JPMorgan Chase Is the Big Winner From First Republic Bank’s Failure

First Republic Bank’s failure resulted in its acquisition by JPMorgan Chase. As more banks continue to fail in the coming years, massive banks like Chase stand well-positioned to swallow them up.

First Republic Bank signage is displayed outside of a bank branch in Beverly Hills, California, on May 1, 2023. (Patrick T. Fallon / AFP via Getty Images)

It’s been quite a month for JPMorgan Chase. The bank is still embroiled in a deeply damaging court case over its close ties to underage-sex-trafficker-for-the-ultrarich Jeffrey Epstein, with its CEO Jamie Dimon now confirmed to have to face questioning over its turning a blind eye to Epstein’s crimes.

At the same time, in brighter news for the mega-bank, Chase also swooped into the second-largest bank failure in US history and bought the collapsing First Republic Bank, growing its slate of ultrawealthy clientele and expanding its footprint into Silicon Valley in the process. As Federal Reserve chair Jerome Powell later said, the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) — which held the “highly competitive bidding process” for First Republic — is bound by law to take the option that would result in the most minimal payout from its Deposit Insurance Fund — something JPMorgan, by virtue of its immensity, was best placed to offer. Bigness begets bigness.

The deal has been sold as a grand victory for Dimon and the bank, not just for business reasons, but also because it’s allowed Dimon to burnish his reputation as the savior of the US banking industry, first shored up when JPMorgan swooped in to a different financial collapse to buy up failing competitors in 2008. But JPMorgan’s bargain purchase gain here may well mean some serious pain for the rest of us in the long run.

With $3.2 trillion in assets, JPMorgan has had an unbroken run as the largest bank in the United States since 2011. It was already deemed years ago by the G20 to be one of the two most “systemically important banks” in the world — too big to fail, in other words, not just for the sake of the country, but the entire planet.

And now it’s become even bigger. The bank today holds nearly $2.5 trillion in deposits, or around 13.6 percent of the nation’s total, and holds a market share of 14.4 percent, up from 1.5 percent thirty years ago, prompting renewed concerns about the bank’s potentially destabilizing size. Far from simply posing a systemic risk to the financial system, JPMorgan seems to be slowly trying to become the financial system.

But didn’t we already go through this state of affairs fifteen years ago, when there was general agreement we shouldn’t let banks grow so gargantuan that they pose a threat to the entire financial system? And aren’t there regulations in place to stop this kind of thing from happening because of the dangers that come with it?

The answer is “yes” — sort of. In theory, banks are legally barred from buying another bank if they already hold 10 percent or more of the country’s insured deposits, a figure JPMorgan Chase was well in excess of. But of course, there’s a loophole: known as the “failing bank” exception, this ban no longer applies if the bank being purchased is “in default or in danger of default.”

It’s dangerous to let big banks get too big — unless, that is, they do it by absorbing another one that’s insolvent and collapsing.

Small Government, Big Banking

The obvious absurdity of this rule can be traced back nearly thirty years to another Jeffrey Epstein associate, the forty-second president of the United States. The 10 percent deposit cap and its attendant loophole was put in place by the Riegle-Neal Act, a piece of deregulatory bank legislation signed into law by Bill Clinton in 1994 that aimed to end restrictions on interstate banking that had been in place since before the Great Depression.

While today, customers of Bank of America, Chase, Wells Fargo, and other large institutions can be certain they will find one of their bank’s branches just about wherever they go, this wasn’t always the case. Since the McFadden Act of 1927, US banks had strict limits on their ability to operate across state lines, partly due to fears that doing otherwise would spur a dangerous concentration of the financial system and make regulation harder. Banks chafed at the restrictions, but they caused frustrations for customers too.

The process of chipping away at these rules started under Jimmy Carter, the first neoliberal US president. Acting on complaints that foreign banks, which weren’t covered by these restrictions, had a competitive advantage over US banks, Carter and a Democratic Congress passed a 1978 law ending this privilege and mandating a general review of banking laws. The decades-old interstate banking limits were “ineffective, inequitable, inefficient, and anachronistic,” concluded the resulting report in the final moments of Carter’s presidency, recommending that “interstate banking be ratified and further liberalized through a phased relaxation of current geographic restraints.”

While several aborted attempts at this would be launched over the following decade, it was state governments that led the way. Forty-six states relaxed limits on out-of-state acquisitions of banks within their borders by 1990, and by 1994, nearly every one of them had signed compacts, reciprocal interstate banking agreements that allowed banks to cross state lines.

The federal effort to end interstate banking limits was led by Sen. Donald Riegle, the Michigan Democrat who chaired the Senate Banking Committee. Representing a state whose auto industry had been devastated by foreign imports, Riegle worried about “the ability of the United States to compete effectively in the international marketplace,” he said.

There may also have been another motive. Riegle was known as the darling of and champion for a financial sector that showered him with tens of thousands of dollars of campaign donations, in particular from the savings and loan industry whose implosion necessitated a pricey taxpayer bailout in 1989. Riegle’s closeness with finance reached its peak in his embroilment in the “Keating Five” scandal, in which the Senate Ethics Committee concluded that he had given “the appearance of being improper” by intervening with regulators on behalf of a collapsed savings and loan association (S&L) while taking money from it.

Starting in 1991, Riegle used his perch at the Banking Committee to hold thirteen hearings about the US banking industry’s competitiveness on the world stage, in which a parade of Wall Street representatives — including the Chase Manhattan Bank CEO, speaking on behalf of the American Bankers Association — urged the lifting of interstate banking limits to unleash the put-upon US financial sector. The government report that followed those hearings bitterly noted that while three US commercial banks had been in the world’s top twenty by asset size in 1983, not a single one was still on the list by 1989.

While earlier federal efforts to end interstate banking limits had been beaten back by opposition from community banks and insurance companies, by 1993, the stars had aligned. The just-elected Clinton was as bullish on bank deregulation as his Republican predecessor, and his Treasury secretary made clear the administration wanted the restrictions lifted, telling a Democratic think tank, “We’re operating with laws and regulations made for another time in America.” Lawmakers in Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina pushed their own, state-based versions of interstate banking liberalization, while the Clinton administration used a loophole to let First Fidelity Bank operate in two states, putting pressure on Congress to pass the bill.

“The world has changed,” lamented a defeated Kenneth Guenther, executive vice president of the Independent Bankers Association of America. “For the first time in many years, the chances look pretty good” for a bill to pass, remarked a much happier Richard Thomas, chair of the Bankers Roundtable that represented the top executives of the country’s biggest banks.

Those chances were helped by a concerted push from that same industry. Representatives of six of the country’s major financial trade groups wrote Clinton a letter before his inauguration in 1993 urging banking deregulation, including ending the “micromanagement of bank operations.” They hired lobbyists with close ties to both Clinton himself and the wider Democratic Party and launched a large-scale lobbying effort they called “National Cut the Red Tape Week.”

In the end, though, Riegle can’t fully take the credit for the “failing bank” carveout in the law that carried his name. That provision was absent from the Senate legislation he introduced, which included the 10 percent deposit cap. The loophole could instead first be found in the bill introduced into the House by its other namesake, Rep. Stephen Neal (D-NC), who like Riegle was a leading recipient of S&L cash known for voting in line with the industry’s wishes.

Neal’s state was home to the country’s fourth-largest bank, NationsBank, a particularly vocal supporter of unshackling interstate banking which in a few years would swallow up and officially become today’s Bank of America. A few months earlier in a speech in Clinton’s hometown of Little Rock, Arkansas, its CEO Hugh McColl had cheered on the idea of bank consolidation, calling for “let[ting] the strong take over the weak so that we can move forward.” Under Neal’s shepherding, the bill cleared the House Banking Committee — whose ranks counted Maxine Waters, Chuck Schumer, and Barney Frank — on a lopsided fifty-to-one vote, with then first-term congressman Rep. Bernie Sanders the sole no vote. When it eventually cleared the Senate, ninety-four members voted in favor, including Joe Biden.

McColl and Chase Manhattan CEO Thomas Labrecque were among the big bank executives at the September 1994 signing ceremony, where Clinton placed the bill in his wider economic strategy of “reinvent[ing] government by making it less regulatory and less overreaching and by shrinking it where it ought to be shrunk.” Sure enough, Riegle-Neal, viewed today alongside Clinton’s repeal of Glass-Steagall as one of the most significant bits of deregulatory legislation of the past few decades, led to a wave of bank consolidation.

Since Riegle-Neal went into effect, “the number of large bank mergers has increased significantly,” the Federal Reserve Board of San Francisco stated in 2004. Between 1990 and 1998, there were 4,944 bank mergers and the number of US banks fell nearly 27 percent to 9,015. Today, the number is around 4,100, while the four biggest banks hold roughly 40 percent of the entire banking system’s $23 trillion of assets.

All Part of the Plan

The “failing bank” exception tucked into Riegle-Neal wasn’t commented on at the time. But later events give us some idea of what may have motivated it.

In 2011, the Financial Stability Oversight Council (FSOC), created in the wake of the 2008 financial crash to keep an eye on risk in the financial sector, produced a report on “concentration limits on large financial companies” in which it expressly endorsed the loophole. In fact, the FSOC recommended that the hole get bigger and cover all insured depository institutions, not just “banks.”

There was a “strong public interest in limiting the costs to the Deposit Insurance Fund that could arise if a bank were to fail,” the report stated, “which might be partly or wholly limited through acquisition of a failing bank by another firm.”

It would save the taxpayer money, in other words, by putting the private sector on the hook for taking care of collapsing financial institutions. There was no mention of the public interest in stopping too-big-to-fail mega-banks from coming into existence. (Senior Treasury advisor Amias Gerety, one of the staffers who presented the report to the FSOC for approval, now works for QED Investors, a venture capital firm that invests in and promotes fintech to banks.)

It wasn’t without its critics. The Federal Reserve board had partly used Riegle-Neal’s various loopholes to sign off on several big bank acquisitions in the wake of the 2008 crash, putting JPMorgan Chase, Bank of America, and Wells Fargo all over the 10 percent deposit cap by October that year. “All of the resulting entities needed subsequent bailouts through various means,” Duke law professor Lawrence Baxter later wrote, suggesting “that perhaps the banking agencies headed in precisely the wrong direction by creating even larger, weaker banks as a means of extricating the financial system from its crisis.”

George Washington University law professor Arthur Wilmarth, who had served as a consultant to Congress’s Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission in 2010, had that year recommended closing several Riegle-Neal loopholes. That included narrowing the failing bank exception by forcing regulators to make a “systemic risk determination” in exactly the kind of scenarios that JPMorgan and First Republic found themselves in this month.

In Wilmarth’s vision, regulators would have to show that such a merger needed to happen to avoid “systemic injury,” and would subject that decision to an after-the-fact review by, among other things, Congress. But while Dodd-Frank, the Obama-era Wall Street reform law, closed one major Riegle-Neal loophole, it left that one and several others in place. As late as February last year, the Independent Community Bankers of America complained to the Biden administration that the limits in Riegle-Neal and Dodd-Frank “still permit mergers among the nation’s largest banks to occur,” producing “anticompetitive effects” and “creating downstream pressures for other smaller institutions to grow larger to compete,” feeding ever more bank consolidation.

If these concerns are shared by the country’s top regulators, they’re keeping up a strong poker face. Asked in the wake of the JPMorgan/First Republic merger if he was worried about consolidation, Fed chair Jerome Powell simply answered, “It’s probably good policy that we don’t want the largest banks doing big acquisitions.”

“But this is an exception for a failing bank,” he added. “And I think it’s actually a good outcome for the banking system.”

All Roads Lead to Consolidation

Powell’s confidence may well be put to the test in the coming years. First Republic was only the latest bank to collapse thanks to Powell’s series of interest rate hikes the past year, following the failure of Silicon Valley Bank and Signature Bank this past March.

There’s little sign Powell and the Fed are going to pause, despite the fact that inflation has been slowing for months, and despite it being far from clear that the rate hikes are the reason for that. That means potentially numerous more bank failures to come, and so, numerous more chances for the country’s mega-banks to get even bigger by invoking the “failing bank” loophole to leapfrog regulations. And in the long run, that concentration could pose all manner of problems for working Americans, from more consumer abuses at the hands of large financial firms, to a growing risk of big bank criminal impunity and a 2008-style financial meltdown.

There’s many things in this three-decade-long Rube Goldberg machine of corruption and neoliberal policymaking you could blame this state of affairs on — from the deregulatory zealotry fed by Wall Street’s Herculean campaign of lobbying and political bribery to the legal loopholes planted like landmines by elected officials (some of whom remain in power today) that have let big banks take advantage of the resulting failures to get bigger and bigger. But part of it is also that, as Baxter wrote, regulators see mega-banks as “serv[ing] a public, quasi-governmental purpose in assisting the government to maintain stability in financial crises in a way that reduces, in the short term at least, the cost to the public.”

Whatever short-term savings this practice has secured for the public could well pale in comparison to the costs that growing financial concentration and everything that comes with it poses. We may be alarmingly close to finding out.

On Soft Power: How to Measure Soft Power, Actors of Soft Power, Foreign Policy and Soft Power?

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Poland Should Leave the American Sector Now!

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Syria, Alas: Is There Reason for Optimism?

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Jackie Robinson Was More Than a Baseball Player

Jackie Robinson is popularly portrayed as a mainstream figure who broke baseball’s color line by quietly enduring racist abuse. But he was much more a lifelong activist and defiant crusader for civil rights.

A portrait of Jackie Robinson in his Brooklyn Dodgers uniform, circa 1945. (Hulton Archive / Getty Images)

Last month, Major League Baseball (MLB) celebrated Jackie Robinson Day, an annual event that the league debuted in 2004. Every April 15, each player wears Robinson’s number, 42, to honor the day he broke the baseball’s color barrier in 1947.

For years, many have embraced an oversimplified image of Robinson as a stoic man who endured racist abuse with grace and dignity. In his book, Reclaiming 42: Public Memory and the Reframing of Jackie Robinson’s Radical Legacy, David Naze aims to fill in the politics scrubbed from this narrative while breaking down the sanitized version of Robinson that has permeated the public memory. What emerges is a complex, defiant figure, as opposed to a simplistic symbol of frictionless racial progress. “Often we forget the details of one person’s legacy, either because of the passage of time or because we were never really taught about those details in the first place,” Naze writes.

A lifelong activist, Robinson participated in the World War II–era “Double V” campaign — the effort among black Americans to wage a war against fascism abroad and racism at home — refusing to move to the back of an Army bus in 1944. After his retirement from baseball in 1957, Robinson was a fixture at civil rights demonstrations and, along with Martin Luther King Jr, was named an honorary chairmen of the Youth March for Integrated Schools in Washington, DC, the following year.

When Robinson was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1962, King praised him in a letter: “You have made every Negro in America proud through your baseball prowess and your inflexible demand for equal opportunity for all.” King further lauded him in a newspaper column:

Back in the days when integration wasn’t fashionable, [Robinson] underwent the trauma and the humiliation and the loneliness which comes with being a pilgrim walking the lonesome byways toward the high road of Freedom. He was a sit-inner before the sit-ins, a freedom rider before the Freedom Rides.

Robinson even directed the money from his Hall of Fame dinner to the Southern Christian Leadership Conference’s voter registration project.

Jacobin contributor Michael Arria spoke to Naze about the standard story of Robinson, the political schisms among black Americans during the civil rights era, and what can be done to recover Robinson’s multifaceted legacy.

Michael Arria

Before we get to the mythmaking, I wanted to talk about the parts of Robinson’s legacy that are generally scrubbed from the narrative. His story is often presented in an apolitical way, and sometimes he’s even presented as a conservative because he agreed to testify in 1949 before the red-baiting House Committee on Un-American Activities (he used the speech to decry Jim Crow) and his brief flirtation with Richard Nixon’s 1960 presidential campaign (he distrusted John F. Kennedy on civil rights).

David Naze

When I came to this subject about twenty years ago, my understanding of Robinson was the mainstream narrative. I have come to argue it’s very limited — important and significant historically, but narrow in terms of how we think about Robinson’s legacy.

The story we hear is that he was the first black baseball player in Major League Baseball and that he broke the color barrier in 1947. He’s largely remembered as a baseball player. However, his legacy and his impact go far beyond baseball. Jackie Robinson was a forerunner to the modern American civil rights movement. He was doing a lot of significant things prior to 1947, when he was in the army. Then he comes to baseball and breaks the color barrier.

Jackie Robinson in his military uniform, during a visit to his Pasadena, California, family home, circa 1943. (LOOK Magazine / Library of Congress via Wikimedia Commons)

We also don’t really remember him as a postbaseball figure. What he did from 1957 to his death in 1972 gets eliminated from his legacy. He was a strong political advocate. He contributed immensely to the civil rights movement. This included writing a regular column in the New York Amsterdam News, in which he and Malcolm X famously exchanged heated sentiments about which direction the black community should be headed.

He wrote extensive and prolific civil rights letters to allies, adversaries, politicians, and so on. When he served as an executive at Chock Full o’Nuts, he included in his contract that he could work as extensively as he wanted on civil rights efforts.

Michael Arria

Can you talk about this image of him as a gentle, quiet hero who gracefully endured racist barbs?

David Naze

Everything you’re asking about connects to the whitewashing of his legacy, and I think the primary example of that whitewashing is Major League Baseball’s decision to create Jackie Robinson Day in 2004, which it observes every year on April 15.

On the one hand, it’s great. Of course he deserves to be recognized. But every year it’s the same rerun of Major League Baseball holding itself up as the tolerator of racial integration. I refer to Robinson’s “radical legacy” because I believe, in the context of 1947 and the stuff he was doing for the last twenty-five years of his life, he was a radical by the strictest definition of the term. He was doing things outside the mainstream.

Malcolm X certainly saw him as an adversary during that time, especially after white America began holding Robinson up as someone they could root for or tolerate because he was an “exceptional Negro” — he represented an exception to what mainstream white society saw as a problematic community. African Americans were split. Some people thought he threw Paul Robeson under the bus, and Paul Robeson broke so many different barriers before Robinson.

Jackie Robinson with his son David during the March on Washington, DC, on August 28, 1963. (US Information Agency / Wikimedia Commons)

He was the most popular, renowned black figure at the time, and then in 1949 Robinson testifies for the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC). I think his participation is misconstrued, but many white Americans approved of his actions and thought, “Look, he’s even willing to speak out against members of his own community.” It fit a neat, uncomplicated narrative: a black figure who has given us a reason to root for him and not given us any reason to root against him.

So, the MLB story is a narrative about the tolerator. The story can be, “See? We’re tolerant, we’re accepting. We’re not bigots.” And that’s where the focus is. But we don’t ask what Jackie Robinson thought of all that, because if we did, it would complicate the narrative and make it more difficult for Major League Baseball to celebrate Jackie Robinson Day in the way that it does.

Michael Arria

I think many younger people might derive their perception of Robinson from the 2013 film 42, starring the late Chadwick Boseman. That movie is a decade old now, but what did you make of it when it came out?

David Naze

When that movie came out, I wrote a review for a local media outlet and referred to it as a double in the gap. It wasn’t a home run. It was successful in holding up a hero and a really important figure. I don’t think it was doing anything to complicate the narrative we’ve been discussing. It was designed as a feel-good movie. I’m not trying to be hypercritical; I think it was well done, but it was predictable.

Jackie Robinson with the Kansas City Monarchs (Negro Leagues) before a game, circa 1945. (Kansas City Call / Library of Congress via Wikimedia Commons)

I think it missed an opportunity to create some space for true democratic dissent and productive dialogue. It’s a good example of the Disney-fication of complicated legacies on the screen.

If you go to the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, too, you’re going to see Robinson a lot, but it follows the same script that most mainstream platforms do. It sees baseball as a meritocracy where you belong if you can play well.

It pales in comparison to something like the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum (NLBM) in Kansas City. The museum’s aim is to bring to light as many different narratives as possible, regardless of how complicated they are, and Robinson is just one of those narratives. They do a great job covering how black Americans were split over the disintegration of the Negro Leagues.

A significant portion saw something that they had created out of necessity on their own going away. So there was celebration on one hand, but they also saw that a thriving league was about to go away.

Michael Arria

What’s something Major League Baseball could do to promote Robinson’s true legacy?

David Naze

One of the things Major League Baseball did as part of Jackie Robinson Day was to retire his number throughout all of baseball. Anyone who was wearing number 42 at the time was grandfathered in and allowed to continue wearing it, but the jersey number would never be given out again. Then on Jackie Robinson Day, every player wears 42.

I think that’s a unique and well-intentioned initiative, but I believe they should unretire his number and allow players to wear it again. It’s the complete opposite of what we usually do with athletes. We say, this person’s contributions are so unique in their accomplishments and contributions in this sport that no one else is going to be able to wear that number.

Here’s where MLB misses the mark. While everyone is wearing number 42, it’s one day out of the year — so for 364 days out of the year, we’re not talking about Jackie Robinson. We’re not seeing a representation of his legacy. I say unretire it, allow any player to wear it, because you might end up having multiple players choosing to commemorate his legacy by wearing his number.

I believe you’d probably have some prominent players make that decision, and then we’d be talking about his impact more. His presence would literally be seen throughout the entire season.

We Need an Economic Bill of Rights

Political rights are not enough. Economic rights — the right to home, food, health care, a union, and a safe and stable planet — should be our rallying cry for a just country and world.

A homeless man sleeps under an American Flag blanket on a park bench in New York City. (Spencer Platt / Getty Images)

Although the United States is richer and more productive than it ever has been, over forty million Americans live in poverty — roughly the same number as in 1933, when President Franklin Delano Roosevelt came to office during the height of the Great Depression, and 1964, when President Lyndon Johnson announced his “war on poverty.”

Despite these troubling numbers, many economists assert the American Dream is alive and well, and that inequality is simply the price we as a nation must pay for economic growth. For years, both Republicans and Democrats accepted this fiction, though lately some Democrats have begun to return to fighting for more democratic control over the economy to broaden prosperity to the working class. Yet the party has no plan to address economic insecurity and poverty and better provide Americans with genuine freedom in their pursuit of happiness.

An economic bill of rights — one that expands on the freedoms enumerated in the Constitution by guaranteeing Americans basic economic security — should be the first step. It’s one that an increasing number of Americans support.

This spring, polling by Data for Progress found that 69 percent of likely voters are in favor of legislation guaranteeing economic security, while just 24 percent are opposed. Young voters, who are less likely to achieve the upward mobility America promises, are even more likely to support the idea, with four out of five voters under forty-five in favor of passing universal economic security. Among voters edging closer to economic peril, those making under $50,000, nearly three out of four want economic rights enshrined in law. This support transcends party affiliation: majorities of Democrats, Independents, and Republicans all favor the passage of an economic bill of rights.

Economic rights are not a new idea. On January 11, 1944, as the Allies were turning the tide against fascism, President Roosevelt sat before an array of microphones to deliver his eleventh State of the Union address, which included his demand that Congress immediately take up an economic bill of rights to provide all Americans the right to a job at a living wage; the right to medical care; the right to a home; the right to an education; the right to economic protection from old age, sickness, and accident; and more. Roosevelt had sold Americans on the war as a fight for four freedoms: freedom of speech, freedom of worship, freedom from fear, and freedom from want. It was time to focus on the last of these: to guarantee “cradle-to-grave economic security.”

Franklin D. Roosevelt memorial in Washington, DC. (Library of Congress)

Although Roosevelt’s proposal was sui generis, he was drawing on an all-American history that reached back to its founding. Thomas Paine, the firebrand whose pamphlets spurred a fledgling nation to revolution, had called in Common Sense for the abolition of inheritance rights and the embrace of economic equality as essential in the fight for democracy. Alexander Hamilton argued that a strong centralized state, one that would shape markets and direct the economy to meet human needs, was the nation’s best “guarantor of liberty.” And Abraham Lincoln, through both the Homestead Act and Special Field Order No. 15, had sought to redistribute land to ensure universal economic security for white and black Americans alike (though without consideration for Native Americans, who were forcibly dispossessed through violent measures to provide parcels for white homesteaders).

Roosevelt’s death in April 1945 would forestall the push for economic rights but not extinguish it. Just two decades later, civil rights leaders like A. Philip Randolph, Bayard Rustin, Martin Luther King Jr (MLK), and Coretta Scott King would adopt the cause, linking civil rights with economic rights. Just prior to his murder, MLK penned an article for Look Magazine entitled “We need an economic bill of rights.” He believed that economic rights were a necessary condition for the full realization of civil and political rights, and his devotion to the Poor People’s Campaign after the passage of the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts was a testament to this conviction.

Economic rights returned to the agenda with Sen. Bernie Sanders’s upstart presidential campaign in 2016. Sanders’s popularity, especially among younger voters, speaks to the wellspring of support for economic rights. In Data for Progress’s polling, voters across the political spectrum — again, including majorities of Independents and Republicans — responded positively to specific proposals ranging from guaranteeing people work through direct job creation at living wages to a massive buildout of social housing to ensure every American has a place to call home.

Some might argue that now is not the time to push for new rights given the threats to long-established civil, political, and reproductive rights. But as history has shown — in reparations-hobbled Germany after WWI, in Japan during the Great Depression — economic insecurity and a lack of public purpose give rise to demagogues and catalyze our worst impulses.

The fight for freedom must continue. Political rights are not enough. Civil and reproductive rights are enough. Economic rights — the right to home, the right to food, the right to health care, the right to a union, and the right to a safe and stable planet — must be front and center if America is to achieve the founders’ promised “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” As MLK wrote from a lonely jail cell in Birmingham, Alabama, “We will reach the goal of freedom . . . because the goal of America is freedom.”