When the Government Shuts Down, Kids Still Suffer (Quietly)

A government shutdown is the loudest kind of political standoff—full of headlines and blame-shifting. Yet even in that noise, the voices you never hear are those of babies, toddlers, and children who bear the invisible cost.

On October 1, 2025, the federal government ground to a halt after Congress failed to pass new appropriations bills. Hundreds of thousands of federal employees were furloughed. Essential programs continued, but others—including nutrition programs not protected by entitlement status—faced immediate threat. WIC, which provides food support to millions of women, infants, and children, became vulnerable because it relies on annual funding rather than automatic authorization.

When Washington shuts down, the rhetoric is deafening. Leaders spar over spending caps, GDP losses, and which side will take the blame. But in all that noise, one word is almost never heard: children. While politicians argue over who “wins” the standoff, kids are the ones who lose in silence. WIC—a program designed specifically for women, infants, and children—is among the first to be threatened. Yet in most public statements from leaders, you won’t hear the word “children” at all. That’s not an oversight—it’s a symptom of polarization. The louder the fight becomes, the more invisible kids become.

And over time, that silence has become normalized.

Leaders don’t even think to mention children when the cameras are rolling. Their absence in the rhetoric has been accepted as business as usual—and that may be the most dangerous part.

When kids aren’t named, they aren’t claimed. And when they aren’t claimed, their needs are the easiest to dismiss.

This dynamic is not new. When programs falter, children don’t have the lobbying muscle to push back. They can’t call their senator, bankroll a PAC, or flood inboxes with talking points. They sit quietly while political trench warfare rages overhead. Their silence, paired with the noise of today’s politics, ensures their needs are the easiest to ignore.

Consider Ohio’s recent effort to provide multi-year continuous Medicaid eligibility for infants and toddlers. The state had planned to pursue an 1115 waiver to keep eligible kids enrolled through age three, with legislative approval, public hearings, and paperwork already in motion. In the budget, lawmakers tried to strip the requirement, and the governor vetoed that repeal to keep the option alive. Then CMS announced it would no longer approve such waivers.

This wasn’t about expanding benefits—the policy simply aimed to keep children already eligible from cycling on and off coverage, a problem that disrupts vaccines, well-child visits, and preventive screenings. For a young family, it would have meant fewer forms and more checkups. The demonstration would have tested what many child health experts believe—that reducing churn could save money, streamline bureaucracy, and improve outcomes for babies and toddlers. Instead, politics got in the way, and children were left without the stability they deserved.

Shutdowns just make this reality harder to ignore. Programs stop. Families scramble. The policy underpinnings crack. And all the while, the rhetoric in Washington grows louder while children remain the quietest voices in the room—and the first to be forgotten.

We tell ourselves that children are “resilient,” and it’s true. But resilience isn’t an excuse for neglect. Childhood isn’t a rehearsal; it’s a one-time chance to build a strong foundation. When polarization steals years from children, there’s no way to give them back.

If kids can’t speak for themselves, then leadership means choosing to be their voice. That doesn’t mean hijacking their needs for partisan gain. It means refusing to let them be collateral damage in larger fights. It means remembering that every ideological battle has a human cost—and that cost is too often paid by children.

Polarization may define the way adults do politics. But it doesn’t have to define how we treat children. Their silence is not weakness. It’s a reminder that the measure of our leadership is whether we can set aside the noise long enough to hear what they cannot say.

Because when we make kids part of the fight, everybody loses. When we put kids above the fight, everybody wins. Or more simply:

The true test of our politics isn’t how loud the fight gets—it’s whether we choose to hear the quietest voices.