In 2024, Poland recorded one of the lowest fertility rates in the European Union (1.14 children per woman), bringing demographic concerns to the forefront of political debate. As the country is gripped by growing demographic anxiety, women’s reproductive choices remain restricted, while the low birth rate is framed as a moral or cultural failure rather than a structural issue.
Blame and simplification
In 2022, the leader of the then-ruling Law and Justice party, Jarosław Kaczyński, sparked controversy after “jokingly” suggesting that low birth rates were linked to women’s lifestyles, including drinking alcohol. Three years later, Prime Minister Donald Tusk from the rival Civic Coalition echoed a similarly simplified narrative. In an interview with The Times, he argued that young people, especially women, avoid parenthood not because of housing or financial constraints but because they “don’t like this way of life, the obligations, the responsibilities”.
According to Monika Mynarska, a professor of psychology at Cardinal Stefan Wyszyński University in Warsaw and director of the Families and Generations Lab, such claims rely on a narrow understanding of reproductive decisions. Mynarska notes, “Whenever I hear that Polish women are deciding not to have children because they are afraid of responsibility, my first question is, What about Polish men?” Parenthood, she stresses, is a joint decision, and men are now more involved in childcare even though inequalities persist. Nevertheless, public debate continues to frame low fertility as a problem of women’s attitudes.
Despite the record-low fertility rate, most people in Poland still express a desire to have children. Understanding the country’s demographic crisis requires moving beyond simple explanations. As Mynarska notes, there is no single cause of low fertility. From an individual’s perspective, recurring concerns include economic insecurity, high housing costs, unstable employment, difficulties reconciling work and family life, problems within the healthcare system – including prenatal care –, and even fears of war.
In other words, individual decisions cannot be separated from broader structural transformations. Mynarska explains that Poland, like many other countries, has entered a stage of demographic development where low fertility is normal. Comparisons to the past – when conditions were often materially worse, yet birth rates were higher – are therefore misleading.
The consequences of control
In the past decade, Poland has significantly restricted reproductive rights, justifying these changes primarily on the grounds of “protecting life”. A 2020 Constitutional Tribunal ruling banned abortion in cases of severe fetal abnormalities – the stated reason for more than 97 per cent of Poland’s legal abortions up until then –, allowing only two exceptions: when the pregnancy results from a criminal act or when it poses a threat to the woman’s life or health.
The consequences have been profound. In 2021, a 30-year-old woman named Izabela died of septic shock after being denied a timely abortion, even though scans had shown numerous defects in the fetus. Her death sparked nationwide protests and became a symbol of the chilling effect of abortion laws on medical practice: doctors, fearing legal repercussions, have at times delayed interventions even in life-threatening situations. Only now, five years later, have the doctors responsible for Izabela’s death been sentenced.
Unsurprisingly, Polish women increasingly view pregnancy as a source of uncertainty and risk. A study by economist Anna Matysiak, Anna Kurowska, and Magdalena Grabowska shows that concerns over restricted access to abortion are among the key factors shaping childbearing decisions, especially among childless women. Their findings suggest that restricting reproductive rights may discourage, rather than increase, fertility. Limited access to prenatal care, the closure of maternity wards, and uneven healthcare quality further deepen this insecurity.
These challenges are even more acute for migrant women, whose experiences remain largely absent from demographic debates. Language barriers, precarious legal status, and restricted access to healthcare make pregnancy significantly more difficult for them.
One instance is the case of a Georgian woman named Lela, who in February 2026 experienced severe pregnancy complications and wanted to undergo an abortion. She received the necessary medical care only after intervention by NGOs and widespread media attention. Information about her situation spread beyond Poland and was shared by the European citizens’ initiative My Voice, My Choice. Once her condition stabilised, Lela decided to continue the pregnancy.
The way forward
Poland has introduced several measures to increase birth rates, such as paid maternity, paternity, and parental leave, investment in nurseries, and tax relief for families. Most of these initiatives concentrate on financial benefits, and while they provide short-term support, their long-term impact on fertility remains limited.
Mynarska argues that people who do not want to have children cannot simply be “encouraged” to do so. Instead of pronatalist slogans, policies should focus on creating conditions that make parenthood feasible: better access to childcare, healthcare, housing, and stable living conditions.
Beyond the numbers, Poland’s demographic crisis is a matter of rights, trust, and the role of the state. Supporting parenthood is less about increasing birth rates than about improving quality of life more broadly, including by providing better access to public transport, education, and environmental protection.
