Chapter 11. The Architecture of Care

From Isolation to Infrastructure: Rebuilding the Foundations of Family Support

“The destiny of nations depends on how they nourish and protect their children.” — Paraphrased from Sophocles

A nation that punishes families for raising children has lost its purpose. Yet in the United States, raising a child has become a structural disadvantage. Families face soaring costs, impossible choices, and a political system that treats child care as a personal problem rather than a national responsibility. In a functioning society, working should be a choice. Staying home should be a choice. Care should be a right—not a luxury determined by ZIP code, income level, or the preferences of a private employer. This is not about ideology. It is about infrastructure. No nation can call itself advanced if it fails to support the people who raise its futur

The math no longer adds up. To cover the costs of housing, food, healthcare, transportation, and education, most families now need two full-time incomes. However, wages have not kept pace. Housing costs have doubled in a generation, healthcare expenses have tripled, and child care—if it can be found—often exceeds the cost of rent or college tuition. According to national cost-of-living analyses, the typical U.S. family with two children spends over $100,000 a year just to stay afloat. For many families, that estimate is likely conservative. These expenses are not luxuries; they are the basic necessities of dignity, stability, and security surviva

A generation ago, one income could support a household. Today, even two is often not enough. The shift began in the 1970s, when wages flatlined and prices surged. But the political response was not to protect families. It was to tell them to work harder. Women entered the workforce not as an expression of liberation, but of necessity. Dual-income households became the norm—but only to replace the ground lost to corporate profit, anti-labor policies, and rising inequality. What was once a cultural ideal became a financial requirement. And even now, the policies of government have not caught up to the reality of families.

Nowhere is this failure more visible than in child care. Across most of the country, families must find care that is affordable, available, trustworthy, and nearby. For many, it does not exist. Over half of Americans live in what experts call “child care deserts.” Where care is available, it can cost between $15,000 and $25,000 per child per year. That is more than rent. More than food. More than many college tuition bills. The system does not work. Not for parents. Not for children. And certainly not for the workers who provide the care.

Those workers are the backbone of early childhood development—and they are paid poverty wages. The average child care provider earns less than $15 per hour. Most receive no health insurance, no paid leave, and no retirement plan. Their work is essential, complex, and emotionally demanding. Yet they are treated as disposable. This isn’t because the work lacks value. It is because the political system has refused to fund it. And when a nation underpays its caregivers, it reveals everything about what—and who—it values.

Child care has never been fully public in the United States. But it almost was. During World War II, the Lanham Act created the nation’s first federally funded child care system to support working mothers on the home front. It worked. But it was dismantled in 1946. In 1971, Congress passed the Comprehensive Child Development Act, which would have created a permanent national care system. President Nixon vetoed it, calling it a threat to the family. In truth, the threat was to a vision of the family in which women stayed home and work was unpaid. That veto killed what could have become the foundation of America’s care infrastructure. Nothing close has passed since.

That delay now costs us dearly. Without universal care, families are forced to piece together a patchwork of options—none of them stable, all of them expensive. Many rely on family members. Others turn to informal providers with little oversight or support. Some leave the workforce entirely. Women are the most affected—especially mothers of infants. When care becomes unaffordable, many reduce hours, reject promotions, or abandon careers entirely. The economic cost is staggering. The human cost is worse. A nation that forces parents to choose between income and presence has already failed them.

This is not how it works elsewhere. In most wealthy democracies, child care is treated as infrastructure. Countries like Sweden, France, and Canada offer universal access, publicly supported wages, and robust parental leave. Costs are capped, hours are predictable, and providers are trained and respected. Parents can return to work or stay home without fear of ruin. These systems are not perfect. But they reflect a different moral premise: that raising a child is not a private burden. It is a shared national investment.

The United States does the opposite. It provides limited subsidies, small tax credits, and no national system of care. Its only federal policy—the Child and Dependent Care Tax Credit—is regressive and insufficient. It helps most when the help is needed least. The rest is left to states, cities, and struggling nonprofits. For a brief moment during the COVID pandemic, federal funds stabilized the sector. But those funds expired. And with them went thousands of providers, tens of thousands of jobs, and hundreds of thousands of child care slots. The system is collapsing again.

We can build something better. The foundation is already known: treat care the way we treat public schools—as universal, dependable, and funded through public investment. Child care should be free or low-cost for all families, especially in the first five years of life. Providers should be paid at rates that reflect their professional worth. And parents should have the choice to work, pause, or share responsibilities—without being punished for any of it. This is not radical. It is already how most of the world functions. We are the outlier. Not the model.

We need a blueprint with six pillars: access, workforce, infrastructure, leave, flexibility, and public delivery. Each pillar is essential, and each one responds directly to a failure of the current system. Together, they form a care infrastructure—not a patchwork. Not a pilot. A permanent system rooted in fairness, dignity, and public investment. A structure built to last.

A functioning care system begins with guaranteed access. Every community should have enough slots for every child who needs them—infants, toddlers, and preschoolers alike. Hours should match the realities of work—early mornings, evenings, and nonstandard shifts. Care should be safe, nurturing, and aligned with early learning goals. And no family should be forced to choose between leaving a child alone or leaving a job behind. This is what public education already provides after age five. We must extend it backward.

Second, we must fund the workforce that makes care possible. That means wages on par with K–12 teachers, access to benefits, paid training, and career ladders for advancement. Today’s care workers live on the edge of poverty. Many leave the profession within five years. That churn is devastating to children, providers, and the system as a whole. A serious care policy treats workers as essential, not expendable. And when we fund their dignity, we fund the quality of care itself.