their biggest investments of the cycle into a state where fewer than half a percent of voters call abortion their top issue, in a year when Democrats have opportunities to win nearly everywhere. If a blue wave arrives and lifts every Democrat except the one running to avenge Roe v. Wade and remove the senator who famously sealed its fate, the organizations will have a harder time telling donors the issue still moves voters, and a harder time arguing that Republicans will pay a political price — even in blue states — for votes that restrict access to abortion.

“We know that abortion is the number one negative in Maine voters’ mind,” Lisa Margulies, a Maine spokesperson for Planned Parenthood Votes, told me. “It’s really the No. 1 dealbreaker.”

The first job for Democrats and abortion rights advocates is convincing Mainers the issue is still a pressing one. Seventy-two percent of Maine adults say abortion should be legal “in all or most” circumstances, and since Democrats took control of Maine’s government in 2018, the state has expanded who can provide abortions, required and subsidized insurance coverage for the procedure, eliminated most patient cost-sharing, loosened restrictions on care after viability, and shielded patients and providers from prosecution and lawsuits.

Collins has made that her defense. The Dobbs v. Jackson decision, she said in June, “has not had an impact on the state of Maine in that Maine actually expanded its law.” Advocates call that the central misunderstanding. 

“There’s this perception — and Sen. Collins herself has said it — that somehow Maine is immune, and that’s just not true,” Margulies said, pointing to their state-level efforts to keep access intact and to federal Medicaid cuts that have already hit Maine providers.

Also muddying the waters is the senator’s Democratic opponent. Collins is facing off against Troy Jackson, a longtime fixture in Maine politics who rose from the state House to the Senate presidency but fell short in bids for Congress in 2014 and governor this year. Early in his career, Jackson said that abortion “should never be legal” and that women should be required to view an ultrasound if they want to end a pregnancy. He has since renounced those positions and has earned 100 percent ratings from Planned Parenthood since 2017. (Jackson replaced Graham Platner, the original Democratic Party nominee, who quit the race after being accused of rape, an allegation he denies.)

While Collins prevailed for reelection in 2020 despite voting to confirm Kavanaugh, Democrats say her decision is much more salient for voters now that Americans live in a post-Roe world, one where more than 15 states have near-total abortion bans. 

If Collins loses, Democrats and abortion rights groups will say her Kavanaugh vote is no doubt partly why. A win for Collins would be harder to read, though the explanations that leave out abortion are already being prepared, including a messy nomination process that produced a candidate fewer voters were excited about, and a “unicorn” incumbent with decades of personal relationships across a small state and a long record of bringing federal money back home.

The abortion rights bet hinges on two things: that the Kavanaugh vote cost Collins something on top of what an unpopular president and rising gas prices already have, and that voters will judge Jackson by the positions he’s renounced rather than the ones he once held. 

The vote Collins won’t apologize for

When Collins voted to confirm Kavanaugh, she said she believed his assurances that he considered Roe v. Wade settled precedent. She had previously said that she would not vote for any nominee who expressed “hostility” toward the 1973 decision that established the constitutional right to an abortion.

As many observed at the time, Kavanaugh’s record gave strong signals that he would in fact vote to overturn Roe v. Wade. In her floor speech announcing her vote, Collins dismissed those warnings, suggesting opponents had been whipped into a “frenzy” by advocacy groups. When he ultimately did side with the conservative majority in Dobbs, Collins issued a statement calling the ruling “ill-considered.”

Four years later, though, Collins is doubling down on her vote for Kavanaugh, telling local media this summer that she does “not regret” it. “Given what subsequently happened to Roe, I don’t think that simply fades into the background,” Robert Glover, a political scientist at the University of Maine, told me.

Democrats are zeroing in on the fact that Collins has continued to confirm anti-abortion federal judges, even as recently as this month. Last fall she voted to confirm Joshua Dunlap, a Maine attorney, to the US Court of Appeals for the First Circuit over objections from 20 Maine organizations citing his record on abortion and marriage equality. 

“Susan Collins says she has no regrets about confirming the judges who overturned Roe v. Wade, and has proved it by continuing to vote for Trump’s right-wing judges,” Maine Democratic Party spokesperson Misha Linnehan told me in an emailed statement. “Now, her approvals are underwater, and she’s trailing with women voters because Maine women have had enough of being betrayed.” 

George Hill, the president and CEO of Maine Family Planning, told me Collins “defied” them with her vote for Kavanaugh, causing “irreparable harm” across the country. He emphasized how vulnerable Mainers are if Republicans retake control of state government.

Blake Kernen, a spokesperson for Collins’s campaign, dismissed the criticism about anti-abortion judges, emphasizing that her pro-choice boss also voted for 188 judges nominated by President Joe Biden, including Julie Rikelman, who served as litigation director of the Center for Reproductive Rights. Collins, she noted, is the only Republican who voted to confirm all three of the court’s liberal justices, and she voted against Amy Coney Barrett.

Margulies rejects this accounting. “We deserve better than, ‘Well, she’s not as bad,’” she said. “When it comes to reproductive rights, she’s not a moderate anymore.”

While her judicial votes are facing scrutiny, Collins has also spent decades building up a brand as a Republican willing to buck her party on abortion when the issue comes up in the Senate. 

In May 2025, Planned Parenthood Maine Action Fund published a memo online titled, “Senator Susan Collins’ long history of supporting Planned Parenthood and access to essential health care.” Among other things, the memo highlighted Collins for speaking out against proposed Medicaid cuts, for co-sponsoring a bill in 2022 to codify Roe v. Wade, and for opposing a 20-week abortion ban bill in the Senate. This past summer, the memo was quietly taken down from their website.

Asked about the removed page, Margulies didn’t say when or why it was taken down, but pointed to what she described as a sharp shift in Collins’s record over the past year, particularly on judicial confirmations. “There are times when she’s been true to her word and put Mainers ahead of politics, but she closed that chapter this year,” she told me.

“Because she is a Republican, the national groups continue to twist themselves into a pretzel to support these male candidates with terrible records,” Kernen said, referring to Platner and Jackson. 

So far, Mainers appear to have split Collins in two in their minds: There’s the dedicated public servant who puts her state first on one side, and the partisan Republican who sometimes disappoints them on the other. A University of New Hampshire poll over the summer found Collins rated far better on bringing federal dollars home to Maine than on her Supreme Court confirmation votes. Maine voters, Glover said, “have historically been willing to separate Collins from the national Republican Party and evaluate her through a broader lens of incumbency, independence, and constituent service.” 

The turnout math

Even if Democrats can win the argument on abortion around Collins, it’s an open question how much it will move votes. “Right now, I feel quite confident that affordability, healthcare, and good jobs trump abortion access by a long shot,” Dan Shea, a political scientist at Colby College, told me.

But abortion rights advocates believe the ranking obscures how the issue actually works. Mini Timmaraju, president of Reproductive Freedom for All, said her group has spent years testing how to talk to voters about abortion, consistently finding that it overperforms as an attack. “If you go to a voter in Maine and you say, what are your top three or five issues, they may not name abortion,” she told me. “But if you say to them, Susan Collins took the following vote — and one of them is Brett Kavanaugh, which led to overturning Roe — it is extremely salient, and it moves that voter.”

The Kavanaugh vote works, she argued, as a character verdict — “an indicator that you’re willing to side with extremism over your own constituents.” That, she said, is the piece that’s missing in the analysis of what voters say they care about. “It is one of the most salient attacks in Maine and in a lot of other parts of the country.”

Ashley Kirzinger, a pollster at KFF based in Maine, said priority rankings are a weak guide anyway, noting “the economy” means different things to different voters, and issues compete with candidate dynamics and party loyalty. What has changed since Roe’s overturn, she told me, is who the single-issue abortion voter is.

“Before the Dobbs decision, abortion was a motivating issue for Republican conservative voters,” Kirzinger said. “Now what we’ve seen is a complete shift.” Those voters are more likely to be Democrats, younger women and women of color, and include more people who don’t reliably show up in midterms.

Abortion messaging, therefore, is doing two jobs. The first is turnout. Kirzinger said the Kavanaugh vote is aimed at Democratic women “who are not as enthusiastic about Jackson as a candidate” and who “may be more motivated to turn out as a vote against Collins’ record on abortion rather than for Jackson.” In a tight race inside the margin of error, a couple of points of turnout could make the difference.

The second job is persuasion, and the target is older women, who reliably vote. Women made up nearly 60 percent of Maine’s turnout in 2020, and Collins won them by 3 points. What Democrats need from them is a switch, which is why many of the abortion ads are built around regret. One Planned Parenthood ad features a woman who voted for Collins and “will not make the same mistake twice”; WinSenate’s features a voter who “felt [Collins] was the better choice” and doesn’t anymore. 

Jackson’s change of heart

Complicating the race is Collins’ opponent, Troy Jackson, who is in some ways a mirror image of her own political persona: a Democrat with a history of culturally right-leaning positions to appeal to voters in the other party.

Jackson, who started his political career in the rural and fairly conservative county of Aroostook, used to earn 100 percent ratings from Maine Right to Life. In 2010, as CNN’s KFILE reported, when he filled out the group’s candidate questionnaire saying he thought abortion should never be legal, he declined to say whether there should be exceptions even to protect the life of the mother, for rape or incest, or because of fetal disability. Maine Right to Life, which has not issued an endorsement in the Senate race, did not return requests for comment.

Jackson told MS NOW he evolved on the issue thanks to “a lot of conversations over time” with women, doctors, and community members. “It became more and more clear to me that abortion access was healthcare,” he said.

In 2023, while serving as Senate president, he co-sponsored a bill allowing abortions after fetal viability when a physician deems them necessary, one of the most expansive such laws in the country. In 2024, he shepherded through the Senate a shield law protecting Maine providers and patients of reproductive and gender-affirming care from other states’ bans, despite bomb threats that emptied the statehouse and a letter from 16 Republican attorneys general threatening to sue. “Troy stood up for and never wavered in his commitment to reproductive rights during some really harrowing moments,” Margulies said, “when it would have been a lot easier to step down.”

“I’m rock solid on this now, and Susan has been the opposite,” Jackson said in an interview with Maine Public Radio this summer. Kernan, Collins’s spokesperson, has charged Jackson with flip-flopping for “political convenience.”

The national environment is looking strong for Democrats, and Jackson has been narrowly ahead in recent polls, though all have been within the margin of error. A CNN poll released this month found nearly two-thirds of Mainers feel negatively about the Dobbs decision, including about half saying it makes them angry. A Fox News poll in August found 55 percent worried Collins votes with Trump too often. 

Whatever happens, the explanations are ready. If Collins loses, abortion rights groups will cast it as proof that the issue still moves voters even where it doesn’t top their lists, and as a warning to all Republicans running in 2028. Timmaraju previewed the argument in our conversation: A loss would signal “a crack in the armor” of so-called moderates, and show that voters “are not going to tolerate” incumbents complicit with an extremist administration. 

If Collins wins, the groups that spent millions on abortion ads are unlikely to conclude that doing so was a mistake. Kirzinger pointed to the turmoil that followed the Democratic primary and the late swap of Platner for Jackson, which she said benefited Collins “in a way that is hard to capture in polls.” Glover, the political scientist, noted the things Mainers have always weighed alongside her votes, including decades of relationships, the Senate Appropriations gavel, and federal money. Even Timmaraju, the abortion rights leader, offered the same hedge in advance: A Collins win, she told me, “says more about Susan Collins and Maine than it does about 2028.”

A win wouldn’t show that judicial votes carry no consequences, Glover added. But if Collins holds substantial support among voters who support abortion rights despite the Kavanaugh vote and the fall of Roe, “that would certainly suggest limits” for retrospective accountability for downstream consequences of Supreme Court confirmations.

Though the race is supposed to clarify whether voters will punish elected officials for taking actions that restrict abortion access, it probably can’t — at least not definitively. It will decide, though, who holds the seat, and reproductive rights leaders have been clear that without a Democratic Senate, nothing they want gets a vote.