Ten weeks into a pregnancy, a woman already navigates new terrain—doctor visits, morning sickness, shifting hormones, shifting priorities. Under a new Michigan proposal, that shift could also mean a tax break. A bill introduced by State Representative Gina Johnsen would allow expectant parents to claim a fetus as a dependent on their state taxes. That means if someone is ten weeks pregnant by year’s end and a doctor signs off, Michigan could consider that fetus a person for the purposes of personal exemptions.
The bill is being heard before the House Finance Committee and is stirring discussion that runs deeper than tax codes. It presses on economic realities, reproductive rights, and the lived experiences of Black families who have long fought to be seen, heard, and supported at every stage of life—from conception to birth to adulthood.
Johnsen, a Republican from Lake Orion, said her intention is rooted in the cost of parenting starting earlier than people often calculate. “Everything costs more to just survive, raise a family, take care of yourself. But, even starting at pregnancy, the costs go up,” she said. “And this bill is to recognize that that’s when the costs start, not just when a child is born.”
Under current Michigan tax law, each dependent adds a personal exemption that adjusts yearly. For 2024, that amount is $5,600 per person or dependent. The proposal could mean modest savings for families anticipating a birth, but that figure barely touches the realities many parents—especially Black mothers—face in a system that often treats their needs as an afterthought.
Danielle Atkinson, founder of Mothering Justice, is clear about what this bill doesn’t address. She questions the impact of the exemption and points to the larger structural gaps. “If this was in good faith, we would definitely be looking at the true cost of care, money that’s lost when you are out of work,” she said. “And just overall what it takes to raise a child in this society.”
The national average to raise an infant, according to Atkinson, now tops $14,000 per year. That includes childcare, formula, food, diapers, clothes, and healthcare—not to mention the income lost when a parent, most often a mother, takes time off work to recover from birth or care for a sick child. A one-time tax deduction barely scratches the surface.
The broader implications stretch beyond economics. This kind of legislation comes after the U.S. Supreme Court struck down Roe v. Wade, unraveling decades of federal abortion protections. Georgia was the first state to pass a similar fetal tax exemption, one that directly connected to its fetal heartbeat law. Michigan’s bill doesn’t include such a clause, but reproductive rights advocates are not ignoring the timing.
That nuance matters in communities already fighting for autonomy over their bodies and their families. Black women in Michigan, like across the nation, experience higher rates of maternal mortality, are more likely to be denied medical care, and face disproportionate economic hurdles that no line item on a tax form will fix.
Johnsen said her proposal mirrors the federal WIC program, which already considers pregnant people eligible for food assistance. “I just want the moms to have an opportunity to have some assistance here and recognize that this is financially more difficult than not having a baby,” she explained. But even WIC—a deeply critical program—functions as a supplement. It doesn’t resolve wage gaps, employment discrimination, housing instability, or inequitable access to healthcare.
To Atkinson and other community advocates, the problem isn’t whether pregnant people need more financial support. They do. The question is whether this bill is the best pathway. Atkinson pointed instead to initiatives like Rx Kids, a program that gives monthly checks directly to new mothers and babies during their first year of life. That kind of model, she argued, shows what’s possible when the goal is sustained support rather than symbolic policy.
“We have to think in the totality of when we’re talking about moms and families and babies, what does the most good,” she said. “And we need to put our attention and our resources behind those initiatives.”
The debate lands in a state budget season marked by deep divides. House Republicans have made clear their priorities: slashing income taxes across the board, diverting funds to infrastructure, and cutting back what they call wasteful spending. Democrats, on the other hand, have warned that such broad cuts threaten public services and Michigan’s already thin social safety net.
There’s also a competing proposal from Senate Democrats calling for a “working parents tax credit,” which they argue would provide more tangible help to families, especially those raising children on low to moderate incomes. That approach could support parents already juggling bills, work, and caretaking without needing to define a fetus as a dependent to access help.
Johnsen defended her bill as part of a moral duty. “We say we’re looking out for the most vulnerable. Well, the most vulnerability are the babies and the pregnant moms and the elderly and the veterans. They have to come first. Or we don’t have a thriving and strong society,” she said.
But that framing raises another layer of concern—one echoed across historically underfunded and overpoliced Black communities. The language of “protecting the vulnerable” has often been weaponized to restrict reproductive freedoms or gut public benefits under the guise of morality. For Black parents in Michigan, true investment means more than rhetoric. It means reliable access to healthcare, maternal leave, equitable pay, community-centered prenatal support, and safe neighborhoods.
The stakes in this conversation are not theoretical. Detroit remains one of the poorest major cities in the country, where Black families are disproportionately impacted by maternal health disparities, food deserts, housing displacement, and the kind of systemic neglect that no tax exemption can paper over. Programs like Mothering Justice, Black Mothers’ Breastfeeding Association, and Detroit Mama Hub do the ground-level work that the state too often sidesteps.
This moment, then, is not only about what counts as a dependent. It’s about whether policy in Michigan will reflect the lived truths of the people most affected. Will it center those who have been undercounted, under-resourced, and underserved for generations? Or will it continue to prioritize political points over people?
Johnsen expects a vote on her bill in the House in the coming weeks. As that hearing approaches, communities across the state—especially Black-led organizations and advocacy groups—are watching closely, not just for the outcome, but for what it reveals about whose lives are being counted.
Because when the ink dries on policy, it’s not lawmakers who live with the consequences. It’s the mother choosing between rent and formula. It’s the family stretched too thin. It’s the neighborhoods building support networks with or without state assistance.
The conversation shouldn’t end with a tax form. It should start with a mirror to our values—and who gets seen in the reflection.
About Post Author
