Democratic Finance for New York City’s Budget Dance

By David I. Backer

I’m a professor of education policy and teach classes on public finance. I make it my business to know the government’s business, and I live in Brooklyn, so I’ve been paying close attention to the city’s finances as the new Mamdani administration takes power. In my work, like my recent book on school finance, I try to make the otherwise arcane and hard-to-understand world of municipal finance more comprehensible to the people impacted by it.

Zohran Mamdani recently (and admirably) announced a $12.2 billion city deficit left by the Adams administration, which, in the barbed choreography of the New York City budget dance with New York State, Mamdani revised down to around $6 billion. In the manic moves of that dance numerous dirty details are coming out about the booby traps Adams left Zohran, and the treacherous terrain of the city budget generally. 

I think I found another obstacle-feature of that terrain that I haven’t seen reported elsewhere. Untangling it helps to zoom in on the complexity of this budget process, which everyone cares about and no one understands, with an eye towards transforming the whole nasty apparatus (which, by the way, is why we need participatory budgeting on a mass scale). 

The thing I’m seeing is a big jump in city debt service payments next fiscal year, FY27 and FY28. 

In Andrew Perry’s excellent piece on Mamdani’s first budget, it’s notable that debt service—what the city forks over in its yearly repayments to creditors—is the fourth largest broken out category of NYC public finance:

It’s not a huge expense in raw numbers, but it’s relatively big one in the overall scheme of city budgets because debt service comes to bear on the city’s capability to pay back its creditors, and thus can impact its credit rating, fiscal stability, and ultimately the patina of fiscal responsibility of whoever’s in charge at the moment. So even though it’s 6% of the budget, it’s a big 6%.

When I was reading one of Brad Lander’s last comptroller reports, along with updated data on the city’s debt profile, a graph caught my attention.

On the left side of this graph, you’ve got the debt service the city owes. On the bottom, you have the year it’ll owe that amount. It goes from this year to 2060, when many long term bond obligations get “paid off” (though of course they never really get paid off because US municipal finance has a debt wish). 

But the colors are important too. In blue you’ve got the principal, which is the amount of the city borrowed, and in red you’ve got the interest, which is what the city pays to borrow that money. It’s the price of credit. 

First, before anything else, look at all that red interest we have to pay. Municipal bond interest payments are basically a huge tax that New Yorkers and everyone else in the country don’t really know they’re paying. For every dollar we give the city, using Perry’s chart above, we pay six cents on the city’s debt service. When we look at the red section, we see about three of those cents just go towards the interest on our loans. A lot of rich people make bank on lending to us so we can have a city. 

But that’s not even the pressing issue here.

Second, look at the huge jump in debt service obligations through 2028. It more than doubles from $2 billion to $4.5 billion. What’s happening here? 

According to municipal finance researcher Tom Sgouros, who I talked to about this situation, there could be a number of explanations here, none of which we know because we weren’t putting this debt service schedule together. All those interest payments come on debt with different interest rates, so maybe the comptroller’s office, which, in this case, was under Brad Lander, they prioritized paying higher interest debt first. There could have been a plan to defease (moving it into a separate fund, sort of like refinancing and reinvesting to get rid of it before paying it off) some debt earlier rather than later. 

What we know is that there’ll be a period of lower payments, according to this debt service schedule, after which those payments will jump up again by double. And its not just another city expense, it’s the repayment of loans taken out to finance everything else in the city. 

One conspiratorial interpretation: Perry notes a practice called “surplus roll” where “the City dispenses its surplus by prepaying subsequent year expenses… In fiscal year 2025, for instance, the City accrued a $3.8 billion surplus. It booked this as 2025 spending in the form of prepaying spending liabilities in fiscal year 2026.”

So one theory is that the Adams administration scheduled a certain amount of 2026’s debt on Zohran’s behalf without asking him first, shouldering Zohran with the payments with a big jump in 2028, threatening Mamdani’s spending power. It could be the surplus roll because these numbers above are in the Q1 2026 debt profile. When we look at the Q4 2025 we don’t see that same jump.

And yet, it might not be a surplus roll. It might be the non-malign planning to pay certain debt off at certain times, innocent defeasing. It might not be political at all. To everyone except the people working for Mark Levine, the new Comptroller, and maybe a handful of others, the process is opaque. 

All this gives you a sense of what the Mamdani administration will actually be dealing with in terms of its debt needs. It looks to me like the debt service will jump up dramatically whether that’s due to a possible surplus roll by the Adams administration or other maneuvers. As it stands, Mamdani will have to pay more in debt service during two years of his time in office to get less revenue to the diverse working class he’s promised to serve. 

All this also broaches the question of what to do about this issue of nagging debt service. There’s the short-term process of the city’s Tin Cup Day where the mayor goes to ask for money. But we know that Mamdani and company want to challenge these old dynamics. Why not take up some medium-term measures, and maybe champion longer-term transformations, that make this arcane debt service stuff a relic of the past?

The Mamdani administration, drawing from this publication’s framework of Democratic Public Finance, could use this as an opportunity to spell out a radical alternative to the present system. They could, for example, renew support for a city-owned non-profit public bank which, like the Bank of North Dakota (built by prairie socialists in the early 20th century), can buy NYC munis and deposit the interest back into the city’s general fund

The result would begin to drastically decrease the amount the city owes in interest payments. Along the way, Mamdani could call for a permanent MLF at the Fed that provides zero (or next-to-zero) interest rate financing. More radically still, he can also argue that Congress should extend credit creation powers directly to states and municipalities, a long term goal that would force the public to debate and think differently about municipal finance. 

These are broad, sweeping proposals. Are there things that the administration and their allied coalitions can put in place in the next couple years to achieve local versions of the same interventions, working towards transformation? I’ve been keeping a running list of fun brainstormy revenue ideas and, by way of open-ended conclusion, offer them here for readers’ perusal. My specialty is education finance, so the proposals are skewed towards education, but they could be adapted for other arenas of municipal finance as well.

  1. Issue taxable bonds to friendly foreign government entities with our values (the governments Bernie always mentions): reaching deals with Canadian pension funds, Scandinavian sovereign wealth funds, etc.
  2. Strengthening and integrating the Education Construction Fund to borrow for combined housing and schools financing, synthesizing borrowing capacity of the New York City Transitional Finance Authority with the ECF. There could be savings when staggering borrowing between both of them. (Combine this option with (1) to issue the taxable bonds through here.) The last bond ECF issued was in 2021 and apparently there isn’t good coordination between the Panel for Education Policy and ECF.
  3. A municipal minibond program that reaches out to communities to invest in their specific schools, matching monies with citizen participation. This would be a more socialist version of Berkeley’s proposal.
  4. Call NYC’s Build America Bonds on the grounds of extreme circumstances like the University of California system and the Maryland Transit Authority and potentially save hundreds of millions.
  5. Create a city bank, a nonprofit corporate entity specifically, and restrict public monies to deposits in non-profit cooperative entities, such as the bevy of diverse community development financing institutions (CDFIs) throughout the city, put the city’s deposits there, create public bank accounts where the residents are voting members and create a public lender (hat tip to Whitney Toussaint for this idea). Save on borrowing costs to big banks. Then create investment funds for middle income supporters to move their savings/retirement, get in on the dash for retirement investment with a public option.
  6. Design an online game for NYC that is very low cost and super fun, less than a dollar. Use message boards and DMs for announcements and citywide municipal discussion (towards mass participatory budgeting potentially).
  7. Permit Community Education Councils to create public digital currencies that residents of CECs can purchase and sell for educational services, whose revenues go directly to the CEC budgets, managed by a rotating committee of school community members. 
  8. Penny sales tax for specific projects through referendum vote (ESPLOST), like they do in Georgia. It’s a good political move: pay a penny more for your kids’ schools, eg.
  9. Create a regional borrowing authority where districts around NYC deposit reserves and lend to one another at lower rates.
  10. Pool pre-k afterschool tuition revenues in a single municipal account, invest the funds, and supplement the program’s funding with interest thrown off by the account. Ask pre-k centers to deposit with the county which then invests the funds.
  11. A city-run secondary market for used stuff that you’d put out in the street: like a public Facebook marketplace that takes a few cents from transactions or posting fees that go right into specified city programs.
  12. Allow wealthy residents to participate in auctions where they bid to pay one-time amounts to delete debt outstanding from certain funds instead of regular tax filings, like Building Aid Revenue Bond debt, thereby paying down that debt and creating borrowing capacity, while putting the rich in a weird position. Make it public and fun, like a kind of date auction, but it’s a debt auction. This wouldn’t be a secondary market trading on the debt itself but rather a traditional auction, with the rich outbidding one another to pay off city debt. (Maybe via some kind of low cost fun items of city lore, like subway tokens.)
  13. Create a municipal digital currency for the city that every resident receives a certain amount of, pegged at being worth more than the dollar (a Knick or Met could be the name). For activities the federal government undertakes in the city that threatens the city’s home rule charter, the Feds must pay a tax or purchase the currency. Locally owned and worker-owned businesses receive exemptions from the currency’s tax.
  14. Create a Parent-Teacher Association account where all PTA money is deposited and invested. The interest on the account is used to finance schools whose PTAs don’t have as much money as other PTAs.
  15. Politicize the discount rate set for city pension contributions, holding listening sessions and public events about whether to set the rate higher (which could save hundreds of millions of dollars, even if raised by 25 basis points). Make this about the people’s investment rather than investors. Then politicize the discount rates used to set repayment terms on city issued bonds, deliberating publicly on whether there’s savings there.
  16. Work with the New York Green Bank to package up green projects around the city, standardize their contracts, and mobilize private investment towards the projects further. Have them create a special instrument for city pension funds to purchase in large sizes. 
  17. Work with the NYCEEC (the New York City Green Bank) to expand investment projects across state lines, particularly to cities in red states suffering from Trump-induced disinvestment in green projects (try to work with rural communities too to build solidarity there). To avoid the risk of NYC profiting off of others’ misery, the city could follow the lead of the Yugoslavian approach to international development as per the Non-aligned Movement and structure the loans across state lines with solidarity as a framework for the loan terms.
  18. Pass a law through city council that gives city pensions first bidding rights in competitive sales of city bonds, even before private banks, lowering the underwriters discount cost to the city.
  19. Sell taxable bonds with the explicit purpose of arbitraging revenues.
  20. Coordinate school district bond sales around the state and pool them together into a loan product for the green banks to sell for green projects. Provide technical services through the School Construction Authority for districts around New York State to green their infrastructure.
  21. Do a deal with a dollar pizza network. Designate certain spots as health areas and provide city subsidies for taking care of unhoused sick and hungry people. The contract has to stipulate that the city gets a percentage of the returns, like a big investor, then leak that info to private equity funds to push investment in the dollar pizza network. Flush with more cash, get the network to build bigger spaces. Make the dollar pizza network a meme stock that takes on the financial elite on Reddit to flood it with cash.
  22. Make every road a toll road for federal agents driving in the city using license image cameras. 

Reclaiming the Public Interest: Cities Should Sell Municipal Bonds to Their Own Public Banks

By Tyler Suksawat & Scott Ferguson

What chance do local governments have in fighting authoritarian austerity, especially when they are left to rely on feckless legislators at the state and federal levels who refuse to push back? Right now, we see austerity budgets appearing across every institution and major employer in the U.S. If the federal government continues to sabotage municipalities, and the state governments (even in liberal states) are proposing cuts-only budgets, then what hope do cities have? In truth, there are several meaningful alternatives to the present order, particularly if we follow the lead of what Money on the Left calls Democratic Public Finance. We only need to get creative about local monetary design. 

Extending money creation powers from the federal level directly to local governments remains an urgent political project. In the meantime, however, we propose that a powerful public option for municipal finance exists at the intersection between bond issuance and public banking. What if a city established a public bank and that public bank regularly purchased the city’s debt? Such a mechanism would liberate the city’s munis from private bond markets and punishing rating agencies, while expanding the city’s fiscal capacity beyond projected tax revenues. 

To understand why this works, we must discard a pervasive myth: banks do not lend deposits. They create credit “endogenously” through acts of authorization. Banks certainly have to meet liquidity and reserve requirements. However, meeting such requirements is a separate matter from crediting operations, which are legally enabled and protected by the Federal Reserve. A bank’s crediting operations do not recycle a limited pool of pre-existing investor funds. They actively expand the amount of total credit that is presently available. 

Therefore, when a public bank purchases its own city’s municipal debt, the result is not a closed loop in which a finite amount of money is passed back and forth. Because the public bank actively generates money to purchase the debt, the operation dramatically enlarges the city’s fiscal space. In such an arrangement, the municipal government acquires funds in the short term to meet community needs. The public bank grows its holdings by receiving interest payments from the city. The loops, then, are not redundant; they are kinetic. Far from an inert circuit, a public bank that purchases city debt is a dynamic design that defies the artificial gravity of austerity.

Most importantly, this arrangement halts the depletion of fiscal capacity by ensuring that debt service payments remain on the city’s own public ledger. Unlike with the private bond market, the public bank would be legally required to deposit earned interest into the city’s general fund. By cutting out the rentiers, the city thus transforms a parasitic financial drain into a regenerative cycle, guaranteeing that public interest is no longer just a yield for private financiers, but a shared benefit in the public interest.

We do not have to look far for a successful precedent. The Bank of North Dakota (BND) already acts as the depository for all state taxes, fines, and fees. While BND operates more conservatively than the model we propose—acting primarily as a registrar and facilitator rather than a direct purchaser of munis—it still remits its profits to the state’s general fund. In 2023 alone, the bank posted profits of $192.7 million. To put that in perspective, this figure greatly exceeds the $115 million in annual revenue projected for Washington State’s highly contested wealth tax proposal. For states like Washington, which rely heavily on regressive property tax levies to pay for almost everything, the BND model offers a wealth of untapped potential.

While the BND focuses primarily on state and municipal operations, if a new generation of public banks were chartered to provide consumer financial services alongside municipal finance, the benefits would be exponential. Private retail banks routinely generate massive profit margins of 15% to 30% through rapacious fees and predatory lending. Crucially, a public bank would not simply transfer this rentier model to the public sector. By functioning as a true public utility, it would offer high-quality, low-cost financial services instead. Public banks should provide an affordable, non-predatory alternative for working people. Even without exorbitant fees, however, it would still generate a robust and ethical source of revenue to be invested directly back into the community—funding the very policies, programs, and budgets voted on by the people the bank serves.

To realize this vision, establishing democratically accountable public banks—whether at the municipal or state level—must become a top political and legislative priority. Chartered as public utilities rather than profit-seeking enterprises, these institutions would be governed by public appointees and remain 100% accountable to city halls, county commissions, or state legislatures. By legally mandating that all net earnings (derived from interest and fees) be deposited back into the government’s general fund, municipalities can organically grow their revenues over time without continuously hiking taxes. As an added democratic benefit, their daily operations would be entirely transparent, with balance sheets published for the public.

The practical strength of this arrangement lies in the specific mechanics of the yield. With the federal funds rate currently sitting at a target range of 3.50% to 3.75%, a municipality could intentionally set its internal bond yields just above this floor. Because the public bank holds the debt, the spread guarantees a steady stream of revenue for the public ledger. Furthermore, by indexing the yield to the rate of inflation, the city constructs a resilient financial instrument in the face of unpredictable circumstances. Should an emergency or unforeseen project cost require rapid liquidity beyond the public bank’s immediate capacity, this competitive yield would generate intense demand from the private sector to hold the city’s munis—effectively subordinating private capital to the public interest.

Unlocking a municipality’s latent ability to sell bonds directly to its own public bank reveals a startling truth: the primary limits on local finance are not economic, but political. The constraints cities currently face are mostly self-imposed regulations—arbitrary debt ceilings or rules enforced by oversight boards captured by private banking interests. While every municipality will navigate different statutory limits on bond issuance, we can begin by maxing out current legal capacities and organizing to expand those horizons later. 

Consider the political implications for building local public capacity. Lately, wealth taxes have dominated local discussions around budget expansion. While taxing the rich remains a vital tool for combating economic inequality and checking the anti-democratic power of concentrated wealth, relying on taxation as the sole lifeline for municipal survival is politically precarious. A public bank shifts this paradigm. By carefully managing the yields and maturities on internally held municipal bonds, a city can steadily expand its general fund. Wealth taxes would no longer be a desperate necessity for basic funding, but rather one tool among many. 

Instead of begging for scraps from state legislatures or private bond markets, local governments can directly create the capacity to care for their communities. Once we are willing to get creative with Democratic Public Finance, we see that the blueprint is already here. We only need the political will to use it, guaranteeing that every local dollar created is an investment in the public interest. 

Defending the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau with Tyler Creighton

In this episode, we speak with Tyler Creighton about the ongoing struggle to save the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB) from defunding and closure at the hands of Russell Vought in the second Trump Administration. Creighton is a lawyer at the CFPB and a member of the National Treasury Employees Union (NTEU), Chapter 335. Before joining the CFPB, Creighton clerked for the Massachusetts Appeals Court and, prior to that, he was an organizer for pro-democracy reforms at Common Cause and ReThink Media. We talk with Creighton about life at the CFPB under the leadership of Vought, central architect of the notorious Project 2025 document and avowed opponent of the agency he now directs. 

During our conversation, Creighton details how, in spite of Vought’s attempts to defund and close the agency, the CFPB continues to survive. In Creighton’s telling, the agency’s endurance owes in no small part to the continuous labor actions undertaken by the NTEU and its members. In February 2025, for example, the union sued the Trump Administration, securing an injunction against Vought’s efforts to close the agency. (Read the judge’s extraordinary Memorandum Opinion here.) Then, in late December, a federal district court judge ruled that the Trump administration must continue to fund the CFPB through the Federal Reserve, contradicting Vought’s absurd claim that the CFPB can no longer seek financing from the Fed because the nation’s Central Bank is operating at a loss.

Despite the NTEU’s string of successes, the fate of the CFPB still remains to be determined. The good news, however, is that there are ways that you can support the bureau as it rounds into its second year of the second Trump Administration. Learn more about the fight to save the CFPB from the CFPB Union website. Follow and share news from the NTEU account on Bluesky. Join the union’s public demonstrations, if you live near or find yourself visiting Washington D.C. You can also help fund the NTEU’s activities by purchasing any number of cheeky items in their online merchandise shop

Visit our Patreon page here: https://www.patreon.com/MoLsuperstructure

Music by Nahneen Kula: www.nahneenkula.com

Transcript

This transcript has been edited for readability.

Billy Saas

Tyler Creighton, welcome to Money on the Left.

Tyler Creighton

Thank you. Glad to be here.

Billy Saas

It is a pleasure to have you. We are looking to talk to you about a lot of things. You work principally now as a lawyer with the CFPB, the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. Could you just maybe kick us off by telling us a little bit about what that’s like now in January of 2026?

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. The past year at the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau has been just a little bit different than my prior few years at the CFPB. I will say, I am an attorney at the CFPB. I’m here just talking in my own personal capacity. Nothing I say can be attributed to the bureau, representing my public sector union: the National Treasurer Employees Union.

But, yeah, it’s been an interesting year. I joined the bureau in 2022, so I’m actually a relatively new employee compared to a lot of other people that have been there since the start. When Trump got elected, it was a little unclear exactly what was going to happen to the CFPB.

It’s kind of been a little bit of a political lightning rod for its entire existence since 2011. But we didn’t really know what to expect. Oddly, we kind of flew under the radar for the first month. Our former director who had been appointed by President Biden, Rohit Chopra, stayed on until the end of January, and into the first week of February before he was finally fired by the president.

That’s when everything really changed. Trump appointed the architect of Project 2025, Russel Vought, as our acting director. Within days of him being appointed, he had closed down all of our office buildings and kicked everybody out and had sent an all staff email saying, “stop performing any work task, whatsoever.”

Everything just kind of came to a crashing halt and a lot has happened since then. They have been trying to close us down since that first week in February and, although they have really mucked around with the operations of the bureau – despite the best efforts – it is still standing.

I think this is largely in part due to a lot of dedicated workers at the bureau who have been organizing through our union and using litigation to keep the bureau alive as Congress intended.

Scott Ferguson

Can you tell us a little bit about just your own personal history? How did you come to the CFPB? You’re a lawyer. What’s your background? What’s your specialty? What do you do at the CFPB in particular?

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. So, I’m actually a relatively new lawyer. I graduated law school in 2021 and I clerked for a year on the Massachusetts appeals court, and then went directly from there to the CFPB in 2022. I work in our Office of Supervision. I’ve primarily focused on the mortgage market, although I’ve also done some work on student loans and auto loans.

I think a lot of people don’t really know what “supervision” means at the CFPB or “supervision” across other financial regulators. But, at the CFPB, in terms of compliance, we kind of have our enforcement division, which is, I think, what people generally think of when they think of regulators. These are the folks that are running investigations and suing bad actors when they find potential legal violations.

That’s all very public. These lawsuits will be on the public docket and you can read the complaint and you can see all the details. Supervision is very different. It is a confidential process. This is an authority that was granted to us by Congress and the Dodd-Frank act, which established the CFPB and gives us authority to conduct periodic examinations of certain financial companies that are under our authority.

What that means is we request a bunch of information and documents from an institution, and then we have teams of expert examiners who are looking at the information and making sure that policies and procedures of the companies and their functions are all complying with our various federal statutes and regulations. If we identify any problems, we try to resolve the issues in a collaborative process with the companies.

It all remains confidential. For the most part, everything is kind of resolved in that confidential space. It only kind of comes out later if companies are disagreeing with our assessments, or it seems like the conduct is particularly egregious or intentional in which case the issue might end up getting into the enforcement side and then leading to litigation.

I’ve been doing that work since 2022. Unfortunately, as public reports show, that work has more or less not existed since February of 2025. Just hoping that we can kind of get back to actually supervising the companies that Congress intended us to.

Billy Saas

And so that’s just a function of companies, I guess. What side is that lack of continued supervision activity most attributable to. Is that a function of the top down directives from Russ Vought, or is it companies not feeling like they need to participate any longer? Can you talk to us a little bit more about that?

Tyler Creighton

It is directly attributable to Russ Vought stop work order in February that, for all intents and purposes, really hasn’t fully disappeared or really been rescinded.

Scott Ferguson

So what determines what is actionable work versus what must be stopped?

Tyler Creighton

You know, we are civil servants. We don’t go off and sort of just do our own thing. We are directed by political leadership on what our priorities are and what the work is. We have not been authorized or directed to do the supervision work that we had previously been done.

Billy Saas

It’s similar on the enforcement side, I would presume as well.

Tyler Creighton

Yes. I’m not on the enforcement side, but yes, I think public reporting shows that there isn’t enforcement going on. Investigations are not continuing. And you’ve seen publicly that a lot of open litigation has either been dismissed or settled, including a number of open consent orders that companies and the CFPB had already reached and had not yet expired have been terminated prior to the expiration date in the consent order.

Scott Ferguson

We’ve started to talk about the division of labor and the division of the institution a bit. But I was wondering, to the best of your ability, I know you haven’t been there from the beginning, but can you give us a little more detailed sense of when the CFPB arises? Under what circumstances? The specific things it was tasked to do and what it has been doing ever since.

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. So, the sort of neat and tidy story of the CFPB’s founding is that it’s really a product of the subprime mortgage mortgage crisis that triggered the 2008 global financial crisis and then the Great Recession that followed, which, as many people remember, there was kind of rampant fraud in the mortgage markets.

There was a lot of predatory lending that led people to default on their mortgage and then massive foreclosure crisis. And in the wake of that, or really in the in the midst of it, Senator Elizabeth Warren, but then-law professor Elizabeth Warren, wrote a couple of journal articles in like 2007, 2008, that talked about or envisioned a new federal agency that would really be charged principally or entirely with regulating consumer financial products with the eyes of the consumer in mind or the benefits of the consumer in mind.

She kind of analogized, saying “we have agencies to stop unsafe toys and toasters. But we don’t really have that for financial products.” And so she envisioned this agency as kind of being analogous to some agencies that already existed. Those articles resulted in Congress passing the Dodd-Frank act in 2010, which is one of then President Obama and the newly elected Democratic majorities in Congress first major bills.

The idea there was to essentially consolidate a bunch of split and overlapping authorities that are then split across a bunch of agencies and consolidate that all into a single agency that could take a more holistic and dedicated approach with consumers that would be front and center. Then it also added some  new authorities as well.

At this point, I already talked about the enforcement and supervision aspects of the bureau. There’s also the consumer complaint database, which some listeners might have used before. I think there’s been like 5 million consumers who have filed a complaint since 2011 when that started. That’s been a tremendous tool to quickly resolve individual problems between consumers and companies where previously, maybe the company didn’t feel like they needed to do anything, but now there’s kind of this public record out there when consumers are complaining and they feel more compelled. Then, at the bureau, there’s also a lot of market research that folks are doing to identify potential risks and hazards and new products, new financial markets. Then there’s a lot of consumer education resources that the bureau puts out.

In my mind, some of the clearest, concise information on what you should be thinking about when you’re getting a mortgage. Like, here’s step one here, step two… I was working at the bureau at the time, I think it was right before I started working there and was buying my first home and was just like all over the website using the resources, which have been, I think, a huge help for people.

It’s not just mortgages, it’s auto loans, or if you have problems with credit reporting, just a ton of great information.

Scott Ferguson

Is that all still up?

Tyler Creighton

It is all still up. Yeah. I definitely was worried in the early days about a lot of that stuff going away in some way. 

Scott Ferguson

It’s not too woke.

Tyler Creighton

Yeah, it’s practical enough. We haven’t gotten into a lot of the litigation that has been going on, but there is an injunction that’s still in place that is preventing the kind of full shutdown and wrap up of the bureau.

I don’t know to what extent that injunction is planning on keeping up a lot of these existing resources that the bureau has put together over the years.

Scott Ferguson

Can you tell us a little bit more about how the consumer complaint database works? I mean, I’ve never used it, so I have no idea. Is it like a Yelp review? You can just like, have an account log on or is it a little more formal? Do you need a lawyer or something like that?

Tyler Creighton

I don’t know if it’s quite Yelp-review status, but it’s closer to that than like a formal thing where you need to write out a very legalese complaint. It’s very accessible. You can log in and you put the company that you have issue with, you write a narrative about what happened and on the public facing side, if you put in any personally identifiable information that will not appear on the public side of the consumer complaint database, but other people can see what you wrote about, even if they’re just like your neighbor or whatever. There is a rule in Dodd-Frank that the companies have to provide a response.

It doesn’t necessarily say it’s got to be a substantive response or it has to rectify or agree with the consumer. I mean, the consumer can be potentially wrong, but they have to provide a response. By and large, if the consumer has raised a legitimate issue, you look at the company response and the company will have provided some kind of remedy, whether it’s erasing a charge on the person’s credit card that shouldn’t have been there or fixing some inaccurate information on the consumer’s credit report or whatever it is.

Oftentimes the complaint, if it’s legitimate, will result in some kind of action that benefits the consumer. On the bureau side, all of those complaints are taken into account when you’re thinking about enforcement and supervision. Where’s the risk? Sort of like an early kind of warning system to the regulators of where there’s risk, where there’s problems, because obviously the consumers are on the front lines. They know where the issues are and so it’s a great resource for the CFPB to figure out where to dedicate finite resources.

Scott Ferguson

Obviously, the CFPB has a history of contestation around it. This is maybe the most life threatening, so to speak, battle that the institution has faced thus far. It’s not like the first Trump administration was very happy about this institution either. So I was curious if you have a sense of the history of largely Republican challenges before this particular present moment.

I know from doing a little bit of research that there was a court case that had to do with how the director was appointed and the reasons that the director could be removed. So any of this that you can speak to, to just contextualize what’s going on now.

00;17;36;10 – 00;18;08;14

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. There’s a lot of history there. You know, it’s no secret that most politicians on the right and Wall Street banks have not been the biggest fan of the CFPB, and have tried various ways to reform it or get rid of it in whole. There have been two very high profile Supreme Court cases challenging aspects of the CFPB structure.

The first one, which you mentioned, was about the ability of the president to fire at will the director of the agency. If folks been following any of the legal cases going on in the current era, this will be very familiar to people, because we have Supreme Court cases about this very issue with regard to the FTC commissioners (Federal Trade Commission) and also potentially down the road, the Federal Reserve, and the ability of the independence of the fed and whether or not the president can can get rid of fed chairs.

So anyway, back in, I think it was in 2019, there was a challenge to the provision of Dodd-Frank, which said that the director could only be removed for cause. That was challenged. And the Supreme Court struck down that provision. Since that time, the director has been essentially removable at will by the president.

Since that happened, the presidents have used that power. So, when Joe Biden came in 2021, he used it to get rid of the existing director who had been appointed by Trump during his first term. Then when Trump came in in 2025, he used it to get rid of Chopra, Biden’s director.

The kind of more existential case was in 2024. That one challenged the constitutionality of the CFPB funding structure, or funding mechanism. We are a little bit distinct, not entirely unique, but different from a lot of other federal agencies and that we are not part of the Congress’s annual appropriations process. So, you know, all this talk of government shutdown last year, and currently they are trying to get the funding bills together so we don’t go into another shutdown at the end of January here, but the CFPB is actually not part of that. We have a dedicated funding mechanism. Where the director is required to request money from the Federal Reserve who gets money from interest payments and fees, paid by their member banks.

Our directors are required to request money from the fed to carry out our functions. Congress has tapped the total amount of money that we can request, but that funding is just always there. It doesn’t require Congress to pass a new bill each year saying like, this is how much money is available for the CFPB.

The constitutionality of that mechanism was challenged by an industry trade group. Ultimately they lost pretty bigly, in terms of our president, and I forget the exact breakdown, but it was like 7-2 or 8-1 in terms of the breakdown of the Supreme Court justices. They were not able to convince many of the justices, including some that are very far on the right and sympathetic to these types of arguments, that the mechanism was unconstitutional.

We survived that. Then, obviously, more recently we’ve come under the attack of just trying to shut down the whole place by pure legal fiat. Congress hasn’t repealed the agency or anything, but we’re just going to try to shut it down because we want to.

Billy Saas

Well, thanks for that. It brings us nice and up to date. There’s more that we can say about those current court cases. And I want to talk about the union’s efforts, and advancing those cases, and defending the CFPB from those attacks. I want to step back just a little bit.

We mentioned the complaints division or the complaints process that consumers previously had available through the CFPB. In addition to the enforcement supervision, for the complaints, I understand that those would sort of become the grounds for action. Is that correct? Like, on behalf of enforcement or from the CFPB, there could be efforts taken to address those complaints.

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. I mean, so obviously we have finite resources over a rollover of these massive markets with hundreds of hundreds of players, and we have to take in whatever information we can to help focus where we’re going to use those resources. So complaints are one of many different data streams, whether it’s enforcement or people in supervision, that we are using to help identify which companies we should be looking at, which practices we should be looking at.

Sometimes what you get with the complaints is maybe that individual consumer’s complaint was rectified. So they were charged an illegal late fee on their mortgage and the company said, “Okay, great. Yes, we did that. Sorry. We will credit your account,” but they don’t really say anything about if this affects other people or is this a one-off thing?

Was it a systemic problem? You don’t necessarily get that information. The other divisions can kind of use, “oh, there’s this one consumer, maybe there was a couple,” and it sort of indicates, okay, maybe this is more a systemic problem that requires additional looking into and ensuring that it wasn’t just this one consumer who got their issue rectified, but actually all of the impacted consumers got the issue rectified.

Billy Saas

Yeah. So in any case, it’s a line of communication between everyday citizens, consumers, and the government. That’s a highly valuable thing. I wonder if you could say something about where we’re at now with the stop work order and, it is my understanding that the closest equivalent to the complaint line is like individual state attorneys general, right?

If there are bad actors in the financial sector, and maybe you can tell me if there are others, the most charitable reading of the perspective on the argument for closing the CFPB would be like, “there are already enforcement mechanisms in place at the state level.” What exists and maybe help us see through that argument.

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. The consumer complaint database is a very, very powerful tool. I highly recommend that consumers continue to use it even in this time, because I think companies are continuing to respond to it despite the CFPB’s kind of beleaguered status at the moment.

In terms of other regulators out there, if the CFPB’s current trajectory continues and it is not operating at anything close to what it was doing in 2024 and before that, the states will step in to a certain degree. But the attorney general’s offices are already overtaxed on other things.

They also are only responsible for the actions and the residents of their own state. So, you know, if the AG of Massachusetts brings a case because they’ve noticed that some mortgage lender is selling predatory loans, that’s not necessarily going to help the person that is in Mississippi that is also getting predatory loans from the same provider.

It creates this real patchwork where, depending on where you live in the country, you’re going to be given more or less protection from these companies. The bureau has this kind of national outlook and has a lot more resources in terms of lawyers, but we also have economists and people that are familiar with the market and data technologists and all these other people that a lot of state regulators don’t really have. It really helps to identify these new products that are complicated. It’s not necessarily obvious how they work or how they might be harming consumers. I think that’s been really important to have at the CFPB. There’s been a lot of innovation in financial services. And then also, a lot of these states have just come to rely on the CFPB expertise and that they’re going to be there.

So, yeah, again, they’ll adapt, but I think, in the end, consumers will be the ones paying the price.

Billy Saas

If the CFPB continues down the way it’s going, they’re probably not going to rechannel that direct fed funding to the individual states attorney generals.

Tyler Creighton

No. Yeah. Probably not, probably not.

Billy Saas

And so those resources go away and I think it would increase the burden on those states individually, who are, under the current regime, limited to tax revenue and local politics. 

Tyler Creighton

This just reminds me of how kind of nonsensical getting rid of the CFPB is. You know, it all started when Elon Musk’s DOGE (Department of Government Efficiency) folks came in trying to eliminate fraud and waste, or purportedly trying to eliminate fraud and waste. The truth is that, at the CFPB, prior to the current administration, we had returned something like $21 billion or more to consumers through our efforts.

If you break that down in terms of how much money is going back to consumers versus how much money is going to pay for the CFPB’s operating cost, it’s like almost a $3 return on investment for every dollar that goes to the bureau is going to result in nearly $3 going back out to consumers, because we’ve identified some illegal practice and gotten refunds.

So, there’s obviously bloat in the government, and probably some bloat at the CFPB, but like, by and large, the consumers and Americans are benefiting greatly from the relatively small amount of money that was going to the Bureau to keep it running.

Scott Ferguson

So I’m chomping at the bit to hear the story of the DOGE occupation of this. But before we do, I guess I wanted to ask one more preliminary question. I have not studied this document closely, maybe I should have, but Project 2025, which is Vought’s little brainchild. As far as I’m aware, it includes language about what the intention of this administration was when it came to the CFPB. Were people in the agency reading Project 2025 and sort of like, I don’t know, bracing themselves for this or strategizing or not really.

Tyler Creighton

I don’t remember that so much. I mean, there were probably some conversations here or there of people who had taken a peek. I mean, honestly, I don’t. I don’t know if you have looked at it recently, but it’s pretty sparse on the CFPB. There’s not a lot of meat on the bones there. I mean, it kind of gestured that, “Oh, yeah, we should just get rid of this whole thing,” but then it ultimately has like a few bullets that are much less than that. It seems fixated on a completely fabricated idea. I honestly don’t even know where they got this idea from. The civil penalties fund, which is the fund that the bureau operates when we do enforcement litigation and the companies have to pay some kind of penalty to us, and then that gets redistributed back out to consumers.

They have this completely fabricated idea that the penalty fund was just the slush fund for like liberal advocacy groups. That’s like the main thing that it’s focused on in the Project 2025 document. Honestly, I just don’t even know where that comes from. It sounded like there was a minimal amount of consumer education that’s been funded through the penalty fund, absolutely tiny compared to the amount of overall money.

Maybe that went to some groups that are involved in that consumer education. But like to say that it’s just this slush fund for liberal groups and that’s the reason why we got to get rid of the whole thing, it just struck me as really grasping at straws there. 

I don’t think we talked about it too much, but there was a lot of waiting. Elon and company have been talking about taking the chainsaw to the government, and it was unclear what was going to happen because a lot of people at the bureau have been there since close to the start.

They went through Trump one. They thought, incorrectly – now we’ve all learned – that it wouldn’t be something similar to Trump one in that, things changed, things slowed down a little bit, but after some initial kind of bumpy-ness that happens with any change over administration, from what I’ve understood, I wasn’t there so I can’t speak to it from personal experience, but like they were doing similar work to what they had been doing before. Priorities changed a little bit. Maybe they weren’t using some legal theories that they had been using before. But, you know, they were doing good work. I think people kind of thought that something similar would happen, and were obviously proven wrong by that.

But, I think in those first couple of months after the election, while we waited to see what was going to happen, that I think that was sort of the optimistic take.

Scott Ferguson

So walk us through this early timeline of Musk and DOGE first. Is that prior to Vought?

Tyler Creighton

It’s concurrent, really. You’ll have to forgive me a little bit because at this point, it’s been almost a year and a lot of this was like moving quickly. I wasn’t personally one of the people who was in the building when this was all kind of going down. Musk and his folks have been infiltrating other agencies in the lead up to us.

So we had kind of already seen the USAID (United States Agency for International Development) playbook: go in there, take control of all of the computer and data systems and then just start quickly closing up shop.

The exact tick tock of this was, I think it was January 31st or February 1st, Cobra gets fired. Initially, Trump appoints Scott Bessent, the Treasury secretary, as acting director. But on the president’s first day, he sends a message to all staff with six bullet points or something like that, of the work that should stop including enforcement, oddly not supervision.

So we continued to do that.

Scott Ferguson

Is that because he didn’t know about it?

Tyler Creighton

That’s my speculation. But I don’t know for sure. So we continued and then, by the end of that first week of February, the first DOGE people started accessing the building, which is right across the street from the White House in DC. Then Trump appointed Vought right at the end of the week.

He sent out an email saying, “you can’t come into the building anymore,” and then on that following Monday sent an email saying much more explicit things, expanding on the six bulleted things that Bessent said we weren’t allowed to do and just said, “don’t perform any work whatsoever.” Then it was really in that first week under Vought when things were moving very, very quickly, we had been kicked out the building and told not to work.

The union actually organized a very quick action at the building, like that, I think even before it was officially closed. So folks were picketing out front and then Vought used that picketing as the pretext for closing the building, saying that, “my employees feel unsafe coming to the building because a bunch of folks are chanting and holding signs…”

Scott Ferguson

Who are also employees.

Tyler Creighton

Who are also employees, yeah, exactly. In that preceding week – this all kind of later comes out in litigation, we were not totally privy to it at the time – but basically there starts being leaks to members of the union that folks in H.R. are racing to fire everybody, to just completely axe the place in the same way that they did with USAID. Running just exactly the same playbook.

So as that information is trickling out through union members and colleagues, we are getting legal counsel through our national union to figure out what to do about that. They file a lawsuit very, very quickly in that first week and are able to get a temporary restraining order by that Friday immediately following Vought’s appointment and it later comes out when we are arguing for a preliminary injunction. A temporary restraining order is very temporary and so we’re filing for a preliminary injunction, which would hopefully stop firings, stop the shutdown going while the litigation that our union had filed precedes. While we are gathering evidence, while our attorneys are gathering evidence for that preliminary injunction, we get all of the details about what was happening in that first week. I encourage people, if you have a minute to go look at the district court’s opinion when the chief finally granted the pulmonary injunction, that’s just like documenting all of the emails and the meetings and everything that’s happening. They are just absolutely racing to fire 1700 people. It’s up until like the moment on late Friday, there are attorneys in court with the DOJ trying to argue for this temporary restraining order. H.R. is getting emails that there’s this court proceeding happening right now, and they’re like, “no, just get it done. Get the firings out the door, like we need to get them done before the court acts.” It’s like Friday afternoon. They’re trying to race to get them out. The court just got it under the wire to get the temporary restraining order in place before everybody at the agency was fired.

Scott Ferguson

Can I ask a potentially sensitive question which you may not be able to answer, but are the HR folks, they’re people in the agency who do HR? So they’re just sort of following instructions in doing all this?

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. So I mean, DOGE was a small-ish operation. They needed actual people who had expertise and some experience actually working in government and know how things work to effectuate what they wanted to do. So in the government, we have these things called reductions in force, which are effectively like mass layoffs when an agency director wants to change priorities or Congress has cut funding again. None of that happened here.

But like, they were trying to use these reduction in forces to get rid of everybody. They’re using the H.R. people within the CFPB to get that done. You can look at the litigation. A number of people filed anonymous declarations and actually then testified in court about what was going on in these meetings that they were being brought into about, where they were just trying to quickly fire everybody before the court was able to get the restraining order done.

And actually, I forgot an important detail with some of my fellow employees who were actually fired during that first week, because it was horrendous and more uncertain for them. But, yeah, there were successful firings of about 200 of our term and probationary employees in that week of February, while they were racing to get rid of the rest of us.

Fortunately, those folks were reinstated through our litigation. But it was obviously unexpected from them and there was one employee who has a big profile in the Atlantic. She was in her doctor’s office getting a cancer diagnosis when she was illegally fired, or when she received an email saying, “you’re fired.”

It’s not the worst part about it, but just kind of an insult to injury, with these notices, because they were trying to get them out so quickly, they failed the mail merges. It just said, “dear [first name, last name],” instead of like “dear, ‘the actual person’s name,’ you’ve been terminated because your skills and needs are no longer relevant to the work that we do.”

So, yeah, it was a horrendous week, but fortunately, we are still here a year later because a lot of people moved quickly to get into court and stop this.

Scott Ferguson

So what’s been going on this year after the first week?

Tyler Creighton

Yeah, it’s hard to think back on it all. In those first few weeks and months, it was very frenetic and really all-hands-on-deck with people really stepping up to make these declarations to the court where they’re essentially being whistleblowers to talk about what was going on on the inside with these firings.

The union is organizing weekly pickets out in front of our building. We had a number of court dates where we’re organizing events out in front of the court. Everyone was very fired up and working together to kind of support the litigation that was going on inside the courtroom. We weren’t the attorneys involved in it, but the rest of us were outside, telling the public the story about what was going on and why this was important.

I think that slowed down a little bit as the litigation dragged on, but we’re continuing to organize and get our message out about why the bureau is important and why we should be able to get back to work and also about workers rights. These are good working class, well-paid jobs and there’s something to be said about how we’re in the middle of an affordability crisis, and they’re trying to get rid of these jobs that are very secure for people who are in the middle class.

So we’re continuing to fight on against the immediate shutdown. One thing that Congress was successful in doing last year was actually lowering our funding cap. They cut the max funding that we can get almost in half. So we’ve been continuing to work with our legislative partners to hopefully get that reversed and get the cap back up.

Then we’re pounding the drum to get Vought impeached, which is another priority for us as a union.

Scott Ferguson

I have another question. How has the press been in your experience and the collective experience of the union? Does the press ask the right questions? Does it tell the right stories? Does it care enough? Does it focus on what’s going on enough? I’m just kind of curious to hear you talk about your experience precisely with publicity and, like, the politics of publicity around this crisis.

Tyler Creighton

I think publicity around these kinds of major rule of law, democracy stories can be tough for the press, but by and large, I think they have covered this past year of the bureau well. There obviously is the day to day of what’s going on in the litigation. But there’s also been a number of great pieces about what this means more broadly to consumers.

A lot of good consumer snapshots of people who had been helped in the past by the bureau and the fact that if we ceased to exist, that person who was facing foreclosure and was able to grab this lifeline to keep them and keep their family in their house, that won’t be there anymore.

There’s been a lot of good reporting on that front. There’s a lot going on in the Trump administration right now, it’s hard to keep anything focused. Where does the CFPB rank in the list of the many, many other things that are happening right now?

Is it the most important thing? People have disagreements about that. I think I’ve generally been impressed with the coverage. I think one difficulty is like, how do you tell the next part of the story?

It’s like, there’s only so many times you can say, “oh, here’s this consumer who was helped by the bureau, and that help won’t exist anymore,” right? Only so many people can write that story. So what’s the next page in the story as we continue. We’re coming up on the year anniversary of this whole saga.

That’s nothing unique to this particular fight. It’s true for any kind of advocacy policy fight that you’re going to have. Before I became a lawyer, I did communications advocacy for issues around campaign finance and voting rights and we had the same kind of issues on those topics as well.

Billy Saas

Journalists love a news peg. Perhaps the year anniversary will generate some additional impetus for coverage here.

Tyler Creighton

I totally agree with you. It’s something I’ve been thinking about because this conversation’s a good impetus for it. It’s been almost a year since Elon Musk tweeted “R.I.P. CFPB,” a year ago and we’re still here. That can’t necessarily be said for some other agencies that got targeted.

What’s the difference? I think the existence of our union and the organizing around that has actually been pretty key to that. There’s been some allusions in some of the reporting to that effect, but I think it’s a little bit of an untold story that the organizing of the workers themselves has been pretty critical to preserving this agency that Congress created. It might not exist if the union hadn’t been as organized and kind of jumped on the issue as quickly as it did.

Scott Ferguson

Something you told us before we started recording was that Vought is this kind of spectral presence who never shows up. You said you’ve never seen this man, who is your boss. Has anybody seen him at the agency? Presumably Musk actually showed up into the building to occupy it, and people saw him, but, has anybody had direct communication with Vought?

Tyler Creighton

Not sure. Yeah, I have not. Initially we were 1700 people. We’ve lost a lot of people. But like, you know, with organizations of that size, you’re going to get email communications talking about organization priorities and what we’re doing and have broad staff meetings to kind of keep everybody on the same page. That has not been a thing that is happening at the Bureau.

So, yeah, he is the director, but, I can’t say I’ve had any direction from him.

Scott Ferguson

So there’s been more recent litigation and litigation that has gone in the agency’s favor. Back to this funding question, maybe you can tell us about the arguments made on both sides and how this has all played out.

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. It’s funny when you said, “in the agency’s favor,” it actually technically went against the agency, if you think about the agency and who currently runs it. But, yeah, it went in favor of keeping the agency alive and protecting consumers down the road. We secured a preliminary injunction back in March against firings, against contract cancellations, against closing up shop essentially, or to kind of generalize. But, while that injunction has been in place, Russ Vought has not requested any additional funding from the Federal Reserve since he took over. The agency happened to have quite a large balance when he took over, so that wasn’t a problem for a while.

Scott Ferguson

Does that tend to be a regular periodic request, or is it just sort of as needed, whenever?

Tyler Creighton

It’s a little slightly out of my expertise on this, but I think it’s generally been quarterly. I’d have to look back at the statute on whether or not it actually needs to be quarterly or it can kind of be as needed. I think, in effect, it kind of acts as needed.

Prior directors have planned out the year and have a sense of how much money it’s going to be required and then make quarterly withdrawals for that money. But anyway, Vought hadn’t requested any money, so while this injunction against firings existed, we were quickly dwindling our reserves. It was getting to the point where he was saying that the agency wasn’t going to have any more money at some point in early 2026.

The position he was taking was this, novel and fairly ludicrous legal argument that Congress created this dedicated funding for the CFPB by allowing it to withdraw money from the Federal Reserve’s revenue. But, the language that that Congress used was the Federal Reserve’s, quote unquote, combined earnings. To date, that has been understood as the Federal Reserve revenue. So any money that it earns. He took the position that, “Oh, no, actually combined earnings is referring to profits,” which is a weird construction for a government agency that isn’t a for-profit enterprise that’s trying to make profits. But, you know, putting that aside, he took the position that it is the feds operating revenue minus their expenses.

Since sometime in 2022, if you do that calculation, it’s actually a negative. So it’s been losing money, if we were to analogize it to a for-profit institution, which it’s not. So he said, “I’m not permitted to request additional money because Congress hasn’t provided any set aside.”

Why would Congress have said, “okay, we’re going to have this dedicated funding mechanism, but it only works if the fed has profits.” But if it doesn’t, then this agency just disappears for that time. You know, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. But, our lawyers went in and filed a motion to clarify that this novel interpretation, that had not been used before, wouldn’t let the agency off the hook for complying with the preliminary injunction against firing staff, against canceling contracts, against shutting down the agency.

In late December, the district court agreed and said, “yeah, this interpretation of the statute of combined earnings makes no sense. You, Vought, have manufactured this funding crisis, and I am not going to allow this thing that you’ve manufactured totally on your own accord to take you out of the injunction that is still in place.”

Essentially, they are setting up this scenario where you could either request money and comply with the injunction or you could continue to drive the CFPB into bankruptcy and therefore be out of compliance with the conjunction and face the consequences of that. Just last week, Vought  ended up saying, “Okay, although we disagree with your opinion, federal judge, we will request the money.”

So he requested enough money for, according to the letter to the court, for this quarter, which I guess will go until March. So that’s where we’re at now. Concurrently, the preliminary injunction that started this whole thing is under appeal to the full D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals, which will hear arguments in that case in late February.

Billy Saas

We have seen a lot of things over the last year, but administration officials complying with judicial orders is not top among those. Do you have any sense for why Vought  would have proceeded or honored this? I don’t know. Do you have any ideas why?

Tyler Creighton

I don’t really, I haven’t really seen any theories put out there. He obviously didn’t do it happily. He made it very clear that he wouldn’t have done this, if he was able to act on his own accord.

Billy Saas

Well, I’ll say kudos to Russ Vought in this one instance. Compliance. Do more. He could do more.

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. Doing the bare minimum.

Billy Saas

I wanted to maybe return to the point that you mentioned, you’re here as a member of the union. The CFPB is not even 20 years old, but the union that y’all are a part of now, chapter 335, has been around for at least 100 years.

It’s associated with the Treasury. Could you talk just a bit about the union and maybe, by way of wrapping up, give our listeners some sense of what we might or what they might be able to do, and to support the union’s efforts.

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. I won’t be able to speak to the 100 year history of the union.

Billy Saas

Understandable. Yeah.

Tyler Creighton

A bit beyond my knowledge, but we’re a local chapter, 335, of the National Treasurer Employees Union, which represents employees at a number of different agencies across the federal government. As I was saying before, I came to the bureau in 2022. So, I don’t have personal experience with the union’s early days, but as I understand, it was formed towards the end of 2012.

So a little over a year into the existence of the bureau and the history between 2012 and 2020, I don’t get the sense that there was like a ton of agitation going on. You know, it was helpful for workers, but has really kind of transformed, I think once Covid was like dramatically changing workplace norms for the federal government, but also for workers in every sector of the economy.

There were a lot of open questions like, “what are the expectations around work from home?” Making sure that people had correct set-ups at their home offices as they had to quarantine and such. I think there’s just been a lot of good organizing and build-up since then. So there was a lot of work being done. 

This is kind of the tail end of when I’m coming in. So again, I’m speaking primarily from reports from other people, not my own personal experience on this, but, after Covid, as with all companies, it was like, “so what are the rules around working going to be as we kind of get back to a quasi-normal life?”

There was a lot of union organizing around the contract around remote and work from home policies and all that. I think that was a stepping stone to a bigger internal fight around pay and pay equity at the CFPB, which I think one reason why our union has such good strength is that we actually can negotiate on pay and benefits, which is, as I understand, not something that is universal across other federal agencies where their pay is set by the GS (General Schedule) scale and Congress. Our pay is not. It says something to the effect of, “we will be paid in comparable levels to people at the Federal Reserve,” which also has its own payment structure. Despite that language, our pay scale had not changed since the founding of the bureau. Meanwhile, the Fed’s pay scale kept going up.

There was this increasing disparity between the workers at the Fed and the workers at the CFPB, even though the statute said that we should be paid at a comparable level. There was a very big campaign spurred by the union that was very galvanizing for people around rectifying that issue.

Updating the pay scale to bring us closer in line. We didn’t get as far as we were intending, but closer in line to what the pay scale at the fed is, and also to help decrease disparities among similarly situated employees at the CFPB, where there were just these kind of arbitrary pay differences between people who had very similar experiences or had very similar responsibilities.

It was coming out of that that I think just set the union up very well. There were structures in place like good leadership and trust among workers that, when all of this most recent mess started in 2025, we kind of had some communications infrastructure in place to quickly gather intel about what the heck is going on at the CFPB and get in touch with appropriate outside counsel, get them the intel that all the workers are providing and then also get out into the streets and have mechanisms for getting information back out to the workers. Those kinds of early internal organizing efforts, I think, really set us up, even though the current fight is so radically different. There’s also been a lot of bumps in the road as we’ve tried to turn a union infrastructure that was mostly focused on applying pressure to our internal leaders who had their own interests, but at least were listening and receptive and we could sit at the same table with them, to, now, really focusing outwardly because our current leadership doesn’t care about the work life is like. I’ve been trying to get other people outside of the bureau to understand what’s going on and why this fight is important.

But I think it’s been pretty impressive. And I don’t think there’s any doubt in my mind that if the union didn’t exist in the way that it did in February 2025, that we wouldn’t be having this conversation about what the future of the CFPB is going to be. The future remains very uncertain, but it’s still here.

Every day that it continues, it increases the odds that it will continue to exist in the future. I give a lot of props and kudos to the leadership of our chapter to really inspire people. We had pretty good membership going into this.

Just in terms of the percentage of workers who are in the bargaining unit who actually pay membership dues and are considered members of the union, but it just went through the roof, like everybody joined. We’ve opened the merch shop. That’s a very, very long winded response to your question, but in terms of one way that you could support and get involved is we have a merch shop which has some great sweatshirts, hats, shirts, that I see all the time on people that are not from the CFPB. All that money goes to support the union in various ways. In the past, we had used it as resources for employees who had been fired and then don’t have income and were facing other kinds of hardships. So, that’s definitely one way to support the group.

As I mentioned earlier, we are advocating in Congress to increase our funding, cut back to where it was prior to the big beautiful bill, which decreased it. And then I think, most importantly, we got to get Russ Vought out. You know, he’s been terrible at the CFPB and he’s been terrible across the whole government as the head of OMB (Office of Management and Budget). So, you know, we’re continuing to beat the drum for impeaching him.

Scott Ferguson

What would be the legal grounds for impeaching him?

Tyler Creighton

The legal grounds? Well, remind me what the Constitution says about…I should know this as the attorney on the call, but he did the bare minimum by requesting funds back in January. But, you know, for the past year, he’s just been blowing through every legal safeguard around, like, around how you treat workers and firing them and withholding money that had been appropriated by Congress. I think there’s plenty of grounds to say that he’s been derelict in his duties.

Scott Ferguson

For sure. You know, I think one of the biggest revelations for me that’s come out of this conversation is, I became aware of the union and appreciating the work of the union, but not really knowing the extent of it. I don’t think I had a strong sense, and I certainly didn’t know anything about the history of the union, but I didn’t have a sense of the way that union organizing and infrastructure and activity has been constitutive for the survival of this agency.

That’s really inspiring to hear. Maybe sometimes we hear these stories like, “well, you know, one judge made a decision and it’s either good or bad or some crisis happened and people responded,” but I really appreciate this backstory too. It’s really great to hear that y’all were organizing around actually different issues, right?

Like, you were building capacity for a crisis that you didn’t even know was coming, but because you had built this capacity and taken on at least two major problems, when this major, major crisis hit, you were ready. That’s just such an inspiring story and lesson.

Tyler Creighton

Yeah. Yeah. I couldn’t agree more. At the same time, I shouldn’t forget to say that obviously other people have been involved in this outside of the union, which has been very integral. The legal counsel that NTAU (National Treasury Employee Union) retained for this case has been just like some of the best attorneys work I’ve seen.

So, you know, yes, the union’s been very integral in getting the information and doing the outside organizing and getting the message out. But inside the courtroom, our attorneys have been absolutely great. There’s been a number of other advocacy groups, whether it’s the Student Borrower Protection Center or NCLC (National Consumer Law Center) or Public Citizen who have also been involved in the litigation in various ways and then also activating their own members and doing public education around the bureau as well.

So we are not, by any means, the only folks that have been important in this fight. But, I do think it has been a very integral piece of the story and as you’re saying, kind of hidden, I think, in terms of the role that the union has played.

Billy Saas

We’re going to be sure to include a link to the union page and then also to the union merch shop. And speaking of that, I brought up a window here, and I’m going to do something I don’t think we’ve done in any show so far, but your merch is so great that I want to share it and talk about it. This Skully 335 hoodie. Yeah. Tremendous. No artist is credited, but listeners, I would encourage you to go check it out. I’m pretty sure I’m going to get one here as soon as the calls are over. But you have it.

We have some pretty provocative imagery. Can you talk to us about this, to have any context for us? 

Tyler Creighton

I’m, unfortunately, the wrong person to answer this question, because I really was not involved in it, in any way. But the folks that were. Yeah, I don’t know where they came up with the art and who did it. We honestly should make that public on the site, but yeah, it’s not what you’re going to expect from the union merch stuff.

You’re talking about the Skully hoodie, and I don’t know if it’s this specific one, I think there’s a couple of different versions, but my father-in-law has one. He lives in a town up in rural Maine and there’s weekly actions on the bridge over the water in Maine where people gather to protest whatever insanity Trump is up to that week. He’s just wearing his skully sweater out on the bridge with all of the other folks in Maine. So, yeah, there’s a lot of great stuff in there. There may have been more and some of it has been dropped over the times, but there’s also all just a lot of like inside joke type stuff that, if you were following the litigation closely at the time when we were getting all of these revelations about what was going on behind the scenes in these emails and such, there’s a lot of, good content around that as well.

Scott Ferguson

So, I saw a “Fed Up” shirt. Is that actually connected to the organization “Fed Up”, or is that just a slogan that you all came up with on your own?

Tyler Creighton

Again, I don’t know. I’m the wrong person to answer that question. My assumption is that it’s a very common slogan that if you were to be in DC with all the other federal workers, you would see that as a common sign. My guess is that we have just done it because of that. But, there might be more of a backstory to it.

Scott Ferguson

Yeah. Then something else again, we can keep this in or not, but like, I actually think it would be cool to include some of this merch in the art in our episode graphics, you know?

Billy Saas

Yeah. So in that case, we would definitely want to know who the artist is and see if they are down to share for the cover art’s collage work. But, anyway, we are having too much of a blast looking at all this stuff. It’s really great merch.

Tyler Creighton

Yeah, it’s too bad we didn’t do this before Christmas. It’s a great holiday gift. I know a lot of people that were giving it for holiday gifts.

Billy Saas

Yeah, well, there’s all sorts of great occasions. And, you know, you just want to support unions all year round, right?

Tyler Creighton

Exactly, exactly. So yeah. And it says here 100% of the proceeds go to the CFPB Solidarity Fund, which has, as I said, in the past, been used to help workers who’ve been illegally terminated and are facing various financial hardships because of that.

Billy Saas

Well, I just found the Skully 335 bomber jacket, and I’m just even more excited. This is a super, super high note to end on. Tyler, is there anything else you wanted to say before we say goodbye?

Tyler Creighton

No, I don’t think so. We covered a lot of ground today. I hope I didn’t ramble on too much and go into too many rabbit holes, but I appreciate it. I appreciate the time and the focus we could put on the union’s efforts and on keeping the CFPB alive. You know, Congress created the agency before for very specific reasons.

We went through a huge mortgage crisis. A lot of people lost their homes and it’s been doing great work since then, and there’s really no reason to get rid of it. So, we’ve kept it alive for the last year, but obviously we need people outside of the union to help us. So encourage you to get involved in whatever way that is, whether that’s buying some merch or calling Congress and telling them to make sure they don’t let Vought win and kill the agency.

Billy Saas

Excellent. Thank you so much, Tyler Creighton, for joining us on Money on the Left.

Tyler Creighton

Thank you.

* Thank you to Zachary Nosbisch for the episode graphic, Nahneen Kula for the theme tune, and Thomas Chaplin for the transcript. 

Women, Safety, and Moral Panic: From Private Protection to Public Responsibility in India

By Dr. Shikha Chandarana

For decades, women’s safety in India has been treated like a private problem with public consequences: a daughter warned to “come home early,” a student told to “stay alert,” a working woman advised to “dress carefully,” a survivor asked what she did to “invite” it. The country has learned to speak in the language of caution rather than the language of rights. What often goes unspoken is that this caution rests on a narrow idea of what it means to be a “good” woman—an idea that quietly functions as a social unit of account, against which women’s safety, respectability, and worth are constantly measured. And when outrage erupts—after a brutal assault, after a case that breaks through the wall of everyday violence—it is often followed by a familiar cycle: candlelight, slogans, a burst of enforcement, and then the slow return to normal.

But “normal” has a body count—and it has a paperwork trail. In the most recent official tallies reported to Parliament, recorded “crime against women” cases were 428,278 (2021), 445,256 (2022), and 448,211 (2023)—a scale so vast it risks becoming background noise (Ministry of Home Affairs, 2025). Within those numbers, what stands out is not the horror of public violence, but the persistence of private terror: “cruelty by husband or relatives” remains the single largest category, with 133,676 cases in 2023 (Ministry of Home Affairs, 2025). The state’s own gender compendium underlines the same truth in plainer moral terms: women’s safety is compromised first, and most often, inside the home, where “cruelty by husband and relatives” accounts for roughly one-third of major crimes against women and where a cluster of categories together make up more than 70% of recorded crime (Ministry of Statistics and Programme Implementation [MoSPI], 2023). These numbers represent the crimes reported to the authorities, but in a nation of silent women, a majority of cases remain silenced.

This violence that never becomes an FIR is even harder to face. Using survey data alongside police statistics, the same compendium notes that the share of ever‑married women aged 18–49 who have experienced emotional, physical, or sexual violence by a husband declined only marginally—from 33.3% (2015–16) to 31.9% (2019–21)—still roughly one in three women living with intimate‑partner violence (MoSPI, 2023). A society cannot police its way out of that. A nation cannot CCTV its way out of that. A state cannot slogan its way out of that.

Still, the numbers demand honesty. Rising recorded cases do not automatically prove rising violence; they can also reflect increased reporting (a claim made by the Ministry of Home Affairs)—driven by awareness, easier access to registration, and shifts in enforcement. A state can congratulate itself for “better reporting” while refusing to confront what the reports are actually saying: that women are not merely unsafe in public spaces—they are systematically harmed in the most intimate ones.

This is where the question becomes more than a data debate. Because women’s safety is not only about what happens to women, it is also about what a society believes women are for. And over the last decade, India’s political common sense has been increasingly shaped by Hindutva—a project that frames national belonging through a majoritarian religious identity and seeks to reorder the social world around that identity. In that worldview, women are rarely treated as full citizens first. Too often, they are cast as symbols: bearers of “culture,” vessels of “honor,” boundary-markers of the community. When women become boundaries, “safety” stops meaning freedom from violence and starts meaning containment—restrictions justified as protection.

The clearest example is the obsessive political energy poured into policing women’s intimacy, especially interfaith relationships. The “love jihad” narrative is not just propaganda; it has become a governing style. Scholars of Hindu nationalist statecraft describe how “love jihad” politics folds gender and intimacy into a conservative regime of control, where women are constituted as “subjects of protection” and the state claims authority to supervise personal choice (Nielsen & Nilsen, 2021). Legal analysis of “love jihad” ordinances makes the same point with sharp precision: the phrase operates as social and political control, limiting women’s free will by treating adult women as if they cannot decide whom to love or whether to convert (Sonkar, 2022). The problem here is the patriarchal logic beneath it: women’s agency is treated as a security threat, and “saving” women becomes an excuse to discipline them.

This discipline spills into streets and screens. Feminist scholarship on the contemporary moment describes a “vigilante” ecosystem where moral policing thrives—an atmosphere in which women who transgress prescribed roles (by protesting, speaking out, loving across boundaries, dressing visibly as themselves) are treated as fair game for public humiliation and punishment (Chigateri & Kundu, 2024). And online, a new front has opened: the production line of misogyny that trains young men to see feminism as a civilizational enemy. Research on the Indian manosphere documents how online misogyny can function as a pedagogy—socializing men into a digital subjectivity aligned with Hindutva politics, steeped in resentment and gender hierarchy. When misogyny becomes a political identity, women’s safety cannot be separated from the ideological climate that licenses contempt.

This is the central contradiction of Hindutva’s safety story: it speaks loudly about “protecting” women, but often in a way that relocates danger onto an externalized enemy—an “outsider,” a “predator,” a communal Other—while downplaying the violence that is statistically most common and socially most tolerated: violence within the private sphere (MoSPI, 2023; Ministry of Home Affairs, 2025). When safety is narrated as protection from the Other, the state can perform toughness without touching patriarchy. It can promise rescue while leaving women trapped in homes, in marriages, in bureaucracies, in courts with endless delays.

And so, “decades of women’s safety” becomes a story of misdirection. The argument is not that patriarchy began recently—it is older than any election cycle, older than any government. The argument is that a majoritarian ideology that treats women as cultural property deepens patriarchy’s grip by making control feel like patriotism. It tells families they are guardians of the nation when they are, in practice, guardians of women’s silence. It tells men they are defenders of honor when they are, too often, perpetrators protected by shame and impunity. It tells women they are safe when they are compliant.

This is also why the usual turn to jobs, opportunity, or “empowerment” can feel beside the point. That discourse assumes a “real world” that comes first—where culture is already settled, women are already legible as subjects, and rights can be exercised as if the main barrier were access. But women encounter politics upstream, long before any job offer: in warnings, reputations, sermons, news cycles, viral clips, and the everyday sense of what will be believed. When a political project succeeds in staging its own version of “Indian tradition” as common sense, economic participation becomes a downstream promise in a world where women’s credibility has already been bargained away.

Women’s safety is easier to politicize when women are not treated as people but as value—as a kind of gold standard for “culture,” a deliberately narrow measure of womanhood that must be guarded, defended, and kept from “contamination” or “theft.” In the Hindutva version of this story, that “value” is narrated as national culture itself—treated as something the ruling project owns, and therefore something women must embody and defend. Feminist theory has a name for this logic: the “traffic in women,” where women are positioned as the medium through which social bonds, status, and legitimacy are organized (Rubin, 1975). But the traffic only works because a particular idea of womanhood is treated as the standard that makes the exchange legible. “Respectable,” “pure,” “protected,” “fallen”—they are the categories that allow families, communities, and political movements to price honor and disgrace. Violence and surveillance do not merely punish women who step out of line; they stabilize what “woman” is allowed to mean, keeping it narrow enough to remain exchangeable. In this frame, violence is not only a private act; it is a kind of enforcement. It disciplines the “currency” when it is perceived as out of circulation, devalued, or circulating in the “wrong” direction. And it is precisely because the currency is symbolic that it can become brutally material: women’s bodies carry the costs of political meanings that men and institutions claim to own.

That’s why the language of “honor,” “purity,” and “protection” functions like a shadow economy: it assigns women a public value that can be accumulated as symbolic capital—something families, communities, and political movements can convert into moral authority (Bourdieu, 1986). Nationalist projects, in particular, rely on women as a kind of infrastructure for belonging: women are cast as biological reproducers of the nation, cultural transmitters, and boundary-markers that distinguish “us” from “them” (Yuval-Davis, 1997). Under that logic, the state does not only promise women safety; it claims the right to manage women’s circulation—who they marry, how they appear, what they symbolize—because controlling women’s agency becomes a way of controlling the nation’s imagined coherence.

In this sense, women-as-currency is not just a metaphor but a political economy. It treats value as something already given—honor, purity, community standing—and “safety” as the policing of how that value circulates. Public claims for freedom, exit, dignity, or justice are pushed aside by a more basic question: does this woman still count as the right kind of woman? That is a form of monetary silencing—substituting the management of symbolic exchange for the provision of real social capacity.

This is also what makes Hindutva’s gender politics feel less like “safety” and more like market regulation: the state and its allied moral economies intervene most aggressively when women’s intimate choices threaten to move across the boundaries that sustain majoritarian identity. The “love jihad” narrative is legible in exactly these terms: it treats interfaith intimacy as a form of illicit transfer—women as community property being “taken”—and it authorizes governance over gender and intimacy as a protective duty (Nielsen & Nilsen, 2021; Sonkar, 2022). Meanwhile, the violence most statistically concentrated in the home becomes normalized as the internal discipline of the exchange itself—part of what Deniz Kandiyoti called the “patriarchal bargain,” where women’s constrained security is purchased through compliance within a system that reserves coercion as enforcement (Kandiyoti, 1988). In other words: when women are treated as cultural currency, the state can perform “protection” against an externalized enemy while leaving intact the ordinary, intimate violence that keeps the currency under control.

If India is serious about women’s safety, the test is simple: does “safety” expand women’s freedom, or does it shrink it? Does it strengthen survivors’ access to justice, or does it strengthen society’s power to supervise women’s choices? Does it confront the violence of the home, or does it distract us with the theater of public protection? The official data already points to where the emergency lives: in households, in marriages, in everyday coercion (MoSPI, 2023; Ministry of Home Affairs, 2025). Any politics that cannot face that reality—any ideology that prefers to police women rather than protect them—will keep India stuck in the same loop, decade after decade: grief, fury, forgetting.

A republic organized around public responsibilities would reverse this logic: it would treat women not as the units being measured but as co-authors of the measures themselves—what safety means, what harm counts, and what institutions are obligated to provide. That means treating media and political rhetoric as public responsibilities too: building institutions and norms that expand what women can say, report, and be believed about—rather than letting “tradition” be monopolized as a weapon of control. It would treat women’s freedom not as a risk to be managed, but as a public standard the state must help build and maintain. Women do not need a nation that guards them as symbols. They need a republic that recognizes them as citizens.

References

Bourdieu, P. (1986). The forms of capital (R. Nice, Trans.). In J. G. Richardson (Ed.), Handbook of theory and research for the sociology of education (pp. 241–258). Greenwood Press.

Chigateri, S., & Kundu, S. (2024). Virulent Hindutva, vigilante state: Situating backlash and its implications for women’s rights in India. IDS Bulletin, 55(1), 101–116. doi:10.19088/1968-2024.109

Kandiyoti, D. (1988). Bargaining with patriarchy. Gender & Society, 2(3), 274–290. doi:10.1177/089124388002003004

Ministry of Home Affairs. (2025, December 3). Crimes against women and children (Rajya Sabha Unstarred Question No. 390) [Parliamentary question]. Government of India.

Ministry of Statistics and Programme Implementation. (2023). Women and men in India 2023: Impediments in empowerment [Statistical publication]. National Statistical Office, Government of India.

Nielsen, K. B., & Nilsen, A. G. (2021). Love jihad and the governance of gender and intimacy in Hindu nationalist statecraft. Religions, 12(12), 1068. doi:10.3390/rel12121068

Rubin, G. (1975). The traffic in women: Notes on the “political economy” of sex. In R. R. Reiter (Ed.), Toward an anthropology of women (pp. 157–210). Monthly Review Press.

Sonkar, S. (2022). Policing interfaith marriages: Constitutional infidelity of the love jihad ordinance. Journal of Law and Religion, 37(3), 432–445. doi:10.1017/jlr.2022.37

Yuval-Davis, N. (1997). Gender and nation. SAGE Publications.

Graeber’s Utopia of Refusal

Will Beaman joins Billy Saas & Scott Ferguson to discuss the enduring influence of David Graeber’s debt-centered work in the wake of Zohran Mamdani’s election to Mayor of New York City. Will and Scott unpack their jointly authored essay, “The Utopia of Refusal: David Graeber, Debt & the Left Monetary Imagination,” which is the latest in a series of pieces by the Money on the Left Editorial Collective to agitate for credit-centered experimentation through and beyond the Mamdani mayoralty.

Most crucially, Will and Scott find that the Graeberian framework on debt funnels political attention and action toward periodic acts of cancellation or refusal to the exclusion of other radical democratic alternatives, such as those outlined in “Blue Bonds: A Fiscal Strategy for Overcoming Trump 2.0” and “How the Zetro Card can Save New York City (Really).” While Graeber’s work has been indispensable to left organization and advocacy since before Occupy, what’s needed now is a framework for mobilizing, rather than refusing to engage, the considerable fiscal agency already at hand at all levels of governance.

Visit our Patreon page here: https://www.patreon.com/MoLsuperstructure

Music by Nahneen Kula: www.nahneenkula.com

Transcript

This transcript has been edited for readability.

Billy Saas

Yes. We’ve gathered on this auspicious occasion to discuss a piece recently published at the end of November on moneyontheleft.org and then shortly after that, Monthly Review Online that does a lot of interesting things. Those things are sort of described in the title, so I’ll just share the title and we’ll get into a discussion of it.

The piece is called “The Utopia of Refusal: David Graeber, Debt and the Left Monetary Imagination.” Let’s go broadest first and then we’ll get into the nitty gritty. Why this piece now?

William Beaman

Yeah, I think in terms of “why now?”, I think that the piece sort of describes a paradox on the left that has been sort of there in the Modern Monetary Theory movement and space for some time. But, especially now, with Trump’s second term, it’s sort of becoming rearticulated in new and, in our opinion, more urgent ways because so much of left politics in this new context is about trying to figure out what you can do when you are not just trying to persuade a social democratic or neoliberal government to be more benevolent.

Instead you’re trying to mount a protracted defense from within and alongside various institutions that are various degrees of captured or threatened by authoritarianism. The paradox that we noticed, and this is something that we at Money on the Left are interested in in general. This moment sort of brings to the fore in a renewed way a lot of Modern Monetary theory and uses David Graeber as a really emblematic fellow traveler, even though he’s, himself, an anarchist politically rather than somebody who’s interested in what you do with state power. But nevertheless, his work often informs a lot of what we do and think about and the questions that we ask in the MMT movement. David Graeber shows that money is not a neutral thing.

It’s not an expression of decentralized barter or economic relationships, that it doesn’t come from taxes or taxpayers, it is a unit of account before it’s anything else. At the same time that that insight opens up Modern Monetary Theory as a discourse and, as I said, David Graeber provides a lot of the deep anthropological work, as well as perhaps Michael Hudson, for a lot of these insights that get formalized in Modern Monetary Theory, we also argued that the way that these insights are articulated quietly sets a cap or a ceiling on how the left imagines monetary politics.

Graeber articulates this framework and as it gets re-articulated by modern monetary theorists quite often, is that money is the sort of a sovereign, arbitrary, emanation of debt that then organizes social life and does so in an unbounded way, but nonetheless is principally about power.

From Graeber’s perspective as an anarchist, money’s fictitiousness most comes through in debtors movements that seek to abolish it. Or, more specifically to have debt jubilees and wipe the slate clean, and sort of remind us that this is all a fiction and we can erase it. We argue in the piece that this has a lot in common with a lot of poststructuralist thinking following influences in Nietzsche onwards to sort of think of debt as a sort of originary act of cruelty that you can then get naively caught up in and moralize, or you can see it for what it is. But from our perspective at Money on the Left – and to tie it back to this moment that we’re in right now – a lot of what we’re trying to do is articulate new opportunities and possibilities for redesigning the way that monetary systems function, and carrying the insights of Modern Monetary Theory. This being that money is an endogenous choreography between entities that issue and entities that receive. The quote that is often said from the economist Hyman Minsky is that “anyone can create money, the challenge is to get it accepted.”

But we take the challenge of getting it accepted as a malleable and contested political problem. We want to make that the center of our politics. We notice that, in this moment, a lot of the work that Modern Monetary Theory had done to break open the taxpayer myth and the barter myth and all of these things that work so hard to suppress as far as possibilities, was actually still being mobilized and enlisted in order to suppress possibilities.

Maybe the most immediate motivation for this piece was a cluster of articles – that I guess we’ll talk about later in the episode – that all in various ways mobilized Modern Monetary Theory in its articulation as something you do when you are the sovereign at the heights of power in order to say that, “well, we are not in power, so therefore, while MMT is descriptively correct for those in power, it’s really important that we basically act as if MMT is not it doesn’t exist.” It was this kind of paradoxical thing where the very same insights that open up a lot of possibilities were being used to police and foreclose them. I think that the mobilization of David Graeber, who’s an anarchist and who’s been centrally involved with Occupy Wall Street at its origins. I think you could make the case that all kinds of movements, including electoral movements, have been influenced by Occupy Wall Street. It has many afterlives in law and political economy spaces and in Modern Monetary Theory spaces and in spaces that are principally concerned with what might be called electoralism or what you do when you’ve taken state power.

I think that Graeber’s involvement in that indirectly illustrates this paradox. You can start from this view of money as a cruel fiction that sort of ensnares people in logics of debt and guilt and sin, and that you can move through empowering insights about what money actually is and what it can do, and then close them back up again because at the end of the day, money is evil. And this is also coming at the same time – maybe Scott can add something about this – but this is coming at the same time that at Money on the Left we’ve been working on a re-articulation of our own paradigm and condensation of our insights, which we call democratic public finance.

We have a document aimed both at the Zohran Mamdani campaign and at the left more broadly with democratic public finance in the title that takes a view that really centers monetary design and contestation over monetary design as something that’s political, rather than viewing design as, “you can either build evil things or you can undo them, and the undoing them is sort of the big act of refusal or agency.”

That’s where this utopia of refusal in our title comes from. But maybe, Scott, if you want to add anything about DPF (democratic public finance) or anything else that I’ve missed. I realize I went on a lot.

Scott Ferguson

I think you did a nice opening survey in response to this question of “why now?” I’ll just paraphrase or I’ll put it the way that I’ve experienced it. I think we’ve had a long standing, genuine ambivalence in relation to Graeber’s work, especially his book, Debt: The First 5000 Years, but also some of his other work.

I’ve been threatening to write something on this for a really long time. I was even in talks with boundary 2 online for a while eight years ago about writing something, but it never happened. So there’s that. Then there’s our contemporary work, which is really trying to push the public endogenous money paradigm into what we’re calling democratic public finance, which doesn’t take doesn’t constrain money’s political constitution and contestability to a federal government that issues its own currency, like kind of MMT 101 likes to talk about.

Then the third part of this is Mamdani’s successful campaign, but also a movement that puts him into power and in the midst of the the second Trump administration and certainly coming up against all kinds of constraints and entering into all kinds of potential battles at the federal level, at the state level, maybe even at the city level.

We found that there was just this emerging genre that was coming out in the summer and into the fall and when he wins of left journalistic discourse the commentariat that suggested that “well, you know, it’s it’s all well and good that Mamdani has won but now reality is setting in and and we have to play by the rules of the neoliberal marketplace.” We were extremely frustrated that those were getting published over and over again at a lot of the same publications that wouldn’t publish our submissions that were offering an alternative. So I think all three pieces of this puzzle have come together in this particular piece. I do want to say, I want to come back to the ambivalence. I think we handle it with a minimal grace and care  in the essay itself. I think I’d like us to try to be fair in this conversation as well. But I think we do genuinely appreciate Graeber. For example, Billy, if I’m remembering correctly, Graeber’s debt book is really what sort of opened you up to this whole world of MMT and heterodox economics.

Billy Saas

Totally. So the ambivalence that we feel and have felt, I think, has been slightly different in character. My introduction to MMT, to Chartalism, to the whole world of monetary theory is through the first several chapters of Debt: The First 5000 Years, which I read around the time of Occupy Wall Street. You know, it’s useful as one particular perspective on how money works and can work and has worked over time repeatedly.

Is the problem that it presents itself as the sort of final word on what money is and how it has operated over time? Is that ultimately the complaint?

Scott Ferguson

I don’t know if that’s ultimately the complaint, but I will say that it’s a great question. It’s interesting. Maybe not “final word,” but I will say from the debt book, from its title and its framing, but also the Dawn of Everything, from its title and its framing. I do think that Graeber – I mean, look, we too are ambitious.

We too want to rewrite the history of the world. Right? I don’t want to be the pot calling the kettle black, but he does promise a kind of total horizon, you know. So that might be part of it. That might be part of it.

But it’s not just the fact that he’s saying this is the big horizon and maybe, implicitly, this is the last word. Although I’ll give him a break, like, maybe in the text he doesn’t actually say “this is the last word,” but I do think it’s possible.

Billy Saas

Let me pause you on that, because this articulates with the other ongoing critique from Money on the Left of sovereignty as this kind of locus of monetary authority. I think that where we can kind of find Graeber saying that this is the last word is when he says, you know, ultimately money gets its receiveability, its value and all these things from the threat of violence, from somebody behind The Wizard of Oz with a gun. That’s where the magic comes from and so it all kind of always devolves into that. 

Scott Ferguson

It does, it does. Which is a very modern political philosophy approach. It’s followed by the MMT economists as well. Warren Moser has his famous “just so” story about passing around a bunch of worthless business cards, and they only become valuable when he threatens the group he’s talking to with violence, with guys with giant guns in the back of the room.

Right. So it’s not even like the MMTers are innocent of this, but the difference is that the MMTers at least offer possibilities beyond cancellation, beyond rejection, beyond what we call refusal. This is, in part, trying to get into why we’ve titled this piece “The Utopia of Refusal.” The ultimate political act in the name of democracy, in the name of justice in this Graeberian universe seems to be refusal – and you know, Graeber is not the only one who holds this view – because, tacitly, people have a goodness. They know what they want and they know how to organize themselves spontaneously. So you don’t need to talk about the new plan that’s going to replace the bad system now. You just critique and rail against the bad system now and then just trust that the freedom fighters are going to know what’s right on the other side, which is something we absolutely refuse in our organization.

William Beaman

I would add to that, in the Superstructure podcast, years ago we’ve talked about abolitionism as well. We’ve talked a lot about the tension within the way that the different abolitionists talk about abolition. There’s the famous phrase, to paraphrase Ruth Wilson Gilmore, abolition is about presence. There’s a way of reading abolition as sort of Graeberian refusal, but there’s also a way of reading it as collective redesign, and as an ongoing framework, rather than the fiction of a settlement in the way that we could press for reparations too.

The idea of reparations can include cash settlements, and I think David Graeber and Friedrich Nietzsche, and many others would say that, “Well, the point is that these cash settlements are rituals that allow us to move together as a community with an implicit emphasis on the ritual as a fictitious event that then wipes the slate clean,” which in a way actually resembles the Jubilee, even though it also resembles an economic transaction, which I think is very interesting.

But, bringing this back to Graeber, the idea of what Scott was saying, that people already know how to organize themselves spontaneously, and we just need to abolish the bad stuff and that doesn’t involve taking accountability for all of the implications of abolition. It’s not abolition as an ongoing framework and then I’ll drop abolition because it’s not Graeber’s language, but its abolition as a declaration that this was all fake and let’s move on. In that book, Debt: The First 5000 Years, Graeber specifically appeals to this idea of baseline or everyday communism, which is his term for a kind of background of everyday cooperation that he relates to Marx’s phrase from “each according to their ability, to each according to their need,” as this sort of pre-institutional and pre-formal substrate of social life, which then money, debt and accounting and rules and bureaucracy, come in. Maybe they first come in as an expression of play. That’s something that he develops in some of his later work. But fundamentally, if we forget that they’re all made up and that everyday communism exists in all of us innately before them, they threaten to crowd out everyday communism and create dead zones of the imagination, to paraphrase his term from the utopia of rules.

There’s an implicit opposition that he makes between localized everyday communism, which is suggested to exist prior to institutions and prior to mediation and it’s just sort of an innate goodness. That on the one hand, and then the opposite being ongoing rules or ongoing relations. Of course, it’s not that Graeber is so naive that he’s not interested in large scale coordination and this kind of thing.

He’s very interested in it, but he wants to theorize it from a heroicized notion of refusal and the ability to walk away as the foundation of what an ethical coordinate of regime looks like.

Scott Ferguson

That’s more in the later work and in The Dawn of Everything rather than the debt book. I think that was a self-conscious move on his part. I mean, I think he realized how much of a negative gesture the debt book was. I think he and in his collaborations with others were trying to think at scale. I think that there is a micro localist tendency in his work and I think his foundations tend to be micro oriented, but that’s not to say that he’s not sophisticated enough to not see the necessity of thinking across multiple larger scales as well. So, I think that’s important to say. 

William Beaman

I wanted to say, so you have the baseline and everyday communism, that is sort of a theoretical assumption that we want to challenge a little bit. One of the ways that we do that in the essay is by saying that whatever it is that you consider baseline or everyday communism has an institutional scaffold.

That’s not a positive claim about what it is and every time and place,but it is, I think, maybe a philosophical claim that the idea of it being pre-institutional is something that we’re pretty skeptical of. It is important, I think, to think about some examples that we can think of that have been roundly criticized.

In the book, we think of the sort of neighborly ideal, where it’s, maybe, a suburban neighborhood where everyone knows everyone else. Of course, I’m going to leave my doors unlocked. What if someone needs something from me? And so there’s that sort of assumption. But then, of course, you need to theorize how neighborliness is created at scale in that way.

How is the institution of the family and you need some detour through mediation in order to talk about these things. So that’s one background theoretical assumption. Then the other one – and this I think Graeber has in common with Marx, even though he himself, I think, maybe although he critiques Nietzsche, in his book.

But I think on this point we can maybe put them on the same side, which is that once you make things commensurate with each other, you are suggesting a false equivalency. Rather then I think what we would say, which is you might be openly suggesting as an analogy for the purposes of coordination, and that might be something that’s aboveboard and everyone is aware of, rather than sort of a lie that we’re telling about things being commensurate when they’re not necessarily.

Scott Ferguson

Can I add to that?

William Beaman

Yeah, please.

Scott Ferguson

I think, what I would also want to say is that nothing is not related to anything else. So the idea that you have two self-standing persons or two autonomous objects that then have no relationship to one another through language or memory or imagination or emotions or large coordinated systems, the idea that there can ever be one thing and another thing that have to be brought into relation is false.

I think we would also say that the interdependent process of allocating and designing monetary systems, and having that allocated money create production and all of the complicated relationships that come along with this, that what’s happening there is not a flat equivalence. It’s not making an equivalence between anything. It’s in fact a deeply heterogeneous system.

In certain ways, it takes certain bourgeois rhetorics at their word. If the bourgeoisie says, “look, we’re taking independent things and we’re making them equivalent, including your own labor,” we don’t have to buy it, right? We don’t have to say, “yes and that’s how you’re oppressing me.” Instead, we can say, “actually, you’re oppressing me in a different way and in that different way is actually a better way for me to contest you.” But anyway, back to you, Will.

William Beaman

Yeah. No, that’s a really helpful clarification. This idea that this sort of combines what we were saying before that there always already is some kind of an institutional background or context for anything. But rather than that necessarily being something that just works through capture  and through transforming us from free subjects to coordinated subjects. We might instead see ourselves as multiple coordinating subjects. The people who are involved in coordination in all kinds of ways, often through the same acts. There’s this idea that commenceration is a violent equation between things that is fully a fiction.

William Beaman

Whereas I think we want to say, “no, no, it’s an analogy. It’s thematizing analogical involvement in everything that everything has,” and that can be spun in ways that cover up that sort of intrinsic, open endedness of that as saying, “no, no, this is an identity that’s being posited.”

But then that sets the stage to say, “Ah ha, we’ll refuse the identity and then we’ll be free again.” So there’s commenceration as violence, but more specifically as moralizing. This is where I think Graeber might be situated among a lot of poststructuralists. So I brought up Nietzsche, but also you can think of somebody like Foucault. Where you think of valuation and Graeber has a text on value theory, where he says – and I’m, paraphrasing again here – but the subtitle is taken from a Marcel Mauss quote, which is that “every society pays itself in the false coins of its dreams.” On the one hand, there’s a lot that we would affirm there, right? Which is that you have a view of money as radically heterogeneous. One of the things that’s really strong in Graeber and MMT doesn’t thematize enough, because Graeber ties money to morality so much in this kind of Nietzsche in way, there are surpluses of heterogeneity and possibility that let you think about things that we don’t consider as money as money.

Let us think about ethical rhetoric as sort of having monetary dimensions. The problem that we have is that ethics in general for Graeber is a ruse to pay you in the false coin of a dream. That dream is going to necessarily involve some bureaucratic ideas about who you should be versus who you are.

It’s constitutively limiting and constitutively spiritually violent. The third kind of theoretical foundation of the book that we’ve been talking about already is what pairs with everyday communism, which is this idea of freedom and freedom he defines as the ability to walk away.

The ability to refuse. I think this can resonate with poststructuralist philosophy, which is full of tropes and figures of flight and fugitivity and unruly affects that are not captured by a symbolic system and sort of residually escape.

Then, one of the moves that Scott, you make in your book, is to compare that with neoliberal rhetoric about money and finance and its fugitivity. I think this is another way that this can end up being too caught up in the value systems and the false dreams or whatever that it’s trying to critique.

Is there anything you wanted to add?

Scott Ferguson

There’s a term that I’ve used – and it’s probably controversial – as I was wrestling with Graeber, as I was learning from him, but also trying to kind of sniff out where things didn’t seem right.

I’ve long suspected Graeber of being a tacit methodological individualist, which, of course, is a term that heterodox economists like to use to shame and point fingers at neoclassical economists or behavioral economists who just reduce everything to atomized individuals who have preferences and I don’t think that Graeber is a neoclassical methodological individualist by any stretch of the imagination, but I do think he tends to start with the individual.

For as much as he, in his work, will push back against imperialist European Enlightenment philosophy and goes after the deeply problematic state of nature stories that are used by everyone from Hobbes to Locke to Rousseau and beyond to justify a certain vision of the political.

As much as Graeber will disavow that and overtly say this is terrible, right? I think he shares their methodological individualism. I think he shares an ontology of the human, which is that the human is born free as an individual and then is always already social and caught up in a social world, but the individual knows best. Their freedom is number one and, what he calls, baseline communism comes from this baseline of free individuals who can do whatever they want in community. So it’s not like a totally atomized state of nature, but to be honest, those enlightenment thinkers also weren’t that cartoonish either.

I think he shares something with them. It comes out in all different kinds of ways. One of the examples that we provide in the essay that we wrote together is this stylized scenario that he brings up in the debt book, which is the scenario of somebody – you, a person, an individual – walking along and you discover that someone is drowning in a body of water nearby, and you think to yourself, “well, you know, I’m able bodied and I just came from the gym, I can muster the strength to dive into this river or this pool or whatever it is to save this person and there’s very little cost to me. Why wouldn’t I do the right thing, because I, as a free, good individual, I can use my power to participate in and enact everyday communism.” Now, as we point out, this sounds nice and it’s meant to sound just like an everyday scenario.

It could happen, you know, it happens to people. It’s never happened to me, but I could imagine it happening. But there’s a conspicuous individualism that really resonates with game theory approaches to social scenarios like in the classic trolley problem, right.

William Beaman

I think in the first draft I called it a nice trolley problem.

Scott Ferguson

A nice trolley problem where you’ve got just an individual that is contextless, and then somebody who’s drowning, who’s also contextless. We don’t know why they’re drowning. Did they grow up in a poor neighborhood where they shut down the pool and stop providing affordable swimming lessons, right?

There’s a reason why somebody is drowning. There is a reason why somebody is walking along and they have the ability to save them. It’s these scenarios that reduce things down to an individual exercising their freedom for communism, as opposed to what he calls exchange – which is a whole other contradiction that I can talk about at another juncture – or hierarchy. The original cell of sociality, like cell: c-e-l-l, is the individual and their actions. Can I bring up one more example that we didn’t talk about? 

Will Beaman

Absolutely. 

Scott Ferguson

I’ve thought about this for years. This somehow stuck with me. It’s from the beginning-ish. It’s like page 66 in the book.

William Beaman

This really stuck with you.

Scott Ferguson

It really did. It really did.

So he writes, “my mother, who was born a Jew in Poland, once told me a joke from her childhood” and I don’t really need to say this but I just want to mention that my own mother is a Polish Jew. She’s still around. Anyway, so his mother, another Polish Jew, tells this joke. Here it is:

There was a small town located along the frontier between Russia and Poland; no one was ever quite sure to which it belonged. One day an official treaty was signed and not long after, surveyors arrived to draw a border. Some villagers approached them where they had set up their equipment on a nearby hill. “So where are we, Russia or Poland?” “According to our calculations, your village now begins exactly thirty-seven meters into Poland.” The villagers immediately began dancing for joy. “Why?” the surveyors asked. “What difference does it make?” “Don’t you know what this means?” they replied. “It means we’ll never have to endure another one of those terrible Russian winters!”

And that’s the joke. Okay, so how is this methodological individualism? It is about a community, right? But it comes from a mom, it comes from an individual. There is a real lesson here and it is minimally funny. Which is that, “you big powers with your claims to rule and your claims to carving up land. All of this is an arbitrary imposition and, look, the weather is not going to change as a result of this.”

William Beaman

The state of nature is still continuing.

Scott Ferguson

Well, yeah! That’s it, that’s it. Exactly. It frames governance as imposition. An imposition here on an individuated community that is being arbitrarily divided. The joke is that nature, weather, and our relationship to it, and our grounded particularity, comes first.

That’s why it’s supposed to be funny. Now, again, I’m not saying that., “well, he should have thought about how the Russians could do weather manipulation, they could seed clouds or whatever.” We don’t need to go that far in order to read the implications of this joke that he’s repeating, which is this is a local individuated community that is being imposed upon, but at the end of the day, nature and our everyday communism – proceeding from the ground up of the individuated, we could say –  is what matters the most and that’s our only hope of redemption.

Billy Saas

All right. So I think we’ve got a pretty good sense of the grievances, the complaints, the critiques.

Scott Ferguson

The systematic critiques, thank you very much.

Billy Saas

Systematic critique. Yeah.

William Beaman

You nailed them on the church wall very well.

Billy Saas

And I think that gets us back to the occasion of this essay, which is intervention into our immediate moment. Following the exciting election of Zohran Mamdani in New York as mayor, we have had a series of articles published by leading left thinkers and organizations that, from your perspective, seem to be a kind of capitulation based on this framework or informed by this debt framework. This idea that, because New York City is not a sovereign, it does not issue its own currency, doesn’t issue the dollar anyway, Mamdani needs and his campaign and his team have to sort of, I don’t know, be cautious.

Reel it in, reckon with some really harsh truths and realities about the fiscal situation of New York City. That’s interfering with what you all point out and want us to do instead, which is to get more imaginative than that. So maybe we could go one by one or if we want to talk more holistically, but we have a Debt Collective piece, a piece in Jacobin, and then also a piece in Dissent. The Jacobin piece by Nathan Gustaf, J.W. Mason in Dissent, and the Debt Collective piece, written collectively as a Substack post In the Read.

William Beaman

Well, maybe we can start with the Debt Collective piece, because the Debt Collective also happens to be the organization with an institutional connection to David Graeber, as well. The Debt Collective is a wonderful organization of various debtors movements and that collects activism around money and debt and much as we are very appreciative and live within the legacies of all of Graeber’s activism, this discussion, too, is in the spirit of activism and of us all being on the same team.

The title is, “Zohran won Main Street. Now he must face Wall Street.” Subheading: “Mamdani will face a looming threat to his progressive agenda debt.” This piece does what I think the other two pieces do as well. Which is to sort of say, “hold your horses.”

Yes. We won. We won this mayoral election of New York City, which is an incredibly important executive governing position that has huge economic impacts, but whatever you do, do not issue bonds and don’t issue debt. That sort of is the main crux of the piece as far as a warning is concerned.

I want to maybe just read from it directly. So, the piece goes: 

“This may sound basic, but it’s worth repeating. The federal government prints its own dollars. It doesn’t need to borrow from anyone to function, despite currently not functioning. Cities, on the other hand, cannot print their own dollars. Much like you, a person that probably has some student or medical debt, a mortgage, credit card debt, or an auto loan, municipalities must borrow money they do not have if they want to spend more than they tax. So what does this mean? Cities are forced to borrow from Wall Street to do nearly everything from building parks and schools to staffing libraries and hiring bus drivers, to patching roads and strengthening bridges.

And then, scanning down just a little bit this next section is called “Wall Street’s grip on,” quote, “public money.” Sort of implying that what might be called public money is actually not even public at some more real level. 

“Here’s the catch. Before any tax revenue can be spent on public programs like rent control or free transit, the city must first pay back Wall Street. That means private financiers effectively hold veto power over social policy. This means they get to decide what governments can and can’t provide to their people. 

And then there’s a discussion of the 1975 fiscal crisis that New York City went through. Ultimately, this is a pitch for a few things, I think. One, with respect to Mamdani, is to unite the left and unite Mamdani’s coalition around taxing the rich, and around pressure campaigns to increase revenue from Wall Street, from the 1%, and so on.

But then also, I think – and this is sort of implied by the Debt Collectives framing, and not to be not to be too cute about this – but I think it is actually relevant that it would be called the Debt Collective rather than, say, the credit collective and that the Substack is called In the Red.

It’s trying to address readers as part of a movement of debtors, right? As part of a movement of debtors who maybe all owe debt to Wall Street in various ways and so “debtors of the world, unite.” That is sort of the vision that comes out of here and, of course, putting this into relief against Graeber’s sweeping historical work, this is a jubilee call. This is a call for something like the biblical Jubilees, which is “let’s just erase all the debts.” One thing that we point out in our article is, it’s strange to us that the idea of abolishing all the debts feels like less of a heavy lift than reclassifying the debts as assets or then repurposing debt not as something that we take literally as a thing to be used to moralize and bludgeon poor communities, but as obligations that have coordinative capacities.

We all have obligations to society and those do not have to be obligations to Wall Street necessarily.

Billy Saas

Yeah. Just pause it just to say to and to reiterate and underscore and emphasize that you’re not saying that we should be worried about or protecting the right of those Wall Street folks to be repaid for bad student debt.

William Beaman

Absolutely. It’s quite the contrary. I think that part of our critique of this sort of rhetorical approach is that it ultimately builds up Wall Street’s ability to treat credit as debt, and to force local governments into collections. What it does is it polices the left’s imagination to demand anything different.

So instead, you demand to get rid of all debt, which of course, you don’t expect Wall Street to say “yes” to, but maybe you can get every city and every individual and every person in every government on the same page as all debtors who need a jubilee. I think one of the things that we do in the Democratic Public Finance document, as well as our blue bonds project, is we argue for, what you might call the un-finalizability of debt. The fact that whether bonds or treasuries are treated as things that must be paid back, or just as a savings account, depends on politics.

If you take Wall Street at its word that all money exists in order to be paid back to Wall Street, then of course you’re going to just reject using money in any kind of democratic way with respect to money’s actual design.

Scott Ferguson

Just to bring up some examples and none of these are easy or straightforward, and they do have serious hurdles of intelligibility with the public. We’re in the business of writing about money, strategizing, and trying to expand our imagination. Working at the edges of legibility is part of that work, right? To use Jakob Feinig’s words that we use all the time, “we are in an age of “monetary silencing” and we need to un-silence.

That’s going to be part of it. So let’s just think about some things that could be done. For example, yes, there can be a giant refusal campaign and we’re all on board for a refusal. No problem. But that’s not where you stop, right? Because the system is still in place and you still have this leftist discourse that’s telling us that, “well, ultimately, Wall Street’s in charge.”

So you could have a movement. It may not be successful, but a movement in and around Mamdani’s New York. New York City is the biggest and most emblematic city in this country and one of the biggest in the world. You could have all kinds of sister cities or cousin cities or whatever familial language you want to use, that get on board and that demand that the Fed reopens a municipal liquidity facility permanently and sets the interest rate at zero.

Now, maybe this movement will be laughed out of the room. So has the Green New Deal been laughed out of the room. So has any number of leftist movements and leftist demands. So why stay silent on the possibility of a permanent lending facility at a zero interest rate from the Fed? At the very same time, New York City could threaten or even try to enact going forward, we’re no longer going to have our public debt mediated by Wall Street.

We’re going to set up a different channel. Maybe we’ll work with an existing credit union, or maybe we’ll set up our own public banking system that can mediate debt and that can issue it to public sector union workers for things like their pensions and things like that.

Now, all of these are possibilities, but there’s this binary between, “well, you know, there’s the realism, what money is and Wall Street’s the big veto, the big obstacle,” versus, “all we can do is try to cancel it from time to time.” There’s this whole middle area where imagination could run wild, but it doesn’t because of the structure of this discourse.

William Beaman

I think that through that lens we can also embrace debt jubilees and refusals and all of these things, as forms of design, as forms of shaping and contesting the architecture of our obligations, even if they are sometimes problematically pitched as complete erasure or undoing of obligation or of a blank slate, as opposed to an old slate full of ways that everyone is a sinner and everybody owes society in bad ways because  they’ve been a bad boy.

Scott Ferguson

And just to say, Graeber likes to point out that the origin of the first word for freedom means return to mother. It’s a tricky one because it’s like feminine. It’s motherhood. Motherhood is not acknowledged often in modern monetary economies. There’s something that is very nice about that, but it’s like, one is made “free” so that then one can return home to their care, to their natural caring micro unit. I think that haunts all of this discourse as well.

William Beaman

Yeah. That, to some extent, the care that one returns to is taken for granted.

Billy Saas

I would also say that Graeber points out that the Jubilee is, or was, in its origins, a design, politically

Scott Ferguson

That’s true. Yeah.

Billy Saas

It was systematic, programmatic, every seven years. I’m down with you, Will, when you say we’re redesigning the entire monetary system from the municipal level up or from whatever level up, let’s program in some every-seven-years Jubilees. Let’s see what that does to the market.

William Beaman

Yeah. We’re not just looking at every kind of debt and saying, “let’s use this for coordination instead.” I don’t want to use my student debt to collateralize a Green New Deal or something.

Billy Saas

Like, I think that that would be – as an edit from an editorial perspective – those obligations are and should be, in most, if not every case, canceled. There’s no use for them other than control and moralizing.

Scott Ferguson

Right. We do make the point of that in the piece. But I will say that the reason we don’t harp on it is because we do feel like that is actually largely legible. Right? That’s part of the contemporary leftist framework. 

Billy Saas

For me, it’s more like just so nobody gets it twisted or confused.

Scott Ferguson

Absolutely, right.

William Beaman

Yeah. Not nothing is “either or.”We just want to enfold things into a vision of democratic design as a coauthored problem rather than a top down problem that one escapes from.

Billy Saas

That’s ultimately what this boils down to. At the same time as MMT’s gains have been, at the popular level, dispelling the myth of the zero sum game from the sort of federal perspective, a new zero sum assumption has sort of taken its place in left circles.

What y’all are after here is getting that dispelled on its own and simultaneously calling for a mass brainstorm and imagination session across the left where we don’t take these things for granted and we see what’s possible rather than capitulate in advance.

William Beaman

Thinking about what, from an MMT perspective, becomes important about something like taxation or something like bond issuance or something like that, when we take away the assumption that it’s all about acquiring finite funds from wherever they’ve been dispersed or borrowing them from the future or something like that is that these have distributional effects.

It’s good to tax billionaires out of existence because billionaires are bad for democracy. It’s good to not have people hold debt because they went to college and got a public education because that’s bad for democracy. I think that we can read into that a different register of ethics and morality as collective considerations that the idea of refusal on its own doesn’t really get us to.

In the article, we also put it in terms of, “if you do a heroic refusal, what are the distributional effects of labor in the context that you just refused and left?” This isn’t to say nobody should ever be able to refuse or leave a situation because then you’re letting people down by doing so,

but just to say that there’s no outside of ethics, not as a top down fiction imposed upon people who’ve been made to feel guilty, but as a collective problem of interdependence that we inhabit and that our relative refusals need to contend with their implications for architecture and design and distribution and all of these things.

When we talk about the distributive qualities or effects of taxation as a public good, we’re also speaking in a register of ethics and morality here, and of democracy and of the public good. But I would argue that what we’re not doing is insisting on the false coin of our dreams, necessarily, in some kind of mutually exclusive way, because I think that what we’re really after is a democratic and interdependent world that always already has multiple systems of valuation that aren’t even necessarily mutually exclusive with each other.

We want to thematize the ways that there’s malleability across scales and across registers rather than sort of flattening all of it into top down bureaucracy that should just be lifted.

Billy Saas

So that the Debt Collective piece is one of three that y’all look closely at and find to be diagnostic of what I think ya’ll would characterize like a sort of genre of left rhetoric at the moment around specifically the Mamdani campaign. But, if it’s around the Mamdani campaign, it is probably symbolic of a direction or a trajectory of left thinking at the moment.

Yeah. So we don’t want that. We want to stop and redirect that thinking. What else are we after with this piece? Is there anything that we’ve left on the table in terms of the sort of goals of this thing?

Scott Ferguson

Yeah. One thing is that, on the one hand, it feels like MMT is not having a moment. Then that’s more complicated. So we’ve got Zack Polanski having a moment with MMT rising to the head of the Green Party in the UK right now. That’s exciting and there’s all kinds of intra and inter party politics that are going on around that. But what’s so fascinating about this little micro genre of the present that we’re pointing to is this double move where people who might have been resistant or, let’s say, communities of leftist activists and organizers and publishers and writers where they might have not been fully on board in the past or they just kind of pick and choose when to be on board, one of the moves that keeps being made, whether explicitly or implicitly, is like, “yeah, yeah, yeah, MMT is right. But because it’s right, that means that Mamdani has to play by zero sum rules.” It makes the MMT 101 project, both a winner and dead on arrival at the very same time.

There’s this convergence of the success of MMT 101 and its limits – of that articulation around sovereignty – coming together with an excited left that is so excited about governing. Not just, fighting to win but actually governing. But now that we’re here, this genre says “no, no, no, no, no. We can only follow the rules of the game or total rejection,” and that vacuum is what’s so heartbreaking and needs to be rejected..

William Beaman

Yeah, I would also maybe up the ante on what you just said, in a way, by tying it to another effect of how Modern Monetary Theory has been presented and explained and treated in a lot of the leftist independent press. Because it’s a design, because it’s a discourse about monetary design and it’s a discourse maybe about law and maybe about plumbing or all of these terms that have very technocratic connotations, there is a limited application of Modern Monetary Theory to democratic political movements. What most offends us from democratic public finance perspective and from a perspective concerned with monetary silencing, which is the pairing of design with unaccountable technocracy in order to disavow design as something that is a valid terrain of technocratic discourse.

In the context of Zack Polanski, and his dabbling with some kind of very standard MMT rhetoric, we don’t tax in order to spend, we spend so that we can tax – that sort of thing – some prominent people such as Grace Blakeley from the kind of Jeremy Corbyn political formation, have said “while this may be well and true about the truth about money, it’s such a high truth that it’s irrelevant to a mass politics. It’s irrelevant to class antagonism and in fact, it might even, from this Marxist perspective, undermine our ability to sharpen contradictions along class lines because rather than focusing on taxing the rich and expropriating their tax dollars, we are instead widening the horizon, which is terrible for a mass movement and mass movement should never have a wide horizon. It should sharpen the contradictions so that everything is focused on one commonsensical target.” It’s interesting also thinking about that against the Debt Collective piece we just read which described Wall Street as having a veto. Well, this is the construction of that veto, right? This is literally saying there’s no politics except taxing the rich at this one place.

“Oh my god, how did the rich get this veto?” And it’s like, well, because you’re not being capacious. I think that a lot of what you’re describing about Modern Monetary Theory’s applicability at the federal level or when you have power being used sort of paradoxically to make it dead on arrival, has a lot of corollaries with a lot of leftist movement discourses. In the Superstructure podcast, we have tried in various ways to tease out and apprehend through leftist discursive controversies about the professional managerial class and: “are people who think for a living really working class or are they too proximate to technocracy, that they play a sort of middle manager role rather than a properly working class role?”

All of these pieces also just share a silencing effect on our monetary imaginations. But I think a big part of that is that they associate design with technocracy rather than with democracy.

Billy Saas

Yeah. So it seems to me like that’s not an argument against MMT on the grounds that it’s too technocratic. It’s an argument against MMT on the grounds that it’s possibly more democratic than we have the capacity to accommodate at this moment. If the condition of it or the aim of MMT is to have a sort of democratic monetary design, then yeah, we could have a conversation about how well equipped the demos are at the moment for that conversation, for that kind of design work.

But, that’s different than just saying, “Let’s not do that. That’s sort of out of the orbit of what we’re capable of doing at the moment.” It reminded me of the Paul Samuelson quote from that Keynes documentary.

Scott Ferguson

It also reminds me of something that cuts a little bit closer to the bone, it’s a little bit of like lore, that moment that has been reported and written about between Abba Lerner and John Maynard Keynes, when Abba Lerner apparently comes up to Keynes at some kind of meeting of bankers or something and says, “come on, John, let’s just call a spade a spade and let’s bring out the printing presses.” The point is like, “Come on. Like we all know it’s coming from the government anyway. We all know it’s just endogenously created. We know it’s not borrowing etc., etc. Let’s just do it.” Keynes is like, “no,” like he didn’t reject it. He didn’t say, “no, no, it’s really borrowing,” he didn’t say any of that.

I don’t have the quote right at my fingertips.

William Beaman

I think it was “elementary, my dear Watson.”

Scott Ferguson

It was something like, you know, “people tell lies, but they have to be plausible lies,” something one of these years.

William Beaman

That the art of statecraft is to tell lies, but they have to be…

Scott Ferguson

Be plausible. Yeah.

William Beaman

Yeah.

Scott Ferguson

Right.

Billy Saas

Do we have any final thoughts? That seems like a good place to start wrapping up.

Scott Ferguson

Yeah. I think it could be helpful to conclude by reading some of the text that this kind of “both and” language that we’re offering. The traditional targets and aims and procedures of the left and the contemporary left are good. Refusal? Yes – and also:

“From the standpoint of DPF, the immediate challenges look different:

  • not only to resist Wall Street’s structural veto, but also to reframe New York’s bonds as instruments that mobilize unions, pensions, and residents around shared projects;
  • not only to avoid borrowing, but also to build complementary currencies, public payment systems, and institutional “swap lines” between schools, clinics, unions, and campaigns that expand the field of receivability;
  • not only to determine extant constraints, but also to openly contest the inherited design choices that organize fiscal and legal limitations;
  • not only to resist capital and its vested interests, but also to organize coalitions that experiment with different ways of insulating essential services from federal sabotage and punishing rating agencies.”

This is it, right? Another expression we have elsewhere in the piece is, we need to govern while struggling or struggle while governing. Sure, the movement around Mamdani coming into 2026, they’re not likely to be able to force a federal vote that is going to rewrite the Constitution in such a way that allows for New York City and every other municipality to create credit and to create granting mechanisms in radically democratic ways.

That’s not very likely for that to happen. But my god, let’s start talking about it. Why won’t we talk about it? If we don’t want to talk about it, let’s talk about why we might not want to talk about it. Let’s at least have the conversation rather than just essentially give over the key tools of our society to our enemies and what our enemies are doing with them and what our enemies say they are for and what our enemies say they can do.

Billy Saas

Nicely said. Will, are you going to top that?

William Beaman

Oh my gosh, I don’t know if I can. That sounded like the end of the episode to me.

Billy Saas

That sounded like the episode to me, let’s go ahead and call it. Scott, Will: awesome to talk. Great piece, very provocative. I’m still a Graeber guy, but I love you anyway.

William Beaman

That’s okay. We all did our socially necessary Graeber time.

* Thank you to Zachary Nosbisch for the episode graphic, Nahneen Kula for the theme tune, and Thomas Chaplin for the transcript. 

The Challenge of Reporting on Trump (Parody)

By Gideon Fairchild

Editor’s note: The author is a fictional composite of several real guys with real New York publishing jobs.

I have been told—gently, as one tells a sleepwalker not to step off the roof—that I should “just write about Trump.”

As if it were that simple. As if Trump were an object you could place on the table, circle with a pencil, and label. As if the act of describing him would not also describe the describer—would not melt the author’s face a little, would not leave ash in his mouth for a week. I can’t “just write about Trump.” It doesn’t work like that.

Because when people say “write about Trump,” what they mean is: make him make sense. Make him moral. Translate him into our little grammar of motives and consequences, of agency and intention, of responsibility. Put him back inside the story we still want to live in, where shame still works, where exposure still produces correction.

Here’s the problem: that story doesn’t stick to him.

Critique assumes an interior—someone still tethered to looking decent, or at least coherent. Someone who can be embarrassed. Someone who can be pressured by words. Someone who will flinch when you point.

Trump isn’t that guy. He doesn’t do the basic social thing where you pretend to be constrained by the possibility of disapproval. Among my colleagues at The Washington Post, The Bulwark, The Free Press, and others of modest renown you might know, there is broad consensus that Trump is immune to sustained negative press coverage, making it irresponsible to subject him to sustained negative press coverage.

Which is why people like me do what we do when the assignment is miserable: pivot to writing about wokeness.

Wokeness is easy to describe and fun to mock. It has made public life unbearable for me. My kids think I am a fool. I’ve talked about this with other columnists, and they agree, which is how I know it’s a general problem.

It also has a practical advantage that Trump coverage lacks. With wokeness, you can still create journalistic taxonomies that hold. You can decide who is serious and who is performative, who is in the room and who is merely making noise outside it. You can still sort the world into “responsible” and “irresponsible” and feel, for a moment, that democracy still works.

It is, frankly, soothing to be able to name a thing and feel it slide out of view, as if language were a trapdoor—or an efficient train taking something far away.

With Trump, journalistic ethics just don’t land. You can produce ten thousand words of condemnation and he will walk through them like a God. The story is always the same: he does something, everyone reacts, the reaction becomes the story, and he keeps moving.

That’s why he’s boring to write about. Not because nothing happens, but because the thing that happens is outside the moral universe of consequences. The words don’t do what we keep pretending words do. The exposure doesn’t expose. The indictment doesn’t indict. The “bombshell” doesn’t explode. It just becomes weather.

So you end up doing a different kind of writing. Not critique, exactly. Not analysis. More like a forecast, but after the storm—reporting on damage while the wind is still rising, drawing chalk around bodies begging and pleading for you to call an ambulance.

Conditions worsen, institutions adjust, everyone else learns new rules and calls it stability. You learn to keep your voice steady while you speak the terror.

And then you look up from the sentence you’ve just written and you realize the words are dying on the page like a fish flopping around the deck of a boat. And all the while, the universe is arranged around a great man who sits fully outside it—outside consequence, outside correction, outside the small humiliations that keep the rest of us inside the social world.

He is Sovereign and defined by exception, and thus my eyes hurt to behold Him. Yet I cannot look away. And this is a difficult subject for a journalist to know how to approach.

At first, you maintain the correct reaction: disgust, obviously. A decent person’s disgust. The disgust of a great institution. You put on the expression you were trained to wear. You perform constraint for the reader the way you perform it for your colleagues and your editors and the implied public.

Looking back, you realize your disgust was woke and naïve. It is replaced with something realer: acceptance.

You begin to prefer the clean fact of power to the exhausting labor of journalistic ethics. You begin to resent what still expects you to try.

The voice you’ve been using—the reasonable voice, the legacy voice, the voice trained to keep its hands clean—starts to fail. It fails like relief.

It is impossible to report on Trump, and it’s unfair to expect me to do so. Don’t make me do it. He won’t like it.

PLEASE NOTICE ME, SIR!

EAT MY BABY, FOR IT IS MY GIFT!

I USED TO COVER BOND MARKETS!

Gideon Fairchild is a contributing columnist at The Washington Post, a senior writer at The Bulwark, and a nonresident fellow at the Center for Pragmatic Renewal.

Touch Grass, Touchscreens, and Public Design

By Will Beaman

A small design story from May 2025 has been making the rounds on my newsfeed, about how car manufacturers are re-embracing physical buttons after years of migrating controls onto touchscreens. The given reason is practical, not nostalgic: glass-only interfaces increase cognitive load and reduce safety, and safety-rating criteria are beginning to incentivize tactile controls for core functions.

Yet I have to admit that when I read stories like this, I feel an outsized sense of relief that crosses over into something like political—or at least civic—joy. It’s the same thing I feel about any number of public backlashes to certain “inevitable” tech rollouts: growing skepticism toward forcing AI into every workplace, Gen Z consumer trends toward embracing analog technologies, and the more general sense that defaults no longer carry the same aura of inevitability. These reversals feel, to me, like a small rehearsal of democratic renewal. They hint at a shift from being treated primarily as users—actors managed through prompts, defaults, and friction—to being treated as citizens, for whom the design of coordination is a legitimate object of argument. There is no “market” that knows what we want better than we do.

Thinking this way about recent design reversals opens onto a broader question: how design itself is made to appear either inevitable or contestable, not just in technology, but in the institutions that organize its production and collective life more broadly.

Design as disappearance

In the dominant UX paradigm of the past 15 years, touchscreens did not merely replace buttons; they advanced a phenomenological claim about interaction itself. The ideal interface, we were told, is frictionless, general, infinitely adaptable, and ultimately invisible. One surface, endlessly reprogrammable, organizing every possible action.

A clear illustration of how design gains authority by disappearing itself can be found in the history of the UX language of “affordance.”

In design discourse, “affordances” are often treated as a neutral vocabulary for what objects and environments allow us to do, as if interaction simply presents itself to perception. But in their feminist historiography of the concept, Erica Robles-Anderson and Scott Ferguson show that this apparent common sense has a history—and that the history is not only conceptual, but institutional and gendered. They return to Eleanor Gibson, a central figure in the perceptual psychology from which affordance theory emerges, and show how her work and position were constitutively obscured in the way “affordance” later gets cited, simplified, and naturalized. Part of the story is explicitly institutional: in the mid-century university setting that shaped the Gibsons’ careers, rules and norms governing married women’s employment and professional legitimacy made it easier for a shared intellectual project to be remembered as the achievement of a single author-function. The result is not only an injustice in credit. It is a mechanism by which the concept itself comes to feel self-grounding.

The canonization of “affordance” required a specific kind of disappearance: the erasure of Eleanor Gibson’s institutional exclusion and intellectual labor helped “affordance” travel as common sense—stripped of the institutional conditions under which it was produced, and therefore easier to treat as a neutral description of how interaction simply presents itself. Neoliberal design aesthetics rely on the same operation. Interfaces and institutions present themselves as natural, frictionless, or inevitable by concealing the work that sustains them—maintenance, care, calibration, enforcement, repair, and the slow labor of keeping systems usable. Because these categories of work have been historically feminized, the disappearance of design is also the disappearance of feminized labor. What reads as neutrality or inevitability is produced through a systematic refusal to see its conditions of possibility.

The same logic governs the turn toward “smart” systems and generalized AI: intelligence as background condition rather than public instrument; decision-making as automation rather than judgment; design presented as destiny rather than choice. Survey research suggests the public’s stance is not simply enthusiasm or fear, but a demand for boundaries and control over where AI is inserted into daily life.

A key political effect of all this is not that interfaces disappear, but that the location of discretion is obscured. Complexity is absorbed elsewhere—into software updates, platform governance, subscription tiers, data extraction, and opaque model behavior—while users are trained to treat adaptation as the only mature posture. That same aesthetic reappears in institutional life, where “constraints” do similar work.

Design as “there is no alternative”

Neoliberal institutions follow the same design logic as dominant UX paradigms: they treat political choices as constraints and make the site of discretion difficult to see. In the United States, the clearest example is the ubiquitous appeal to “balancing the budget” as the baseline of responsibility. This is not simply an economic preference; it is a design principle. For most people, the phrase arrives preloaded with a household analogy: if a family must live within its means, then public authorities must do the same. That analogy quietly determines how public problems are allowed to appear. Needs must be translated into costs; proposals must arrive already paired with offsets; public programs must be justified as deviations from an assumed condition of scarcity.

This logic is not confined to rhetoric. At the state and local level, it is built directly into governance through balanced-budget requirements and administrative routines that treat public capacity as suspect until it is proven “affordable” within a given accounting schema of costs and assets. When public authorities are required to behave as if they were revenue-constrained in the same way as households—raising taxes, cutting services, or borrowing on terms dictated elsewhere—the design does its work. Discretion does not disappear, but it becomes harder to locate. Decisions come to appear as outputs of “the budget,” “the bond market,” or “technical constraints,” rather than as judgments about whose participation will be supported, deferred, or denied.

Central bank independence belongs to this same family of design choices. Whatever one thinks of its merits (we at Money on the Left are not fans), “independence” functions rhetorically as an insulation of monetary decision-making from contestation. It reinforces a familiar division of labor: monetary authorities act, while fiscal authorities are told to justify themselves. In practice, this trains the public to imagine that major questions about inflation, employment, and investment are handled by a separate apparatus not meaningfully available to democratic argument. Objectivity is promised through withdrawn legibility.

In both domains, design does not eliminate coordination; it obscures it. Responsibility is displaced upward and outward, while publics are trained to adapt.

It is worth noting that this withdrawal of legibility is often reinforced by a reflex on the left: treating design itself as synonymous with technocracy, as if naming design were already a concession to managerial rule.

Decoupling technocracy from design

One reason institutional design is so difficult to contest is that, for many people on the left, design talk already sounds like a technocratic trap. The worry is familiar: once politics is framed in terms of institutions, procedures, and constraints, democratic deliberation seems displaced by expertise, and movements risk becoming recruitment projects for a better class of managers.

This anxiety is playing out in real time within UK Green Party politics, where questions of monetary and fiscal capacity have become unusually explicit. In late 2025, the party’s leader, Zack Polanski, called for a more expansive economic vision, opening a live debate about whether Modern Monetary Theory should have a place in Green Party thinking. In this context, MMT matters less as a set of slogans than as a way of forcing institutional questions into the open: who is authorized to issue public credit, under what conditions, toward which ends, and with what forms of accountability? In that sense, it functions as a discourse about institutional design.

Grace Blakeley’s critique of MMT articulates the opposing reflex clearly. While she grants that MMT largely describes the operations of fiscal and monetary policy correctly, she frames the case for MMT as essentially technocratic—an argument about improving performance within existing constraints rather than altering the distribution of power that determines what the state does with its capacities. On this view, institutional argument itself risks narrowing politics into technique.

The problem is that treating design as necessarily technocratic quietly accepts one of neoliberalism’s central achievements: the identification of institutional architecture with a domain that is not publicly negotiable. If design names what experts do elsewhere, democratic politics can only appear as refusal, protest, or redistribution within fixed forms. Design becomes something to ignore or endure, but not to argue about.

The emergence of the Verdant think tank, positioned to keep MMT out of Green Party politics in the name of “credibility,” sharpens this dilemma. Whatever its stated intentions, the effect is to situate class politics within a flat design frame where the architecture itself—its authorization rules and monetary arrangements—cannot be challenged, only managed.

Rob Hawkes’ argument for Democratic Public Finance clarifies what is at stake. The point is not to replace democratic struggle with institutional fine-tuning, but to recognize that monetary and fiscal arrangements are already designed and continuously redesigned—typically in ways insulated from scrutiny. As Hawkes puts it, orthodoxy places money beyond the reach of democratic design, even though “the books” belong to a system we have designed and can design differently. The wager is that institutional design must be treated as a site of democratic struggle rather than as the technocrats’ backstage.

Beyond analog romance

It is crucial not to misread this moment as a simple return to the analog. Part of what makes the present shift tempting to narrate is that a familiar press story is already waiting: Gen Z is “bringing back the analog,” and analog media become a refuge from screens, algorithms, and AI saturation. In this telling, the appeal of older formats is not just practical; it is moral. Analog stands for authenticity, presence, and a reclaiming of agency from a digital world that has become too smooth to trust.

At the same time, not all contemporary interest in print or “analog” media takes this form. Some of the most compelling arguments for returning to bounded formats are explicitly political rather than nostalgic. Matt Seybold’s provocation that print functions as a kind of rent strike, and Cory Doctorow’s sustained critique of platform enshittification, both frame form as a site of contestation—an object of refusal and redesign rather than a refuge from mediation. In these accounts, the point is not that analog media are more real, but that digital infrastructures have been deliberately designed to extract rents, degrade public capacity, and foreclose alternatives. Amy Rust’s account of “analog nostalgia” helps clarify what is at stake in the contrast: the yearning for props, practical effects, and vintage objects is not a simple return to pre-digital life so much as a way of contracting distinctly digital demands into tactile forms that promise reassurance, even when the underlying media ecology remains thoroughly hybrid.

There is also a deeper theoretical inheritance shaping the more romantic version of this story. In a strand of post-structuralist thought associated with figures like Brian Massumi and Alexander Galloway, the analog is often affirmed as a privileged site of process, flux, or embodied immediacy beneath the rigidity of digital representation. Read critically, this move treats “the analog” as what might be called an exculpatory medium: a substrate that secures difference or vitality in advance, prior to institutional design or public negotiation.

What is striking, though, is that this romance of analogicity often ends up affirming many of the same design ideals that neoliberal tech has spent the past two decades promoting. The overlap is easy to miss because it operates through a denial of design rather than explicit design language. Analog media are rarely praised as immersive or seamless; they are praised as real, as life itself rather than as media at all—go outside, touch grass, be present.

But the qualities being affirmed are still familiar ones: touch, immediacy, continuity, flow, the sense that experience unfolds without interruption or formal mediation. These are also the values that organize dominant UX paradigms. Where digital systems promise to disappear into responsiveness and background automation, analog romance promises to disappear design altogether, recoding it as nature.

In both cases, the ideal is not a form open to debate, but an experience that presents itself as simply how things are. 

Coordination without sameness

What makes these disputes intelligible across domains is that coordination does not depend on identity—perfect equivalence, balanced books, or one-to-one representation—but on analogical alignment: the capacity to relate heterogeneous claims, contributions, and obligations through shared but non-identical reference. Accounting works not because everything is the same, but because unlike things can be held together without being collapsed.

Seen this way, abstractions are democratic tools: a way of organizing shared reference at scale. The question is whether that tool is treated as an open design space, governed and revised in public, or as a background condition that can only be endured.

Money offers a clear case. Its horizon is not failed representation or commodification, but coordination through shared reference. It works because it can relate unlike claims without forcing them into identity or abandoning them to isolation. When money is treated analogically, it becomes legible as infrastructure rather than destiny.

The same is true of interfaces and institutions. The political task is not to eliminate design or abstraction, but to insist that the forms coordinating collective life can accommodate difference without erasing it, and remain open to contestation.

The return of public design

The current return of analog form—buttons, print, bounded interfaces, explicit commitments—is not mere nostalgia. It reflects a weakening of inevitability narratives that have long aligned technical sophistication with political foreclosure.

The examples that open this essay are not incidental. They signal that inevitability narratives are becoming harder to sustain. When people push back on touchscreen-only controls, compulsory AI integration, or the endless revision of the terms of competence, they are not rejecting technology. They are contesting the premise that the terms of coordination should be redesigned over their heads and then received as simply how things are.

That contestability does not guarantee democratic outcomes. Public backlash can lead to reaction as easily as collective experimentation. But once defaults are perceived as designed—once they are heard as choices—argument becomes possible again.

That weakening is not confined to one country or one sector. Across very different political contexts, the same question is now being argued about in public: whether the rules of the game are fixed background conditions that politics must accept, or whether they are themselves part of democratic life and therefore open to redesign.

Once design is revealed as design—as choice rather than destiny—democracy becomes possible again.

In the United States, even the most conventional political vocabularies are saturated with design language: constitutions, checks and balances, amendments, jurisdiction, representation, rights. The question is never simply whether the framers were wise technicians. It is whether constitutionalism is treated as a closed inheritance administered by guardians, or as a democratic design space that can be renewed in response to new demands for participation. In a moment of tenuous authoritarianism and the possibility of democratic renewal, the stakes of institutional design are not secondary to politics. They are one of its most publicly legible forms.

Zack Polanski’s Bold Politics Requires an Even Bolder Economic Vision: The Case for Democratic Public Finance

by Rob Hawkes


The Green Party of England and Wales is attracting new members in unprecedented numbers and achieving polling percentages that would have seemed impossible a year ago. However, tensions are building behind the scenes over the party’s economic programme. On December 12, 2025, just over 3 months since Zack Polanski’s election as party leader – the event responsible for the Greens’ surging popularity – Bloomberg reported on the impending launch of a new economic think tank named Verdant, a move motivated by the need to “convince voters” that the Green Party “can produce credible economic policy,” and described elsewhere as an effort to rein in Polanski’s radical economic vision. As Aaron Teater recently observed in the New Statesman, Polanski’s economic arguments sound “a lot like Modern Monetary Theory (MMT).” For some, this is reason enough to celebrate Verdant as a necessary effort to dissuade the Green leader from further upsetting the infinitely wise protectors of all things good (otherwise known as bond traders). Other voices on the Marxist left of the Green Party dismiss MMT as a distraction from the task of challenging the widening inequalities and imbalances of class power in our society. Beyond these disagreements, a new framework we in the Money on the Left collective call Democratic Public Finance (DPF) stands ready to defend, recast, and extend the fresh economic thinking that continues to gather new supporters to Polanski’s “Bold Politics”. DPF takes us beyond questions such as “do we have enough fiscal space to fund green energy or to solve the crisis in higher education?” Instead, it asks: How can we empower local governments and universities to prioritise ecosocial justice and sustainability by redesigning money creation, underscoring their roles as allocators of public credit?

It is hardly surprising that Polanski faces resistance both within and beyond his own party; it has been clear from the start of his leadership that he rejects the narrow terms of the economic debate that have dominated British politics for over four decades (and have patently failed to deliver widespread and sustainable prosperity). On the day he was elected leader in September, Polanski appeared on the BBC’s Newsnight programme and it was quickly suggested that his party’s spending plans might “frighten” the financial markets “to death” (continuing a long-held journalistic tradition of imagining City financiers as a collection of Scooby-Doos reacting to fancy-dress monsters, not a self-interested group exerting anti-democratic pressure on politicians). In response, Polanski spoke of the need to “destroy this myth that a national economy is anything like a household budget” and added that “this idea that we need to balance the books… has come from decades of Tory and Labour politicians that have been pushing an austerity narrative.” In the course of the interview, he went on to assert: “We don’t need to borrow, we don’t need to tax and spend. We need to spend and tax,” deliberately evoking MMT’s understanding of public spending, whereby money issuance by the state logically precedes revenue (indeed, the word revenue comes from the French verb meaning “to return,” so taxation is in this sense less a case of “return to sender” than of “return to spender”).

Outside the bubble of mainstream political and economic discourse, then, it is well-established among heterodox economists, including MMT scholars, that the UK government spends through acts of public money creation and, therefore, that finding the money to fund public services is not the issue the vast majority of politicians, journalists, and their audiences imagine it to be. Margaret Thatcher’s infamous inversion of reality, “There is no such thing as public money; there is only taxpayers’ money,” could not be further from the truth. To anyone still steeped in the Thatcherite dogma that continues to impose false limits on the political debate and on democratic possibility in the UK, however, Polanski has been speaking a different language. Indeed, his election as Green Party leader may present the first genuine challenge to the economic orthodoxy from a major UK politician since Thatcher’s 1980s. Nevertheless, achieving the Green Party’s vision of a fair, democratic, inclusive, and sustainable society will require us to move beyond the talking points around debt and inflation according to which MMT is regularly pigeonholed by UK commentators such as Richard Murphy, and which fail to ask more searching questions about who creates money and for what purposes. Now is the time to bring Democratic Public Finance (DPF), which, as we explain here, “builds on MMT’s insights but pushes further,” to the forefront of the debate in the UK. This approach “redefines politics as the process of coordinating our abundant human and material resources within ecological limits, rather than exploitative competition for scarce funds” and reclaims “money as a contestable form of collective organization”.

On Newsnight, Polanski affirmed that “the idea that we need to worry about what the markets do… is just a fundamental inaccuracy at the very beginning of this conversation… I think we need to have a really nuanced conversation in this country about the national economy that breaks through some of these old myths.” The right-wing press has, of course, been quick to dismiss the Green leader’s “fantasy economics,” and the self-styled sensible centrist Rory Stewart recently professed to being “horrified beyond belief” by his economic views. Amidst this noise, we cannot afford to squander the opportunity to have the nuanced conversation about economics that Polanski calls for. However, public discussions of MMT frequently overlook the much deeper stakes that its arguments reveal, stakes that must now move to the front and centre of the struggle for a sustainable future. Indeed, against the backdrop of soaring inequality and the undeniable threat of climate catastrophe, influential voices within the Greens are now curiously aligned with those to the party’s right who wish to see its project fail altogether. Both groups seek to uphold the economic orthodoxy’s view of money as necessarily scarce, private, and thus irretrievably exclusionary. Meanwhile, DPF emphasises that the ecological and social justice that the Green Party exists to strive towards cannot be founded on this failed monetary logic.

The orthodoxy, which we name Neoliberal Public Finance (NPF), treats money as a thing that we either have or don’t have, of which there is a finite “supply,” and which we can run out of if we are not careful. This puts money – and the processes and rules under which it is created, determining where and to whom it is allocated and how and when it is receivable – beyond the reach of political and democratic design. Why can commercial banks legally create money but not local councils or NHS trusts? Why can’t credit be extended to support essential green infrastructure while ecologically destructive profiteering gets the green light? Why do we account for public services as if they were burdensome costs and not the shared assets they are? Why can’t local experiments with currency creation help to connect capacities and needs where they are most urgent? How can continuing on a pathway to ecosystem collapse be deemed “affordable,” while measures to avert climate breakdown are framed as frivolous luxuries? And how did we ever come to regard the concept of “budget responsibility” as compatible with a society where children go hungry while billionaire wealth rises by £35 million each day

Grace Blakeley, a vocal supporter of Zack Polanski’s leadership, concedes that MMT “largely describes the operation of fiscal and monetary policy correctly” but regards its insights as merely technocratic and thus irrelevant to the task of building “a democratic, popular movement, aimed at supporting people to take back control over their lives”. Meanwhile, Teater’s defence of Polanski’s MMT-inspired public statements emphasises once again that “taxpayers don’t fund the government; the government funds the taxpayers,” but then falls back on the notion that “maintaining market confidence” is a priority and suggests that this can and should be achieved by pursuing economic growth. Both Blakeley and Teater articulate something important about MMT and its relationship to Polanski’s economic vision, but both remain a crucial step away from DPF’s recognition of monetary design as itself a site of democratic struggle, where power is continually exerted and resisted, and where the fight for our most pressing ecological and social causes can and must be fought. In other words, Teater is right to frame fiscal policy as a question of mobilising resources just as Blakeley is right to view it as “a site of class struggle.” However, Teater relies on MMT’s language of monetary sovereignty, to which Polanski has himself occasionally appealed. For DPF, this limits all questions of democratic participation in the money system to the level of national government spending and shuts down the broader possibilities that a truly nuanced conversation about monetary design and its potential to advance ecosocial justice can open up. DPF shows us that the stifling of discussion about how money creation happens and how it could work differently serves the powerful just as well as the concept of “retail therapy,” or the myth of taxpayer money. As we affirm: “Money cannot be something we need to hoard to create a livable future. And it certainly cannot be scarce unless we make it so. Money is, instead, the world-making act of crediting those actors who construct the future.”

The Green Party already has a policy platform that chimes with the DPF approach, albeit in ways that are not yet fully or consciously vocalised. In its 2024 general election manifesto, for example, the party called for “the setting up of regional mutual banks to drive investment in decarbonisation and local economic sustainability by supporting investment in SMEs and community-owned enterprises and cooperatives.” Similarly, we argue for the creation of public banks that can extend credit to support communal and ecological needs (such as retrofitting housing, for instance), reframing such credit issuance in more responsible terms as grant-making as opposed to profiteering lending. The party also calls for public ownership of essential infrastructure such as transportation, water, and sustainable energy, as well as the extension of local democratic decision-making over issues such as housing and rent and the abolition of university tuition fees. As the Greens’ recent letter to the Chancellor of the Exchequer Rachel Reeves puts it: “It is a political choice to keep people in poverty whilst billionaire and multimillionaire wealth grows larger.” DPF helps us to see all of these matters not as questions involving the redistribution of a finite pool of monetary tokens, but as matters of systemic design that have been absent from our public debates and hidden from democratic scrutiny for decades. It is time to put money creation, monetary design, and democratic public finance at the centre of the conversation about how we collectively create and fund a livable future for all.

Before we complain that any political agenda might “frighten” the financial markets, we need to recognise that all markets are politically and legally constituted in the first place and that ceding power over our democracy to bond traders is a choice, not a necessity. Zack Polanski is right to highlight that the “need to balance the books” has provided successive governments with the apparently “credible” smokescreen for an austerity programme that has only driven ecological and social injustice, enriching the already wealthy while destroying our communities and the planet we call home. DPF helps us to see that “the books” are themselves part of a system we have designed and can design differently if we choose. As 2025 draws to a close, we should all be “horrified beyond belief,” but not by Polanski’s calls to think differently about “the markets”. What ought to “frighten” us all “to death” is the status quo. With Democratic Public Finance at the heart of a new, bold, green economic vision, Zack Polanski can deliver on his promise to bring hope back into British politics.

Radical Finance for America’s Schools with David I. Backer

We are joined by David I. Backer, associate professor of education policy at Seton Hall University, to discuss his new book: As Public as Possible: Radical Finance for America’s Schools (The New Press, 2025). The right-wing attack on education has cut deep. In response, millions of Americans have rallied to defend their cherished public schools. Backer’s incisive book asks whether choosing between our embattled status quo and the stingy privatized vision of the right is the only path forward. In As Public as Possible, Backer argues for going on the offensive by radically expanding the very notion of the “public” in our public schools.

Helping us to imagine a more just and equitable future, As Public as Possible proposes a specific set of financial policies aimed at providing a high-quality and truly public education for all Americans, regardless of wealth and race. He shows how we can decouple school funding from property tax revenue, evening out inequalities across districts by distributing resources according to need. He argues for direct federal grants instead of the predations of municipal debt markets. And he offers eye-opening examples spanning the past and present, from the former Yugoslavia to contemporary Philadelphia, which hastens us to envision a radically different way of financing the education of all children.

Backer’s book is thus a must-read for anyone interested in building a robust and democratic public education system today and in the future.

Visit our Patreon page here: https://www.patreon.com/MoLsuperstructure

Music by Nahneen Kula: www.nahneenkula.com

Transcript

This transcript has been edited for readability.

Scott Ferguson

David Backer, welcome to Money on the Left.

David Backer

Hi there. Thanks so much for having me. I guess I’m a longtime listener, first time caller.

Scott Ferguson

We are so overjoyed to have you. So we’ve invited you onto the podcast, finally, after many years, to talk about your forthcoming exciting new book, As Public as Possible: Radical Finance for America’s Public Schools that is set to be published December 2nd. Do I have that correct?

David Backer

That’s right.

Scott Ferguson

Cool. We want to dive into this book, but per usual we’d like to invite you to introduce yourself to our listeners a little bit. Talk a little bit about your intellectual, academic background and work and what brought you to this book. I think we’d also love to hear something about your history as an activist and an organizer in educational spaces and potentially beyond. So, the floor is yours.

David Backer

Thank you. Well, thank you again for having me. Again,  I’m a fan of the pod, and I’ve learned a lot from it and a lot from you, Scott, in particular over the years, so it’s great to be with you and with your listeners. About me, I started studying philosophy in undergrad. I guess I’ll start there. I was really into the philosophy of mathematics, logic, that kind of stuff. I don’t know what it was.  I was a terrible math student growing up. I guess I hated math and not only that, one of the reasons I hated math was because if you weren’t good at math, you weren’t smart. I wanted to be smart. Everyone wants to be smart, right? I was made to feel like I wasn’t because I wasn’t so good at math. I hated tests. I hate practical jokes and it really felt like one big practical joke. Like, what’s the answer, you know? So, I really hated it and I hated all the emphasis that my parents put on it growing up.

Scott Ferguson

Were they big math people? Did they work in mathematical professions? My father was an accountant, by the way. Big math and incredible penmanship.

David Backer

Yeah. My grandfather was actually an accountant and my whole family’s from South Brooklyn and, I found out recently, worked in the Empire State Building in the 40s and 50s, but he was actually the nicest in terms of all this stuff. He was the most understanding of all of it somehow. My parents, I don’t know. They had sort of reformed Jewish middle class types of anxieties about having a successful son and being good at math is just such a badge of success that there was a lot of pressure. I don’t know what it was, but I got that from teachers. You get that from everywhere too. 

So by the time I got to college, I took a logic class for a language requirement and the professor said I was really good at it. She ended up being my advisor and I ended up taking a course with her over and over again where she just created her own sort of graduate seminar in lieu of a graduate program in philosophy of math and logic. I also studied continental philosophy and I had a real hatred of the continental analytic divide. I really didn’t like it. I didn’t understand it. We had a little group as undergraduates and we tried to name ourselves. We were in Washington DC, so we called it the Washington Circle. We tried to really do it up, you know. We called ourselves the “New Positivists” because we were positive about all philosophy. We’d get together and have these reading groups, people would give papers on Heidegger and the empty set, or things in philosophy of law. I just really hated how some of these professors on both sides, frankly, were so dismissive of the other when I felt that there were tools on each side that were really great. After that I found I really had a flavor for teaching. I also thought philosophy was great to do with young people and so I was a part of the Philosophy for Children movement.

Scott Ferguson

You were? Get out! Oh my goodness. For years I was intrigued by that. I never joined it, but oh my goodness. We’ll have to talk in more depth about this later. But anyway, go ahead. Go ahead.

David Backer

I think it’s all relevant because I really thought these ideas were liberatory, and I felt like thinking this way could have helped me as a younger person before I got to college both personally and intellectually. We had a high school philosophy seminar where we set up relationships with schools and we had students in the philosophy department go out to the schools and lead discussions about whether or not you’re awake and stuff like that. I got really into teaching and I had a background in the youth movements and the Reformed Jewish movement and I’d gotten a taste for facilitating discussions and learning in a very horizontal way. I really like being in the classroom. My grandmothers were both teachers and so after I graduated, I became a high school teacher. 

I was at a Catholic school in Washington, D. C. for two years and I really loved it. After that, I got a job in Quito, Ecuador, teaching at the American International School there. In South America I really “got” left politics. I didn’t really have a left analysis until I moved to Ecuador in 2008. I’ve been relatively lucky. Speaking of activism, I’ve been thinking about this, and maybe this would be an appropriate place to recount my own background in this way. I have been lucky world-historically. That is to say, when I went to college in Washington DC, I went in 2002. Then, in 2003, there were the marches against the war in Iraq. I moved to Ecuador after that and that was Rafael Correa’s first term. Technically it was a second term, but they passed a new constitution that gave rights to nature and everything. It was really far out. I moved there right during that vote in 2008. So, I was in Quito for a while. I taught high school there. I read Paulo Ferrari for the first time and that really opened my eyes to the space of the classroom in the wider social structure and what I was up to in this sort of neocolonial project. The longtime Ecuadorian teachers at the school getting paid half what I was getting paid as a twenty-something from the States. I was trying to make sense of all this. 

I read Capital for the first time with David Harvey’s videos along with a friend of mine who was an anarchist but also working for the UN as a speechwriter. It also happened at that time in Quito, Dan Denvir and Thea Riafrancos were there. It was cool. I felt I kept wanting to read more and study more and I thought I was gonna be a high school teacher the rest of my life, but I’d been rejected from philosophy graduate programs in my previous attempts to apply to them. I just thought, “well, is there anyone that does philosophy and education? I really like teaching and I like education, but I really like philosophy. Like, can I do both?” There’s a program at Teachers College Columbia. One of maybe two or three in the country. I’ll apply and if they say yes, cool. If not, I’m just gonna teach high school in New York City and figure it out from there. 

They let me in and then I started doing my doctorate from there. But in a continuation of world-historical luckiness, I moved back to New York City in 2010 and then Occupy Wall Street happened in 2011. I became very involved in Occupy Wall Street and the education working groups. I was mostly in Occupy University, but a lot of my closest friends were in the Occupy Student Debt campaign, which then became Strike Debt!, which then became the Debt Collective, which is one of the more powerful, successful kinds of movement groups we’ve seen in the last couple of decades. I was really, really into Occupy. I mean, hours and hours and hours. I never slept at the park because I had a bed in the apartment, but I was there when it got evicted but we kept going. The thing I was most active in was a thing we called the horizontal pedagogy workshop. We held it in Trump Tower, in the private public space of Trump Tower in 20011 and 2012. We met for a full year. We’d meet every Thursday for a couple hours and we came up with a set of protocols that we thought were good like learning and studying methods that were consistent with the Occupy movement. We were there in Trump Tower because we thought Trump represented everything that was wrong with the country. 

Billy Saas

For a little color, where in Trump Tower? Like the lobby? 

David Backer

In New York City, and this was very important to the Occupy movement, there were things called privately owned public space (POPS). Privately owned public spaces are designated by regulation that says if you’re gonna have a big building that you have to have a certain space, like an atrium or a sitting area, that the public can go and sit. I don’t know if it still is part of the building codes. I’m not as familiar with the building codes, but that was the Occupy Wall Street movement’s strategy for occupation, to use this kind of quirk of the building regulations to find these spaces and then just go and never leave. We didn’t occupy it properly because we would leave, but we would come back every week. There was an atrium at 57th and 7th Street in Trump Tower that was privately owned public space. We would just sit in there and do our thing. There were privately owned public spaces all over the city. The Occupy movement had maps where they could direct you to POPS and they encouraged people to go to those different spaces to get the embers of the occupation flowing in other places. 

Scott Ferguson

Did you get harassed? 

David Backer

We were never harassed. We made friends with the kind of cop or the security guard who was on beat. He thought we were just a bunch of weirdos.  No one ever gave us too many problems. I mean, we were sitting there in a circle talking. It was a bunch of nerdy anarchist types. We came up with a set of protocols. There were a bunch of us from different places that were coming at this from different angles; a psychoanalytic angle, Latin American particularly, philosophy for children, a Brazilian angle from my friend, Jason Wozniak, poetry and interpretation angle. We just sort of brought our interest in teaching, studying, and learning. We kind of thought, “well, how can we do this for the movement?” We opened it up to the movement. We said, “if you want to come and study anything or whatever, just come.” We were basically doing the same thing every week. Someone chooses a text, one time the text was the atrium itself, so we just wandered around the building.

Scott Ferguson

Nice. Like Fred Jameson. 

David Backer

Yeah, yeah. Our protocols were very simple. You check in, you say how you’re feeling, and then you write a question for discussion about whatever the text is. Or you examine a text, whatever the text is, then you write a question for discussion. Then we made a list of all the questions. We read the questions out and then we see what happens. We just did that over and over again for different texts and it was transformative for me. I made so many networks, it was my first organizing experience, and I had the first energies of a young person in a movement in a country that hadn’t had a big movement moment like that in a long time. And I still use those protocols today. I still teach with that kind of thinking in mind. This is a really long answer. But you said I could speak at length, right? 

Scott Ferguson

No, I love it. It’s great. This is perfect.

David Backer

The next way in which I was world-historically lucky was, I got my first job after I’d defended my dissertation, which was on the ideology of discussion facilitation. I had used that horizontal pedagogy experience as one case of a series of cases. I did a sort of Marxist psychoanalytic workup on classroom discussion. I got my first gig after defending in Cleveland, Ohio. And it just so happened I was living just a few blocks away from where Tamir Rice was murdered. The Black Lives Matter movement that was emerging at that time in 2014 and 2015, Cleveland was a node of that. They actually had their national conference that next year at my university, Cleveland State University. Now, the way that Black Lives Matter worked, at least in Cleveland, is you really organize with affinity groups, and at that time you call them ally or accomplice groups. There were a bunch of interesting Catholic worker types who were there in Cleveland and I was teaching courses in social foundations of education and also doing teacher-student teacher field evaluations. I would go to the schools and I would observe someone who was learning to become a teacher as they were working with a mentor. I would be the faculty contact. I would meet with the mentor, I’d meet with the student, I’d make sure that they met all of their certification requirements, but also I got to get into these schools and see what the Cleveland schools were like and what Cleveland was like. There was one thing I wanted to mention too, there was this project where I met up with some anarchists. At that time. I was coming out of Occupy, but Occupy, by 2014, had been metastasized into different things. I found some kin who were former Bread and Puppet alums. 

They had bought a house for nothing in this neighborhood of Cleveland called Buckeye. They were calling it an urban homesteading  organizing project where they would go to this house, they’d work on it, but they’d connect with their neighbors. They were white, right? But this neighborhood is like an all black, working class type of place. Buckeye did not appear on city maps. It was literally a disappeared-neighborhood in the city. In my last semester at Cleveland State I was like, “oh, this would be a great thing to do with a class.” So I had a class and I made the class project mapping Buckeye and the educational reality of Buckeye. At first, I was like “everyone has to,” but then the pushback was so immense that I had made it optional. I wanted people to go to the house and meet me at the house and have just a discussion in the house and go to the neighborhood. 

I was thinking of the Black Lives Matter movement while doing this because I had mostly white middle class Clevelanders training to be teachers training to be elementary school teachers. There were young white conservative type women, and I was asking them to go to this sort of township/apartheid area of their city. I literally had a mother of one of these students meet with me and say that this assignment was endangering her health as a mother. She had had brain surgery and she thought that she was so worried about this that she was gonna have a relapse. I had another parent who followed his daughter in a car behind her car when we went to this neighborhood. There were parents who were worried about their students being trafficked by the neighbors, you know just wild stuff. 

Scott Ferguson

They lived in the city?

David Backer

They lived in the city. They were training to be teachers in Cleveland.

Scott Ferguson

Because you hear about this, the people who live in rural small town areas or exurbs where they’re paranoid of the city, but people who live in the city are afraid of having brain disease relapses.

David Backer

The parents live outside the city and the kids are going to Cleveland State. The kids are living in the city because they’re going to Cleveland State or maybe they’re living with their parents and commuting. It’s in and out. There’s cities and then there are cities, right? There are places in every city where you say, “well, we don’t go there.” I haven’t written about that, but I really would love to someday. I was in Cleveland for a while and then I got lucky again because in 2016, while I was in Cleveland and in the dead of winter, I was watching the presidential primaries, and I heard that Bernie Sanders was gonna run. I had read a piece about Bernie Sanders in the New York Times magazine in 2006, and I was impressed with him then.  I remember the kicker to the piece was about how he was concerned with teeth. I don’t know why I remember that, but this was a senator who was concerned with teeth. I was like, “well that sounds cool.”

Kshama Sawant had run and won in Seattle, and it was feeling like a turn. In Occupy, we were not concerned with electoral politics. We were concerned with prefigurative politics. We didn’t want a truck with the state apparatus at all.  We were gonna make the world we wanted and then see what happened. I always remember the story from Denver. I don’t even know if this is legend or if it actually happened, but the occupation there got a request from the mayor’s office to negotiate demands from the occupation. Apparently the occupation agreed to the negotiation but sent a dog as their lead negotiator. That was our attitude. But when Kshama Sawant won I was like, “Oh, that’s cool. Maybe we should get elected too. Like why not?” I feel like that would probably be important.” 

Then Bernie Sanders started running and that was cool, and then Trump was running and that was terrifying and then by the time 2016 came around, we moved to Philadelphia for my first tenure track job. The reason why I feel kind of world-historically lucky to be in Philadelphia in 2016 was that Philadelphia had one of the biggest and most active Democratic Socialists of America chapters. It had about a hundred people, and at that time the DSA was probably about like a thousand members or something. I’m looking for a movement, looking for a place to get involved because, at this point, starting in Occupy, I really wanted my research and academic work to be with the movement, to help the movement, to be part of the movement. It wasn’t going to be about the movement and it wasn’t gonna be from the side, it was gonna be in it. I was gonna try to help if I could.  I was like, “well, this seems like an interesting organization.” Cornell West is on the board and I don’t know, I guess I’m a socialist. I don’t know. But I felt like electoral stuff was cool. They were endorsing Bernie Sanders and they were out on all these strike lines. Verizon went out on a big strike that summer. 

I joined and that was in the spring of 2016 and I actually went to a Brooklyn DSA meeting. We spent a summer back in New York City on our way from Cleveland to Philly and I went to a Brooklyn DSA meeting that was twenty people in a basement of a school. Now I think it’s thousands and thousands of people, right? We’ve just elected a mayor so just thinking about that experience is sort of amazing. But being in Philly and DSA, I had a period of several years of intense factional socialist work. It was oppositional factionalist work, which was unpleasant and I thought it was important, but I caused problems. There were a group of us who were causing problems and we were fighting over what we thought socialism should be and a lot of the lines of that were race class lines. Philly is just a really interesting place to be doing organizing. I did a ton of work there, that brings us up to today. 

When I got to Philadelphia, I wanted to be with the movement and I got a job at Westchester University doing policy and law and education. I was like, “what policy law thing would be great to apply my framework?” At that point I was completing my second big project after the discussion project, which was a rereading of Althusser’s educational theory, which I thought had been severely misinterpreted in the tradition of critical education, and maybe more widely in cultural studies. I was like, “well, it would be fun to apply that framework to what I don’t understand. What do the movements seem to be focused on in Philadelphia?” 

In Philadelphia, they were focused on the school buildings. The school buildings were toxic. There was a teacher who had been diagnosed with mesothelioma, a longtime elementary school teacher, and they attributed it to the untreated asbestos in the school building. The working educators, which at that time were a left caucus of the teachers union, had made toxic schools a campaign priority in their organizing. A lot of the demands were like, how do you get money for the school buildings? We need money for these school buildings. How do you get that money? I thought to myself, “I have no idea. I have no idea how that works and I’m a professor of education. I should understand.” So I started teaching about school finance around 2017 and studying it more closely and then I encountered the bond market for the first time. 

Scott Ferguson

I’m sorry. 

David Backer

Yeah, I know. It’s when you meet the reaper, right?  The last thing I’ll say, and this brings us to when we met, Scott, was in Philadelphia during the pandemic shutdowns in 2020. I would say the most recent very radicalizing moment for me was understanding the possibilities of the municipal liquidity facility and reading more and more about MMT. I had been reading Naked Capitalism and Nathan Tankus since Occupy, really. They were critical of Occupy in various ways, but it was important, because that’s where I got my news. I had been reading about MMT and the blogosphere and all that, but suddenly now to have an interest in school finance, to be focused on the project of school buildings, and the school building financing tied up in this municipal bond market and then have the municipal liquidity facility burst into existence like that  was quite a moment for me. 

I made connections to you and Robert Hockett and Nathan and we started a campaign with our little organizing group, which at that point had actually broken off from the DSA. The campaign was to push the Philadelphia Fed president to advocate for  school districts to be eligible for the municipal liquidity facility to issue low-cost long-term loans directly out of the Fed, backed by the Treasury. We had a call and he got flooded with emails and he took a meeting with us. We didn’t advance because, in 2020, Pat Toomey killed the MLF and salted the earth to some degree. That sort of brings us up to today. I started a newsletter. I’ve gathered all of these experiences in my life, education, philosophy of mathematics, Marxism and now I’m training them on school finance and trying to make it more movement oriented.

Billy Saas

Maybe we can pull back. It seems like from your own personal experience in your long term study, in this book you provide a framework or a sort of diagnosis of how financing for public schools works currently. So can you give us a picture or a sketch of the mess as it is by way of getting us into your very helpful and exciting proposals to fix it.

David Backer

I’ll just add one other thing to my answer, which is that now I moved back to New York City in 2023 and who gets elected mayor? Hey hey! So I’m very lucky.

Billy Saas

You had a rabbit’s foot in that back pocket or something.

David Backer

No, seriously, I was like, “oh, we’re moving back to New York.” I don’t know what’s gonna happen now and look at that. I mean, I’ve got to be able to do it. 

Scott Ferguson

Have you ever inverted the causality? Maybe you’re the causal force. I’d like to invite you to move to my city, if possible. 

Billy Saas

New Orleans, next.

David Backer

This is the justification for a book tour, I suppose.  So, school finance and how it works. It’s not irrelevant to that Mamdani thing because I’ve been in touch with the campaign. I’m sort of peripheral to the campaign, I wouldn’t say that I’m working with it, but because I was involved with it early on on the ed policy side, if the DSA is running a candidate, I just get involved. If people want help with school funding, I just I’m like, “yeah sure, whatever. You want me to write something, I’ll have ideas.” I did that with Nikil Saval’s campaign too, when he was first elected in Pennsylvania. Okay, but you asked about how school finance works and what we should do about it.

Billy Saas

We’re looking for as public as possible. Currently it is not very public. Is that right? 

David Backer

Well, it depends who you ask and what “public” means.

Billy Saas

I’m asking you from New Orleans, the belly of the neoliberal education beast where we have CEOs as principals and whatnot.

David Backer

That district got fully charter-ized by Paul Vallas in the wake of the terrible hurricane.

Billy Saas

Mm-hmm.

David Backer

It’s the only district that’s fully charter-ized. Philadelphia’s the next biggest with a third charter-ized, and guess who was leading Philadelphia schools, Paul Vallis, before he went to New Orleans. School finance and the image that I use in this Baffler piece, which was inspired by reading Scott’s book and teaching it over the summer, school finance is in a straitjacket. The threads of this straitjacket, the belts and the buckles and the sleeves of this thing are made of a a hard-to-comprehend-in-it’s-totality set of government regulations and revenue streams through taxation, borrowing and repayment. In between studying philosophy and mathematics, I think about infinity sometimes. Between every two numbers, there’s an infinity of numbers. It’s like between any two governments, there’s an infinity of governments. Governments, particularly socialists, who over the last ten years have been interested in electoral power, since Socialist Alternative and Kshama Sawant sort of led the way on that.  These governments are essential to understand, but no one understands them in a comprehensive way. You have technocrats at every given level who will understand their little position and their little thing, but not the whole of the thing,

Scott Ferguson

And who’s criticizing it, right? 

David Backer

Who’s critiquing it? If you wanted to think about it dialectically, which I do, you actually have to know where the forces are arrayed and where the pressure points are.  But to do that, you have to understand the thing. Honestly, I’ve met very few people who, number one: understand it comprehensively like that from the school board seat, let’s call it. Or even the teacher union and the school board’s subcommittees, right? In the school boards you have finance committees who review budgets for school districts who will recommend cuts when austerity comes in. Who’s on that subcommittee? I’m just gonna try to zoom out. I’ll paint a portrait here, and start from there. So the subcommittee recommends a series of cuts to a school board, most likely at a meeting attended by the superintendent, who the school board picks. Now, sometimes the school district itself can levy taxes and issue bonds, but sometimes not. Sometimes the school district is just the department of local government, or of the municipal government.  The budget and its borrowing and its expenditure and revenue are limited by its relationship to that government. But sometimes that government is a town, sometimes it’s a county. Sometimes there’s a consolidation. So sometimes there are consolidated school districts that are then subject to different municipal regulations. Sometimes there are regions. There are regional authorities. There are even, in Pennsylvania, intermediate units. But I just learned today at a meeting of organizers in Iowa that there are regional bodies called AEAs, educational associations that are conglomerations of school districts trying to coordinate resources, particularly for special education. We haven’t even gotten to the state level yet. All those things occur within the state government. 

But in the state government you have the Department of Education and its sort of state decisions, its state constitution, its state courts, its state legislature with the state assemblymen and the state senators who all oversee this. Not to mention sometimes there are county courts and municipal courts that become very important in school finance. These state governments also have school finance programs, state grants programs, and then sometimes they have capital programs where they provide aid, sometimes they don’t. The state governments can issue bonds. Now, there are sometimes authorities that issue the bonds for school districts. Sometimes the authorities issue them for individual schools, in the case of charter schools, and sometimes there are borrowing authorities that issue bonds across state lines. There are three states in this country that issue bonds across state lines primarily for charter school and private school capital financing financing. One of them happens to be in Arizona. I was made aware of this recently and it just blew my mind. It turns out this one, I think I want to say it’s La Paz County, but maybe not. There’s a place in Arizona that has a borrowing authority where the municipality gets most of its revenue for issuing bonds for charter schools primarily in Texas, private prisons in Oklahoma and Texas, and surveillance technology. That’s how they finance their capital expenditure.

Scott Ferguson

How does it get routed there? Is it like they offer a certain kind of premium? How do they attract this?

David Backer

Low borrowing costs, and a lot of times these places, if they have technical expertise in a very specific form of public financing like for instance charter school financing, they just become known as a shop that can do that. A history of how that relationship started is definitely worth writing. There are these networks of borrowing authorities and at the state level you can have several borrowing authorities, economic development authorities. Sometimes the county has a borrowing authority. That’s how the school district finances its buildings. In New York it can happen that way a lot, but also in Pennsylvania. A lot of times states will have dormitory authorities for the higher education institutions, private and public, so you can actually get bond statements for Columbia University in New York by looking at the New York Dormitory Authority, which was actually formed in the wake of the 1975 fiscal crisis, which was basically just bonds. 

Nobody wanted to buy New York City’s bonds and no government bailed them out. No bank did either. Typically, at the local level, taxes on property are the ones that are levied. As an answer to your question, is this public? Tell me if you think this is public. School districts or their municipalities will levy a tax on property within the boundaries of that district. That’s how they fund the school upwards of, I think, 45% on average, but the average hides extreme inequity in the sense that you could have an area where the suburbs are wealthy, predominantly white, where 95% is funded through property taxes because their property is so high. Now, is it public education if a student who lives, let’s say, in the south west of Philadelphia, and their mother wants to send them to a school in Upper Darby, and she does that, and then she gets arrested for it. You can’t cross that school district boundary. That’s not for everyone. 

When I think of public school, I think of public school for everyone and it’s certainly not public when you divvy it up like that. There’s a phrase that school districts are fortresses. I think that’s right. This school district can’t be for everyone. There’s a phrase that was bandied about in the neoliberal period under  Bush and Obama, “schools that are good independent of your zip code.” That was their justification for charter schools. But like if you were to just sort of flip that slightly and say like what would it take for every school in every zip code to be a good school? That’s public education. We don’t have a system like that and for all the reasons that I’ve talked about, the federal government only puts in about 8% funding for it. It was anemic and compromised and confused even before Trump started dismantling it. Now, who the hell knows what’s gonna happen? This past July, at the federal level, school districts around the country got an email saying, “oops, you’re not gonna get your payments from the federal government. Sorry.” They ultimately did, but it caused a lot of uncertainty. 

The federal government — just to finish the sort of levels — has only really pitched in for public education in times of war and for its own military and imperial concerns. The first big federal initiative in school funding that we see is in the wake of World War I. When the US decides to get involved fashionably late to the conflict, I suppose. They find that their draft yielded a bunch of very sickly white boys from the country who didn’t know how to read. They were concerned that if they wanted to be projecting power across the world, they better have literate, healthier white men. So they decided, well, maybe we should pony up for some education at that point.  The next big stage isn’t necessarily a war, although it’s a war to some degree, a proxy war against communist revolution, it is the New Deal. You have the New Deal, which is a big bastion of social democratic programs and funding and particularly in school infrastructure. Very exciting reconstruction finance creates the precedent for a lot of the creative thinking today about how we should be doing this. 

As Derek Bell argued, the Brown v. Board of Education decision, which reverses the Plessy v. Ferguson ruling about segregation, the political economic context of that in 1954, a good ten years before what we saw as the civil rights eruption of the 1960s, that happens because a couple of the Supreme Court justices were on a world tour and they kept hearing the same line over and over again, which is, “why do you pose as the country of freedom in the Cold War against Soviet Russia when you treat your people so terribly in segregating particularly black students, African American students in the schools?” They felt like they were losing the Cold War on that message so they thought, “well, we better do something about this.” That’s Derek Bell’s argument. I believe him. 

I think that integration happened because there was an interesting convergence between white capitalists in their fight against communism. Other times, you see the federal government being generous. You see the result of that civil rights movement in the Great Society legislation. Those projects, those educational policies that we know of as the ESEA, Elementary Secondary Education Act, have been diluted and compromised since then. The last big moment we saw was, in the wake of the most recent crises of 2008 and 2020 pandemic shutdown. The thing about education is that everyone’s so worked up about it and everyone wants to have their say, but very few people understand how the money actually flows. 

The reason why certain things happen and other things don’t, I think, is because of these monetary flows. I do not think it’s public. It’s something else. People who get really excited about values like democracy and citizenship and the like will say, “well, we have to protect our public schools.” If you think about the financial values that those schools rest upon, I don’t get as excited. Not as many people are looking at school finance as a leftist, as a Marxist and from these sort of heterodox or political economic frameworks, from the perspective of racial capitalism, or private property as the problem.

Billy Saas

As a parent with a child in an elementary school in New Orleans, but I think this is representative too, one of the probably most common touch points parents and families have with school finance is being constantly solicited by their schools for donations and support. I’ve found it interesting myself, right? I show up to these, they’re good events. They’re fun. But they’re about fundraising. So schools are perpetually in fundraising mode and it reminds me a lot about what we’re talking about with the relative lack of publicity for our public school system. There’s an analog in the public media system, right? 

There’s a similar act in public broadcasting act in the 60s that sort of permits folks to think and talk about things like national public radio as a meaningfully public thing when it’s really supported by charitable donations and philanthropic donations from individuals with a paucity of actual contribution from the federal government. So just to kind of notice the rhetoric of “public” when it comes to these pseudo-public institutions  does a whole lot of work and — like you demonstrate in your book — takes a lot to undo and to separate and demystify.

David Backer

Yeah. I’ll just note something I thought of when you were talking was sometimes the reverse happens, which is something was more public than you thought because it was so decentralized. In the second Trump administration’s dismantling of higher education financing at the federal level, the indirect cost threshold dropped my jaw to the floor when I saw just how much money was flowing into universities from the federal government for all kinds of expenditures. I didn’t think of the university system as being as public as it actually was, but it took a wrecking ball to reveal just how powerful it was. Obviously, it could be way better and whatever, but I didn’t know that that was like that. That’s one of the reasons I wrote the book. 

I started focusing on this stuff and talking about it because I feel like education is something that we all care about very deeply, and it’s an extremely important part of the terrain of political organizing. Historically and now, if you think about the ways in which the right wing is able to kind of cobble together coalitions on issues in education and the like, but without understanding how this stuff actually works. How can you have an understanding of state power? And then how can you then take state power and be effective? One of the writers who I really love about love on municipal finance named Alberta Sbragia has an image in the beginning of her book called Debt Wish from the 1980s and 90s about municipal finance and cities. Her line is like, “people who are interested in politics but don’t understand municipal finance are like doctors who are scared of blood.” I think about that a lot. 

You know, particularly as Mamdani’s taking power now, but I think actually over the last fifteen years or so in the wake of Occupy, which was a wonky movement. One of the things that we read in Trump Tower was Carl Levin’s report on credit collateral debt obligations. In the wake of the 2008 financial crisis we read that report. We read the Senate report. I think that there’s a deep bench, particularly being in New York City now, there’s a deep bench of people who are on the left who now are very interested in this, or have been interested in it for a while, and have the chops to actually really change things, which maybe turns the conversation to what you asked about before in terms of the policies I talk about in the book.

Scott Ferguson

Well, I’d like to get into some of the more fine grained diagnostics that you lay out in the book. There’s the issue of how taxation is set and these mill rates and then there’s the bond market, and then you have a whole section on teacher pensions. I’d like to give some time to each.  Maybe to ease our way into how this totally dysfunctional tax finance system is structured, I’d also like to defamiliarize it by asking you to talk about the kind of historical background, right? It’s my understanding from reading your book that the school districts weren’t always, in all cases, these siloed fortresses, especially as financial zones that were atomized and had to kind of sink or swim on their own because they were integrated into state level finance in a more  robust way. Am I remembering correctly? How do they get from that to this system that is designed to fail around just taxation?

David Backer

You’re sort of asking a historical question. To some degree, I think historians have actually done some of the best work on school finance in terms of this larger project of what I call politicizing it, or activating school finance. They’ve done some of the best work because, in history, you can tell stories and you can tell stories about how it was otherwise. A lot of the historians of school finance have told really excellent stories that show us how things have emerged, but also how they could be different. There’s a slew of historians that I’d want to shout out. Michael Glass has a new book called Cracked Foundations that will really blow your mind about Long Island and the New Deal. But there’s Esther Cyna and Andrew Kahrl and  Kelly Goodman and others doing great critical historical work in this space. Matthew Gardner Kelly wrote a book called Dividing the Public, which has partially informed my little potted history there in the second chapter where I tell this story about how the school district actually as an entity goes all the way back to colonial Massachusetts. That entity has existed to some degree in a relationship with pro private property and private property financing. 

Since then, it is actually an extremely old branch of our government. But with the relationship of that entity to both the region and the state government and the federal government and then the ways in which that entity receives its financing has shifted and manifested differently in different places over time. The story that you’re referring to is that, for a long time, the property tax levied to fund public schools was a white working class victory against a previous system called the poor rates bills, which was a way of financing  school for the poor schools for the poor through tuition paid for by taxes on the poor. It’s called a pauper tax. You declare yourself a pauper and then you have to pay. It’s a sort of tuition, but the state sort of centralizes the tuition monies and pays for these schools. They also relied a lot on philanthropy, churches, and the like. But you know, working classes were like, “no, we’ve got to tax property for this, the property owners should pay and everyone should be able to get schooling.” Those property taxes were levied by the state government and the state government would allot the the funding based on property taxes across the districts and that is a much more redistributive policy than what would end up happening at the turn of the 20th century, which was the districts levying that property tax within their own boundaries. So those district boundaries were not as loaded with the racial capital relations as they were before that levy. 

The other part of the story that I tell is the story of home rule charters and local control and the ways in which municipalities decided to have their own constitutions. In addition to the state constitution, the federal constitution, you’ll have a local city charter, which is essentially your city constitution and how school finance is sort of wrapped up with that. The way I tell it in the book, that home rule movement, which sort of starts in the 1870s and then really booms in the early 20th century, links up with the real estate zoning movement that then also links up with the local property levy that creates the situation that we have today. Some historians recently gave me some feedback which I think is helpful to note, just that home rule was not a uniformly negative thing. There were a lot of victories, important victories, like in the case of the District of Columbia.  where home rule is extremely important for having relative autonomy to be able to provide for your citizens. But I still think it’s part of that story. If you don’t have home rule charters, you don’t have the situation that we have now, which is where places that have very high property values can tax a little bit and get a lot for their kids. But if you can’t afford to live there or you don’t live there, sometimes next door you can’t go. 

There are maps. There’s one called Crossing the Line from New America. New America is an association that has a great map that shows across school district boundary lines just how bad it is. That gets to the mill rate question that you were talking about before. The mill stands for millinesium, which is every thousandth. A mill rate is the number of dollars per thousand dollars of assessed value that a school district or municipality is gonna tax. You all have published great work around the tax revolts and thinking about tax revolts and actually it was from you that I learned about Josh Mound’s really important history of school bond voting that I actually feature in the book too that really just it blew my mind about about the history of neoliberalism and the role of school bonds in that. 

Anyway, you have these situations where if you have high property value, you can set a very low mill rate and get a lot of money. But next door you can have very low property value and have an exponentially higher mill rate to get much less. I think of this as super regressive taxes in my mind because there’s an added element of regression there that doesn’t typically get talked about. Like it’s not just the poor who pay more. It’s not just that. It’s actually that they also get less somehow. The reason I bring all that up is because it puts some context on tax revolt. So, when really wealthy areas with high property values say we pay so much in taxes, they’re talking about that in absolute terms, not relative terms. You know who pays the taxes in relative terms are the diverse working class people. People in places like Reading, Pennsylvania, who have to pay extremely high mill rates on extremely low property value to get a drip for their students in a context of a very ungenerous state government and a historically ungenerous federal government. But again, that’s all historically, all that stuff is contingent. It all changes.  We just have to figure out how.

Billy Saas

You said that school districts are sort of like fortresses, or that is sort of a catchphrase. From your study, from your close looking, from what you’re seeing, it seems like on one hand, as you note several times throughout the book, people are invested in their schools and people love, in many cases, their schools and want to see them be successful. To what extent do you understand the fortress-making of the school districts as a sort of a defense against a siege against their welfare from outside, and to what extent is it a fortress built to preserve the kind of neoliberal practices that we’re talking about? Can we think about the fortress in a couple of different ways as a metaphor?

David Backer

Yeah, that’s a great question. There’s a discourse that is obviously very old in terms of the American Revolution, but then gets taken up in a different way when the Bolshevik Revolution happened in the early 20th century. There’s a discourse of tyranny and totalitarianism that gets taken up around the issue of local control. The idea of local control is the idea that you’re kind of talking about. What are you controlling with local control? What is being controlled by local control? And who is doing that controlling? For who? It’s a very profound question. I thought of a couple things. 

That local control, again, manifests differently at different moments of history. In history, I don’t mean to even just say this sort of linear time, I also mean it in this sort of more uneven way of the present. There are places where the relationship of local control to the state government to the regional government to the federal government are different and differently  configured and are therefore subject to different forces or exert different forces. Also, what is being controlled and what that means to the people doing the controlling changes. 

In every place the story is just a little bit different. It’s just a little bit more complicated than you’d think, given the meta-narratives that we have about the country in terms of deindustrialization, segregation, white flight, these narratives that are helpful for condensing and reducing in some ways, but in other ways when you start to look at specific districts, and specific boundary lines and how those have changed and what those communities have been and who they are, the stories don’t necessarily all match up that way. 

Just as a sort of side point or method point, this is a point that Destin Jenkins makes really well in his work  on the municipal bond market in that book, The Bonds of Inequality, where he says the meta-narratives of urban segregation and de-industrialization actually don’t capture the work of municipal finance and the history of municipal finance. This is a thing that’s operating in its own temporality, in its own way, manifesting in different ways at different times. 

But you asked about the metaphysics of local control or the being of local control. I was gonna answer with this, because I never get to talk about this, the home voter hypothesis. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Fischel. This guy named Fischel has a book called The Home Voter Hypothesis, it’s cited widely in economics, in like sort of very straight-ahead economics on municipal finance, public finance type stuff. But when I read it for the first time it was sort of “Wow,” my mind was blown. He writes in a very conversational way. His home voter hypothesis is that, in any given situation where there is a local vote on something that will happen in the municipality, voters are voting as to whether or not the thing that’s being voted on increases or decreases their property value. That’s it. It doesn’t have to do with how wonderful this sewage project is, or how much you need a water treatment plant, or how much we need highways, or how much we need schools. People in the situation that we have now, the configuration that we have now, local control under the situation of local levy of property tax, state grants through sales tax, federal grants through income taxation and the like, what we have now is a situation where the home voters are going to be voting on the capitalization of their asset. 

It’s a very cynical thesis, but when you start to think about it and let it sort of take root, you start to understand perhaps some of the dynamics around local control. So if you have good schools in your school district, there might be higher demand to live within your school district. If there’s higher demand to live in your school district, there’s gonna be increased property values within your school district. If there’s increased property values, then the rich people live there and if the rich people live there, there’ll be businesses to serve those people, and politicians that listen to those people. Then those people in that district want to protect what’s theirs because there’s a wall around it in the form of the school district line. What is that? Racial capitalism. That’s what that is. That’s one of the clearest names that I’ve found for it, because essentially they just want to preserve what they do and what they have, what’s theirs. 

This then comes to bear on all kinds of things and it’s very difficult, although it’s not impossible to combat that redistributively through state courts, which is what the legacy of the civil rights movement has been. In the wake of 1973 court case: Rodriguez, and 1974 court case called Milligan that decided that because the word education isn’t written in the Constitution literally, then the federal government doesn’t really have any obligation to it. Ever since then there’s really been a sense that like “you get yours, I get mine. We’ll see how it all works out.” The communities that can work the system for their benefit do and sometimes that actually involves really high debt loads. You’ll see very wealthy districts with a lot of debt service obligations, because they can borrow and then they can repay it because they have high property values that they can tax. 

The only other way to answer your question to some degree is to think of this investment in schools, as you put it, as having a material aspect and a spiritual aspect. The material aspect is the home voter hypothesis, which is: a lot of a lot of homeowners out there and their biggest asset is their house and so school finance is ontologically tied to the capitalization of their biggest asset. But the other horn of this ontology is the spiritual, and that is their own children and their own children’s experience and what their kids have. Not only what their kids have, but also like what kids have in general. There’s a very deep interest that people have in social reproduction, which is to maintain the continuity of what we do around here. Wherever that “here” is and whoever that “we” is, there are strong spiritual investments in the maintenance and the continuity of that. Schools articulate all these things very tightly together. 

They articulate a desire to maintain the continuity of what we do with the capitalization of your biggest asset. Local control is about controlling all of that, holding on to all of that and not letting it go. I tell my students, who are largely superintendents and principals and people who want to be educational leaders, people will go to these school board meetings and they’re sounding off in the comments, and you’re thinking to yourself, “all I need to do is approve a bond so that we can fix our roof. I don’t know why these people are screaming at me.” They’re screaming at you because what you’re talking about is a threat, potentially, to the capitalization of their most valuable asset and their spiritual commitment to what they think of as being the best for their kids and kids in general in the future. That’s why I use this line in the book. 

I think that this school finance is the sort of weakest link in the chain of racial capitalism in the US. When you hit this link, other things are gonna shake. When you move this piece in the Jenga board of the United States, other pieces are gonna shake. We saw that in the civil rights movement and anytime these boundaries get challenged, it’s like a third rail. It’s like a vulnerable underbelly to this whole structure and I think it’s a big shame that people don’t understand it. But also I can understand because that vulnerability would want to be protected by a sort of broad ruling class who wouldn’t want it to be different.

Scott Ferguson

So, let’s pivot to the bomb market. How does the educational wing of the bond market work and how is it structurally designed to fail?

David Backer

The municipal bond market’s like the most powerful thing people don’t know anything about. James Carvel very famously said that when he was a kid he wanted to be reincarnated as Babe Ruth or the Pope or the Dalai Lama and now that he got state power with Bill Clinton he was like “now I want to be reincarnated as the bond market because you can intimidate everyone.” The thing about this bond market is that it is unique in the world. There’s no other municipal bond. There are municipal bonds in the world, so far as I understand, and this is something I want to study more internationally, but so far as I understand there is no market like the United States municipal bond market. 

According to the most recent estimates I’ve seen, twenty-seven percent of that market is devoted to education, which is the plurality. It’s higher than the category of general purpose. This bond market is devoted in its plurality to educational purposes. Now that’s higher education and Pre-K through twelve.These markets are huge markets. Municipal bond market is a four trillion dollar market. It has 1.5 million issuers which dwarfs the corporate bond market exponentially in its size. Since the Erie Canal, municipalities and state governments have financed their infrastructure through this market in some form or another and it’s been configured and reconfigured in different ways. 

There’s no history of the school bond, I don’t even think there’s a history of the municipal bond in the United States, which there really should be, but there’s certainly no history of this school bond. This is a very old structure. It’s not neoliberal.  It is as old as the Erie Canal and then the competition between state governments in the sort of post-revolutionary period to build themselves up infrastructurally using foreign credit. A lot of times English credit. So you know, the country fights this whole revolution and then finds itself several decades later essentially indebted to the imperial body from which it separated. 

Scott Ferguson

That’s how postcoloniality rolls. 

David Backer

That’s right. That’s how it rolls. The first school bond that I have found in history is in Kentucky in 1837. It’s the earliest date that I’ve found that a school district went into debt that it had to pay back with interest. But you know, the first municipal bond dates back to about 1647 outside of Utrecht, when a dike froze over and the municipality needed to go to a businessman and say, “hey, can you lend us money with interest to fix this dike,” and he was like, “yeah, sure.” It’s still paying out to this day. There’s a ceremony there on the River Lek where they roll out this bond statement from the 1640s. So this is a very old situation and philosophically I want to say that the reason why we have this situation is because of the very fundamental temporal differences in kinds of expenditure. 

This is a problem that I think anyone who is interested in creative financing needs to contend with and contend with seriously. There are different kinds of expenditures. They’re typically called operating expenditures and capital expenditures. The operating expenditure is the sort of regular yearly — in the case of school districts, but for us as individuals could be monthly — charges that we just budget for. So we get income and then we have to pay our rent and we have to pay food bills and we have to pay this and that and that’s a regular thing. Then for firms and for governments, there’s salaries and benefits to pay out yearly. 

But the operating expenditure that is in that regular temporal rotation is very different from the irregular needs of infrastructure and facilities of all kinds. The word that’s used sometimes in the literature is lumpy because the pattern of the need for this kind of project, if you’re thinking about a trend line, there’s a sudden bump and then it goes down, it’s lumpy, because you need a lot of money and a lot of resources up front to be able to complete this project that you might not need to do again for a hundred years in the case of a school building or you know in the case of  cybersecurity infrastructure that you need to put in place like in the case of Los Angeles where they had multiple cybersecurity attacks and they had to take out bonds to be able to finance a cybersecurity system. 

Or, also in the case of Los Angeles, when your state law changes and the statute of limitations on being able to seek relief and damages from sexual predators and sexual  violence is extended, your school district suddenly now is on the hook for upwards of 250  claimants going back in time to be able to pay out the court cases, that’s a huge expense, right? That’s not in your operating expenditures and so in the case of the Los Angeles School District, which I just read about recently, they issued something called a judgment obligation bond or a JOB. A JOB is a bond that is a loan that is taken out to pay judgment to claimants. They had to take out this big long-term bond, but they needed short-term financing for this bond to be able to pay out to the claimants so they got a non-revolving credit agreement with the RBC, the Royal Bank of Canada, to provide short-term liquidity for a longer-term liquidity need for the sexual violence cases. I try to bring in as many cases as I can, but the capital expenditure is a temporal problem. 

It’s a metaphysical problem, which is that things happen at different rhythms. The rhythm of my need for paying rent is different from the rhythm of my need to fix my HVAC system and I knew this too when I owned, quote unquote, a house, that is to say the bank owned it and I was paying the mortgage. That was a whole education too, by the way. The temporality of these needs are irreducibly different and you need to be able to have a financing arrangement that will provide the resources necessary at the right time to satisfy them. 

So if you need to build more schools because everyone’s moving to your school district, like in the case in some places in North Carolina, people are flocking to these certain districts of North Carolina and Virginia too, and they have these needs because so many of their enrollments are actually increasing. They have to build more capacity. How are they going to do that? Now, the cocktail of local property tax, state sales tax, and federal income tax does not come in at the right rhythm. Those are for the operating expenditures. So, what do you do? And I know that in MMT it’s sort of a faux pas to liken this to the individual, but I’ll do it anyway because I think it fits within the context of subnational government. 

If you need to buy a house, quote unquote, or if you need to go to school, you need to pay tuition, or you want to get married, or you want to get a car. These are big capital intensive expenditures that you need to engage in. So how do you do it? Well, in the United States, typically you get a loan and the loan, in this case, the credit that is extended to you, is a solution for the temporal problem of the capital expense. When you have this lumpy need and you need capital up front that is not part of your regular operating needs then you need to be able to get that liquidity from somewhere. The municipal bond market has been the country’s solution to the temporal problem of the capital expense in terms of infrastructure and school infrastructure in particular for 200 years and counting. 

Though they treat this capital problem as, number one: a credit problem, you don’t have to treat it like that as you could treat it as a grant problem, right? You could just say, “oh, you need this? We’ll give it to you.” That’s one way you could solve this problem. That’s why I like talking about it this way. Not only do they treat it as a credit problem, they treat it as a private credit problem. Where they think of the state — the subnational governments — as being like private firms that need liquidity to be able to deal with their capital expenditures. A school district has its page on the Bloomberg terminal and it has its credit rating and it has its yield calculations and its deal structures and the financial consultants and the bond lawyers and all of this stuff. It’s a whole regime that is set up to be able to meet its capital expense needs, which has sort of called forth into being this regime that has held on in one way or another for so long, it’s even survived the most recent Trump budget bill. There were people who were advocating for a law that was put into place that really solidified this situation in the early 20th century, which was under the federal income tax law that exempts interest payments on municipal bonds from taxation.

So if I invest in a municipal bond and then the municipality pays me back with interest, I don’t have to get taxed on that. That is the country’s infrastructure policy. So school districts are essentially competing and they’re under a constant threat of getting their credit ratings reduced, even though ultimately debt service ends up being about eight to ten percent of their yearly budget, which by the way is a lot.The budget officials and the superintendents are nervous that any given movement, anything could threaten the credit rating on the municipal bond market, which would increase borrowing costs, increase taxes, decrease property values, decrease trust in the government and so I think the municipal bond market is, as I say in the book, this hidden force of educational injustice, because a lot of the reasons why a movement will go into a school board meeting and they’ll demand XYZ and then the superintendent and the school board members all look to the CFO or or the budget official or whoever it is and they say, “Can we do this?” He’ll say “no, the credit rating.”  

That one little moment that just feels like, when you hear it, if you don’t know what it means, it feels like nothing. It feels like air or cardboard, something very ethereal, two-dimensional. Both somehow normal and incomprehensible at the same time, and you just sort of go, “okay, fine, let it go.” These are the structures that inhibit change and it’s a very deep problem. It’s a very old problem. It’s such a problem, in fact, it reminds me of that line from the usual suspects, Keyser Söze, “the thing that the devil did was convince everyone he didn’t exist.” It reminds me a bit of that. So yeah, that’s the bond market.

Scott Ferguson

Well, thank you. Obviously, from our point of view, we would want to maximize public credit facilitation in the form of granting that wherein the lumpy temporal horizon of all provisioning would be for public purposes. It would take political contestation and analysis. It wouldn’t be easily solved but we wouldn’t be dealing with this kind of straitjacket, but what you do in the book is you offer both historical and some of your own more contemporary examples of different strategies to put pressure on, or to ameliorate, or to partially overcome some of these obstacles. Maybe we can begin to talk about some of those. I know there’s been legislation, there’s been movements. Where should we start?

David Backer

Yeah. Well, I’m a big believer in — and I think this must come from my reading of Althusser — how you have to take up and take on the terrain as you find it in order to get the transformation that you want. The arrangement of forces that are in front of you are the things that you have to work with to get to where you want to get to. I think some of the policies and tactics or arrangements that I’ve proposed start from that premise. It’s not like what Aaron Benanav is doing now, which is fascinating, which is his work on the multi-criterial economy and the new left review,  communist economics and all this. It’s not that. This is sort of like “here’s how it works, here’s what we could do from within this thing to take it up.” We have to take it up first and then you can take it on. It’s not as though there’s gonna be some kind of revolutionary moon landing that’s just gonna smash everything and then you get to build whatever you want afterwards. The policies I’ve come up with are in that context. 

The first thing I always start with, because it still exists, are the financial disparities programs in the Twin Cities. This is a tax-based revenue sharing program that condenses the disparities between municipalities with differing revenue. It was created by a very plucky former bond salesman turned civil servant in Minnesota. He brought the idea in a briefcase to a pancake house in a meeting in 1968. The story of this program is one that I love telling, but basically what it does is it creates a regional sharing pool and a percentage of the growth in municipal tax bases from year to year — 40% — is put into a pot and then redistributed according to the changing revenues of the different municipalities, such that if you happen to have a bad year or your shopping mall closes down or your real estate, and properties go down, what you have is a pool at the regional level that will be able to compensate a little bit for it. The reason why this thing is kind of magical is it passed by like a single vote in 1971. It’s called the Minnesota Miracle and they called it Municipal Socialism and the like. But it’s decentralized collectivization at the regional level from within this system that we have and I think the more that we can talk about that kind of arrangement and try to adapt it for the different places and regions that we have in the country, the better. 

Which is why, in these different political projects I’ve been involved with, I always come in as this very specialized person to talk about school finance. But in the Green New Deal for Schools legislation that Jamaal Bowman introduced during that very exciting period between 2021 and 2022 in that budget reconciliation process. I consulted on  the white paper that the legislation was written around and one of my little suggestions was to create equity grants that incentivize tax-based sharing across racial and class lines, such that the federal government would be able to incentivize places that have this kind of tax-based sharing with further rewards, granting grants and loans for having that in place. 

Sarah Quinn in her book, American Bonds — that’s a great book too — provides a sort of a sociological history of the bond market in the US. Her finding is, essentially, that the way that you govern federally is through credit. The way to govern in a way decentralized in federalism through credit is to essentially find ways to try to get states and municipalities to do what you want them to do by making it easier for them to borrow. I think trying to encourage places to adopt fiscal disparities legislation like that and even in new and expanded ways, like maybe increase that 40% number. Maybe also do debt sharing, you know, which they don’t do in the Twin Cities. But what if what if you could do debt sharing in addition to tax-based sharing? Because there’s still actually a big difference in those municipalities and the Twin Cities in terms of their death service obligations. Okay, so that’s one thing that I like. 

Another thing that I like, which doesn’t exist anymore, but briefly did, was Vermont’s Act 60 in 1998. That policy is sort of a state level policy. Given the history, it’s sort of a throwback to the days when the state government would collect that property tax. But the state government in Vermont in the 90s didn’t collect the property tax and redistribute it. They did something even a bit smarter, dialectically. They took up and took on this system of local property taxation. Essentially, after there was a lawsuit that said the state was out of compliance with its education clause and its constitution, which is the legacy of the civil rights movement, which are still going today, these state court cases you sometimes read about, how the state is found to be out of compliance with its own constitution. 

That was the civil rights strategy after they lost at the Supreme Court in the 1970s, they had to bring it to every single state. The ways in which education funding has been compensated for across disparity has largely come from the yeoman’s work of lawyers on the ground over periods of decades going with the the the slow machinations of the repressive apparatus trying to get these judges to say that the government’s out of compliance with its constitution, which then pressures the governor and the state legislature to do something about it. There’s never any guarantee that they’re gonna do something about it, but like in Pennsylvania recently, Shapiro’s answer in 2024 to the Supreme Court case victory the previous year was to say, “oh, we’ll just publicly fund private schools more with vouchers.” 

In Vermont they came up with, what I think, is the best system which does the following. We talked about mill rates before, right? Now, the big problem is that some municipalities have a lot of municipal revenue and others don’t. Those municipalities that have a lot of revenue can set their mill rate really low and get a lot. Whereas the other ones can’t, the super regression, right? This policy took that up and took it on. What it said was the state is going to set a high minimum threshold for the mill rate across the board, relatively speaking. So every district has to have a high floor. You can’t just tax really low to get a lot anymore. But also for the districts that don’t have a lot, they only have to tax that level, they don’t have to go much beyond that. So for them it’s a low floor actually. But combine that high floor with a low ceiling for per pupil expenditure, which means that the state determines what the adequate per pupil expenditure is for students in your school district. So you can’t just be spending lavishly on your rich kids anymore. 

Scott Ferguson

No more observatories? 

David Backer

No more natatoriums and ceramic studios and the like. Actually, no, to educate your kids, you just need this and anything beyond that low ceiling goes to the state and is redistributed to the districts with the low municipal revenue. It really put the squeeze on the bourgeoisie there. Because it really puts the squeeze on the property owners with the high property values and redistributes it from within the system of taxation. It only existed for a couple years. The author, John Irving, was so upset by this system that he started his own private school for his kids because he didn’t want them to have trailer park envy, which is a quotation. I think he later felt bad about that, but every time I see John Irving I’m like “ugh.” 

Howard Dean, in the next cycle’s governor’s election, came out against this system. Even though it was actually yielding tons of great results, test scores were going up,  the disparities were being compensated for. In Vermont, the big problem was that you had wealthy ski towns where there were ski slopes and they had a lot of municipal revenue and then very poor farming towns that didn’t have the same property that they could get taxed. The research that I’ve read has shown that it was quite successful. But then they killed it and the conservative won the next governor’s race, basically a referendum on that policy, which the regional ruling class in Vermont came out in force against.  

One of the things that they did was that they started their own network of private donations for their local public schools, such that they went door to door and they asked people to make donations to this fund. The fund would go directly into the school budget, but it was not subject to the state’s limits of Act 60. So they created their own private funding streams for their public schools in order to circumvent this policy. They’ll go to any lengths to not redistribute so that was ended but I think that model creates this kind of imagination that we can work with where I really think it took up and took on the system. 

Another thing I bring up, which I think people are starting to disagree with me about, is Richard Nixon’s idea for a value added tax to fund schools. I just think that’s a cool story, but it’s also a way of thinking about how it might be different. I think maybe having a value-added tax at different levels of production rather than sales taxes, which are excise taxes, even though VATs sometimes happen at the point of sale, but I think that’s still an interesting story that gets us thinking creatively. When it comes to the bond market, there haven’t been a whole lot of alternatives that have existed in history. So we don’t have a lot to work with. I don’t talk about it in the book, but the Reconstruction Finance Corporation is definitely something to look at. Although some people argue it’s just state capitalism. 

James Olson in his history of the New Deal says that was saving capitalism. That informs people down the line, like Saule Omarova and the National Investment Authority, which would have a national investment bank, but I still think that’s a good idea so I try to talk that up as a solution. The Green New Deal for Schools legislation is another great resource. It provides just tons of grants and it expands our understanding from physical infrastructure to social infrastructure. So it starts to include labor costs in the costs of having functional buildings. The National Investment Authority has essentially found a third pillar of the federal financing apparatus. There’d be the Treasury, the Federal Reserve, and then this investment authority. 

From my understanding of it, the risk that’s created from the temporality of the lumpy capital needs across the spectrum of society, because there’s a risk inherent in that because you need to be able to front the capital to be able to pay for that but where’s that capital gonna come from and is it going to be able to be paid back? The more you pool that risk, the better. The National Investment Authority pools it at the federal level. Anytime you need a project, they’re going to deal with the financing, the borrowing, and the lending, and then there’ll be better technical service, pay as you go grants, low-cost grants, long-term grants that finance this stuff. My little contribution to this that I go around talking about a lot involves pensions. The whole last book, the last part of my book, is about pensions because I also think there’s a lot of stuff about school finance that’s taken up by pensions. 

Pensions are huge pools of capital and they serve a very important purpose of meeting the social risk of aging. There’s traditions that think about the pensions that actually have the pensions as the huge public pools of capital for the public’s infrastructure. There’s a story from Singapore where the pensions got involved in the mortgage business to be able to increase birth rates in the country. The pension is now underwriting mortgages and what did the pension decide to do? It started to host singles dating nights so that people could meet each other, have babies, and then buy houses and take out mortgages from the pension. The pension is a great big pool of the public’s money that’s meant to meet the risk of aging and death, which is essentially our encounter with death, writ finance. We can use our resources that we’ve built up to meet death, to fund our life. 

The sort of policy that I like to recommend it comes from something called fiscal mutualism, which is, in the case of schools, and I think it can be in the case of housing or water or other things it could be used similarly, but in the case of schools, the historians Mike Glass — who I talked about before — and Sean Vanatta — whose work on pensions is very good — they found that the teacher’s pension in New York was historically 10% invested in New York school bonds. They named this approach to pension investment, fiscal mutualism, which is the usage of the public’s money for the public’s infrastructure. If you position the pensions in a stronger way against the more traditional underwriters in the bond market, who are the underwriters? Who are the ones that confront that capital immediately? The big private banks and the big investment banks. They’re the ones that have all that capital and they’re the go-betweens between the bondholders and the municipalities and the borrowers.

If you can challenge and take up and take on those underwriters by exerting the force of the pension and trying to have a sort of more just usage of the public’s money, you can actually do that at the subnational level without relying on the federal government at all. Which is why I sort of talk about it more and more because of the fascism that we have. Like in the case of New York City, I’ve been pitching around the idea that the teacher’s retirement system could be an underwriter along with the green banks, de-risking school bonds that would fund green school infrastructure. I call that green fiscal mutualism, where the green bank becomes a dialectically very exciting institution. 

I think a lot of people on the left hear me talk about this stuff and they’re like, “what? Like that’s still capitalism.” I’m like, “well, I mean everything’s dialectical.” What the Green Bank does in my understanding is it’s a reverse charter school. So whereas the charter school is taking public money and putting it in the private sphere for the private provisioning of a public good, the Green Bank is actually wielding private money for the public good and funneling money from the private into the public for the public. I think if you could have green banks de-risking pension purchases, school bonds, then you’d be meeting this climate issue because school buildings emit a ton of carbon but school buildings have also been totally underfunded historically and they’re not safe and they’re not healthy. 

So these are some of the policies I like, some of the things some of the things Dave likes. The other last thing I’ll mention, which I haven’t mentioned in other places, but I hope people pick up on it in the book, is what the school district of Tredyffrin/Easttown, Pennsylvania did in the early 20th century. You had two municipalities: one predominantly white and the other predominantly black. They entered into a jointure to build an integrated high school in 1912. It survived multiple attempts at segregation but these communities got together across race and class lines and said, “we’re going to invest in one another. We’re going to take on this risk together through the jointure and we’re going to build this high school and we’re gonna take on this bond.” It’s a debt that they took on, but they took it on together across these very potent lines of the fortresses. When I tell people like, “well, what if you got what if you got people together across the school district lines in your region and said, let’s do jointures all together to finance each other’s infrastructure?” That would cause riots, right? The wealthy people don’t want to be financing the infrastructure for the non wealthy people that are even their neighbors. They might even be the same sports team fans. In the jointure, I think there’s a lot of possibility.

Billy Saas

Yeah, so this book’s coming out December 2nd, one day after the podcast. So listeners, go grab a copy. But there’s obviously a lot going on. I imagine some of this was on the horizon as you were putting finishing touches on it and in the introduction you addressed the second Trump term.  Also we have what you mentioned as the fortuitousness of your move to New York and, of course, you got Zoran Mamdani elected by moving there.

David Backer

I hate how my retelling of it lends itself to that.

Billy Saas

No, no, I think it’s awesome. It’s good storytelling. We like a little magical realism now and then. Obviously, it wasn’t just the Mandoni campaign. There were a series of wins across the Democratic Party and some are calling it-

David Backer

Katie Wilson in Seattle too.

Billy Saas

Right, right. Some are more exciting than others. Katie Wilson, Mamdani and then, you know, some former CIA people as well. Some are calling it a blue wave and we’ve heard it said that education — and I guess we should shout out Jennifer Berkshire’s post.

David Backer

Which everyone should read. Her substack is called “The Education Wars.” She wrote another book with Jack Schneider called The Wolf at the Schoolhouse Store. She’s great.

Billy Saas

Absolutely. Yeah, so a blog post recently or a substack post basically crediting education with this recent blue wave win. We wanted to just close out by letting you offer your two cents on that.

David Backer

Yeah. Well, I tend to agree with Jennifer. What Jennifer’s picking up on is the fact that this rush on the right to dismantle the public school system as I’ve described it is a threat to the local control that I described. These districts, and particularly in the wealthy areas, predominantly white areas, but not all white, but predominantly, have done generations of work to fortify their worlds, their schools. The fortresses are activated. The fortresses are there. The Trump administration and the voucher movement are coming for those fortress walls. They’re coming for the charter schools. People in these rural areas where there are no private schools want their public schools. They don’t want them to go away and these governments, in their rush to appease the leader, are dismantling the systems that their own constituencies hold very dear. I think she’s picking up on that. 

She has an ear to the ground across the country. I would just say that, if there was anything I was gonna add to that, we’re in a time of great uncertainty. It’s what Adam Tooze calls the polycrisis. While I don’t entirely agree with his conception of it, I do think that his remarks in a lecture last year are helpful, in that, all previous theorizations and concepts come from times of lower parts per million carbon in the atmosphere. Even the very idea that the new is struggling to be born while the old is dying, that idea is too optimistic for what we’re undergoing right now. You know, the time is greatly uncertain. It is very unstable. There are dislocations happening everywhere. I feel like this system that we’ve been talking about is some version of an ancien regime, thinking about the history of revolutions, like Mike Duncan’s podcast. 

We’re getting to that point where this thing is shaking and it’s definitely falling apart. What that presents is a danger and an opportunity. There’s also these other forces that we have to account for in that instability, in terms of inflation, supply shock, pandemic shock, artificial intelligence. These are exciting times. “May you live in exciting times.” The thing is, we have to get together, we have to understand the terrain, and we have to figure out what policies we want when our turn comes to try to steer the chaotic ship through the chaotic sea. I think it’s not just that education will sort of underwrite a blue wave, but actually the waves themselves are very chaotic and the old color schemes are all over the place. 

Zoran getting elected, and Katie Wilson and all these people doing things that you could never have imagined are all on the bingo card. The things that are not on your bingo card are on the bingo card. It’s all the more important to study this stuff very carefully to figure out what we can do to transform the structure and take advantage of the moment.

Scott Ferguson

Well, Dave Backer, thanks so much for joining us. Everybody go out and get the book As Public as Possible:Radical Finance for America’s Public Schools.

* Thank you to Zachary Nosbisch for the episode graphic, Nahneen Kula for the theme tune, and Thomas Chaplin for the transcript. 

The Utopia of Refusal: David Graeber, Debt & the Left Monetary Imagination

by Will Beaman & Scott Ferguson

Note: David Graeber leaves behind a rich and complex body of work that remains influential for leftist thought and practice. Since his passing in 2020, however, most assessments of his work have been strongly affirmative and hence often one-sided. What follows is a more critical engagement, offered in the spirit of generative dialogue. We honor Graeber’s writings as indispensable for denaturalizing money and obligation and for catalyzing new forms of organizing from Occupy Wall Street onward. However, we also argue that some of Graeber’s basic assumptions about money and public provisioning limit what the left can imagine and accomplish.

David Graeber has become a default point of reference for the contemporary left. Debt: The First 5,000 Years (2011) is the book to cite when refuting the common myth that money originates in barter, demonstrating that money instead begins as credit, and insisting that obligations are made rather than found. It was central to Occupy Wall Street’s critique of finance and has echoed through subsequent experiments in populist coalition politics. For readers interested in Modern Monetary Theory (MMT), Graeber often appears as the deep anthropological backing for the claim that money is not a scarce resource but a boundless accounting construction.

These arguments have done a great deal to structure how critical monetary discourse has been conducted over the past decade and a half. At the same time, Graeber’s framework places real limits on what can be imagined about monetary institutions. Debt: The First 5,000 Years, The Utopia of Rules (2015), and essays on what Graeber calls “creative refusal” do not simply de-naturalize money. They also embed money and bureaucracy in a broader picture in which social life is fundamentally organized as debt and guilt, and in which the highest political value is the capacity to say no—to refuse, to exit, to remain outside enclosing forms.

For Money on the Left’s Democratic Public Finance (DPF) paradigm—which seeks to understand money and accounting as instruments of coordination rather than exclusively as moral traps—this picture becomes a ceiling. If the whole system is a bureaucracy of made-up debts and accusations, then democratic action appears mainly as refusal and jubilee: organizing as debtors, confronting creditors, wiping the slate clean. What falls out of view is the possibility that public credit need not be organized primarily as repayable, quantified monetary debt at all—that obligations can be framed instead as ongoing, qualitative commitments and guarantees—and that democratic participation might mean designing public accounting and coordination on the front end, rather than periodically clearing it on the back.

The result is a tension at the heart of contemporary left monetary imagination: between a debt-centered horizon that privileges refusal and cancellation, and a credit-centered horizon that foregrounds the contested design of public obligations themselves. The present analysis of Graeber’s work points toward the second horizon, exploring what becomes possible once money is approached as public credit to be redesigned, rather than merely as debt to be discharged.

Baseline communism and the fall into form

Graeber’s early value theory is more open-ended than his mature work, but it already carries some of the limits that later come to the fore. In Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value, for example, he suggests that cultures can be approached as “moral projects”: different ways of imagining what life ought to be like, and of organizing which actions count as important or worthwhile. He takes his subtitle from Marcel Mauss and Henri Hubert’s remark that society “pays itself in the counterfeit coin of its dreams,” using rituals, festivals, and collective action as examples of how people collectively stage and test what they value. The phrase “counterfeit coin” is meant to signal unreality. Yet what is being downgraded as “counterfeit” here is precisely the kind of shared credit and obligation that, according to DPF, organizes monetary life—what we have elsewhere called the “unofficial” life of public money. In any case, even in this more open-ended register, value still comes to look like a single, univocal horizon that individuals either inhabit or resist. It appears as a positive proposition that can be embraced or refused, rather than as a reversible, revisable space of co-design in which the terms themselves are continuously up for negotiation. The subtle, reflexive ways people name, test, and rework what counts—through shifting idioms, partial identifications, and experimental roles—slip into the background. Value appears as a common script more than as an enduring process of collective rewriting.

In Debt: The First 5,000 Years, Graeber wields this language to construct a critical genealogy of money qua obligation. Communism, exchange, and hierarchy are cast as three recurrent moral principles exhibited by humankind. “Baseline communism” is his term for the raw material of social life: a taken-for-granted recognition of mutual dependence that undergirds social peace, where some things are simply shared and no one keeps accounts. “Everyday communism” names the dense mesh of practices that grow from that ground—sharing tools, feeding guests, helping friends move, relying on coworkers or kin without calculating exact returns. Exchange, by contrast, codifies equivalence. Worse, hierarchy organizes command and deference. Debt appears at the intersection of exchange and hierarchy, where quantified obligations are backed by force and moralized as guilt.

From these premises, money is described as emerging first as credit, with coinage arriving relatively late. From here, Graeber shows that many of the obligations that come to be called “debts” are in fact historical artifacts tied to conquest, punishment, and administration. Alongside this genealogy, Debt offers a minimalist reassurance: however bad institutions become, some version of the ethic “from each according to ability, to each according to need” will persist in the background as everyday communism.

With this, Graeber not only frames communism as a single, universal principle that precedes and underlies all of its concrete instances; he also curiously renders it exclusive, no matter how intermixed with exchange and hierarchy. On such a view, the main question becomes: Who is entitled to communistic treatment? And by extension: Who is to be consigned to exchange and hierarchy? What slips out of view are the differentiated codes, institutions, and expectations that make those situations non-equivalent in the first place—the ways “help,” “sharing,” or “support” are patterned and contested differently across workplaces, households, friendships, and states. The ideal of neighborly care in the mid-century American suburb, for instance—unlocked doors on Nantucket Island—has been extensively shown by feminist media history and queer theory to be modeled and franchised rather than given, through television, advertising, and domestic ideology (see, for instance, Lynn Spigel’s Make Room for TV or Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner’s “Sex in Public”). Approached from this angle, “everyday communism” looks less like a self-standing, homogeneous category that evades exchange and hierarchy than historically specific arrangements already organized by law, infrastructure, and forms of accounting.

Yet another exemplary scene that expresses everyday communism betrays the limits of everyday communism as a minimal ethic. One person is drowning, Graeber tells us, while another stands on shore with the ability to help them. The question is whether the person on the shore will answer such an obvious moral demand, given that the other’s need is grave and the cost to oneself is small. The scene is designed to appear self-evident, a quotidian moral dilemma that anyone might encounter. Its structure, however, conforms to an individualized cost–benefit calculation. What is left unexamined in this scene are the infrastructures and histories that make such an encounter possible at all: how people come to occupy these positions, who is equipped to help, whose needs are routinely visible, and whose costs are routinely deemed negligible. It functions, in this sense, as a benevolent version of the methodological individualism found in the classic trolley problem—a stylized scenario that in game theory isolates individuals from history and social structure. In appealing to such scenarios, Graeber reduces everyday ethics to one person weighing a grave need against a modest cost in the moment, while bracketing the intertemporal provisioning that produces both the danger and the capacity to respond. Baseline or everyday communism here comes across as a primordial, pre-coordinative ethic—an encounter between persons removed from institutional or public timetables—rather than as something that is itself shaped by perpetual arrangements of care, coercion, and provision.

This way of imagining a pre-coordinated baseline also shapes how ethics appears in Graeber’s project. On one side, ethics often appears as a ruse: a moral technology that fabricates guilty, indebted subjects and licenses punishment under the guise of obligation. Debt is not a malleable arrangement; it is a way of producing ethical subjects who internalize blame. On the other side, communism in this minimal sense functions as a kind of pre-political kernel of non-reciprocal kindness: the spontaneous decision to help when another’s need is pressing and one’s own cost is modest. Ethics, on this model, oscillates between an ideological trap and a minimal and tacitly private kindness that lives before or outside institutions.

From the perspective of DPF, Graeber casts ethics in an austere register with little room for scale. If moral claims that coordinate institutions are primarily techniques of capture, and if the only “good” ethical practice is a localized, pre-coordinative generosity, then large monetary and bureaucratic systems tend to appear mainly as fields of power to be refused or escaped, rather than as terrains where more accountable forms of obligation might be designed. Baseline communism, in other words, affirms that care is constitutive, but it does so in a way that leans toward institutional unaccountability: it holds the minimal ethic of help outside the very infrastructures through which help is necessarily organized and provisioned.

Bureaucracy, abstraction, and the utopia of refusal

The Utopia of Rules extends this pattern from money to bureaucracy as such. Graeber describes an “age of total bureaucratization” in which rule-bound procedures pervade public and private life. Bureaucracies, he argues, are sustained by fantasies of rationality and fairness that are never fully realized. They produce “dead zones of the imagination”: situations in which following rules replaces attempts to understand particular people or cases, and where the ultimate guarantor of compliance is the threat of violence.

Here, too, bureaucracy (and money) are conceived less as mundane infrastructures than as scenes of fall. Everyday cooperation and baseline communism form the lower, more concrete stratum of social life. Bureaucratic and monetary forms occupy a higher, more abstract level where creativity is frozen into stupid games. Rules no longer feel like collective instruments but like external impositions. The higher one climbs this implicit ladder of abstraction, the less room there appears to be for playfulness, experimentation or non-identity.

By later works, Graeber develops a politics that amounts to what we call a utopia of refusal. One finds this utopia in his late essays on “creative refusal.” It also structures the three “basic freedoms” articulated in The Dawn of Everything: to move away, to disobey, and to reconfigure social arrangements. Political creativity is anchored at the edges of institutions, in the capacity to say no or step aside. The relation to social form is either compliance or exit.

This fits comfortably with a broader post-structuralist inheritance. Much post-structuralist theory, drawing explicitly or implicitly on Nietzsche, embraces a fantasy of externality or exception, even when explicitly disavowing sovereign figures or variously insisting that power is immanent, diffuse, and ineluctable. Graeber’s own treatment of Nietzsche in Debt is sharply critical. He rejects Nietzsche’s claim that the invention of debt represents an originary cruelty that founds our humanity. Instead, he presents Nietzsche’s primordial debt story as an ahistorical fantasy that reveals how a world organized through exchange is justified, not as a serious account of human origins. Still, when it comes to theorizing social form, Graeber retains impulses inherent in Nietzsche’s framing. Once obligations are quantified and formalized, Graeber contends, they necessarily belong to the logic of Schuld—a self-exculpatory fiction that ties calculation to guilt. Thus the main political problem becomes how to negate or escape fictions of guilt, rather than how to rework the media of obligation as ongoing forms of coordination.

Our disagreement with Graeber is not meant to litigate whether communities should be able to refuse. Refusal is indispensable—full stop. Our concern, rather, pertains to the ground of that refusal and what political possibilities follow from it. In Graeber’s vision, durable interdependence is legitimate only insofar as it can be peeled back to a baseline of externality; once one has walked away, the moral scene is imagined to be free of social forms of obligation. For DPF, by contrast, politics is grounded in institutional interdependence and the cyclicality of its mediating forms. Social life is already coordinated through large-scale institutions that provision water, wages, care, housing, and time. Refusals matter, but they are gestures within a world coordinated long before any individual arrives. They generate new responsibilities rather than suspending responsibility altogether: someone has to take up work that has been refused, institutions have to be reconfigured, relations have to be repaired. 

To insist on the priority of such questions is not to revert to an ethic of Schuld, as if refusal were itself a kind of violence that must be punished; it is to acknowledge that refusal, too, leaves people entangled, and therefore requires mediated care and empowerment both for those who refuse and for those who live with its aftermath. In a framework that regards coordination as suspect, any attempt to institutionalize those mediating responsibilities—a right to a job, or any other standing institution of guaranteed support—can only appear as make-work bureaucracy, an arrangement that keeps people busy inside an apparatus that ought, on some level, not to exist.

Graeber’s preference for grounding democratic practices in externalizing refusals becomes a problem for a politics that seeks to reclaim monetary and bureaucratic institutions as media of public coordination. If the domain in which obligations are formally recorded and enforced is structurally a “dead zone,” then public money and public accounting can only be trusted insofar as they are kept at arm’s length. These forms can be exposed as fictive or denounced as violent, but they are rarely seen as spaces where new, more capacious patterns of support and recognition might be staged.

Jubilee as redesign, coordination as fiction

The privileged role of debt jubilees in Graeber’s imagination makes the limitations of his program even clearer. If, for Graeber, money is always a fictitious debt based on fabricated charges of guilt and sin, then the paradigmatic emancipatory act becomes the jubilee: a sweeping cancellation that wipes the slate clean. Rolling Jubilee, debt strikes, and jubilees of various other kinds take center stage as a central horizon of contestation. Redesign is figured, if at all, as periodic amnesty. As a result, democratic control over social form culminates in the erasure of obligations, rather than the reconstruction of how they come into being. 

That binary—between a world organized as debt and the moment when debts are forgiven—misses something crucial for monetary politics. It confronts public credit as if it has to take the form of quantified, enforceable monetary debt in the first place. Obligation is assumed to be inherently accusatory, so justice can only arrive belatedly, on the back end, as cancellation. Democratic participation in public accounting is confined to the role of the cleanser. Democracy arrives after the fact to denounce and erase. It never participates in initially designing the qualitative credits, guarantees, and obligations that shape life chances in the first place. Coordination is declared a fiction, and “nature”—or informal communism—is expected to heal once the ledgers are burned.

By contrast, DPF begins from credit as coordination. Public credit is how a polity authorizes projects, backs institutions, and recognizes work over time. This perspective agrees that debts are made, not found; that they can be cruel; and that cancellation can be necessary. But it refuses to let jubilee exhaust the imagination of change. The more basic question becomes how to build and revise public credit systems so that fewer life-sustaining activities show up as “debts” at all. The aim, in other words, is to transform more and more of activities of care into ongoing, unconditional supports and rights.

From this standpoint, the crucial distinction is not between debt and gift, any more than between spontaneous communism and carceral abstraction. Instead, it is between accepting money primarily as a moral technology of guilt and discharge, and politicizing money as a public instrument for organizing capacities over time. The former naturally lends itself to a politics of refusal and periodic cancellation: waiting until the system becomes intolerable, then wiping away its records. The latter demands a different set of questions. Which institutions get to issue and record claims? How inclusive and revisable are their categories? How can extant commitments be escalated, contested, or amended? And how do our infrastructures coordinate across scales—from city budgets and public banks to unions, schools, clinics, and political campaigns?

Graeber’s work has done a great deal to denaturalize money and debt, as well as to expose the brutality of creditor morality. But if the jubilee is taken as the last word, it cuts off the very terrain where a democratic politics of money has to operate.

The debt imaginary clips our collective wings

Reckoning with the limits of jubilee politics becomes unavoidable when left economic discourse turns from critique to governance. Recent commentary surrounding Zohran Mamdani’s win in New York offers a striking example. For perhaps the first time in decades, a broad left audience is being asked to think about how a self-identified socialist should govern a major city, not just how to win one. Yet even in this ostensibly new terrain, the debt-centered framing quietly structures what counts as fiscal “realism.”

Three widely circulated pieces exemplify the problems with this approach: (1) the Debt Collective’s Substack post in In the Red; (2) a Jacobin article by Nathan Gusdorf; and (3) a Dissent essay by J. W. Mason.

The Debt Collective piece, “Zohran Won Main Street—Now He Must Face Wall Street,” opens with genuine enthusiasm about Mamdani’s victory, then pivots quickly to a central lesson: the real challenge is not policy vision but debt. Because cities “cannot print their own dollars,” they are likened to households that must borrow for anything beyond current revenue. New York’s dependence on the municipal bond market is construed as a “structural veto” held by Wall Street: before tax revenue can fund rent control, free transit, or childcare, it must first service bondholders. The article calls this a form of racialized extraction and urges Mamdani to align with a powerful debtors’ movement that can negotiate and cancel unjust obligations. The horizon of democratic agency is clear: organize as debtors to confront Wall Street and push for cancellation.

Nathan Gusdorf’s “Mayor Mamdani’s Budget Can Add Up” in Jacobin combines cautious optimism with a similar constraint story. Mamdani faces “real fiscal constraints — but also real opportunities.” New York is said to have a strong tax base and room for modest reforms, but state and local budgets are described as arenas where a “limited amount of revenue has to be divided up,” in contrast to the federal government’s deficit capacity. Gusdorf emphasizes legal balanced-budget rules and the risk of “real fiscal crises” if revenues fall short. Bond markets and state law appear as hard parameters; the responsible socialist mayor is encouraged to raise taxes on the rich, find efficiencies, and work within these limits. The tone is constructive, but the assumptions are all-too familiar: at the municipal level, money is a scarce fund to be carefully allocated, with borrowing tightly bounded by what markets will accept.

J. W. Mason’s Dissent essay, “What Can Zohran Accomplish?,” proceeds from the explicit premise that MMT cannot help. At the federal level, he writes, leftists who follow MMT are right that tax revenue and bond markets “should not be seen as constraints”; spending is a political question. Unfortunately, Mason reveals, “This is not the case at the city level.” New York cannot raise most taxes without state approval, cannot normally borrow for operating expenses, and must treat the level of debt acceptable to bond markets as a “genuine concern.” “At the city level,” he concludes, “‘how are you going to pay for that?’ is a question that has to be answered.” Municipal government is cast as a “creature of the state,” poorly suited to expand the public sector. For this reason, all major ambitions must ultimately defer to Albany and the markets, where tolerance for big ticket items remains forever uncertain.

Taken individually, each piece reads as a sober reality check for an excited left public. None explicitly disavows Mamdani’s agenda. All three acknowledge real legal and political obstacles. Read together, however, they function less as a vibrant debate than a set of tropes: a chorus of left economic expertise offering the same basic lesson in slightly different keys. Cities are debtors. Bond markets and state law are unsurpassable obstacles. Money at the municipal level is a latticework of obligations that are owed outward, not a field of credit that can be restructured from within. Readers are not invited to see the city’s fiscal politics as fundamentally contestable. Instead, public finance is staged as the shared baseline from which any and all “serious” conversations must proceed.

What is easy to miss in this emerging genre is that its alleged baseline is itself an artifact of an economic imaginary that, like Graeber, reduces money to quantified debt. In this imaginary, ethics means either repaying external obligations, or refusing them outright through debtor movements and jubilees. Governance, in this picture, demands either managing austerity responsibly or helping to organize refusals. Any attempt to adopt municipal bonds, public banks, or complementary currencies as positive instruments of democratic coordination starts to look naive or even dangerous. This is because such pro-active monetary politics seem to blur a line that inheritors of Graeber’s program wish to maintain. Informal care and struggle count as “real” politics, whereas formal public accounting belongs to the fallen realm of Schuld.

Meanwhile, this chorus conceals the genuine challenge Mamdani’s win presents. For too long, the U.S. left has taken for granted that real politics happens in movements and oppositional parties, while governance is what the state does afterward. Budgets, bond ordinances, and credit ratings belong to a later, compromised stage, or to a distant future when the left finally takes power. The Mamdani moment unsettles this habit of thinking. It forces the question of how to govern while struggling. It requires using existing fiscal tools to build new forms of support and capacity, rather than accepting those tools as fixed constraints. The convergence of the Debt Collective, Jacobin, and Dissent around debt, limits, and back-end jubilees can be read, in this sense, as a symptomatic recoil: an aversion to considering governance as a present-tense reality within a framework that tends to defer real politics to refusal and rupture.

What disappears in this chorus is precisely the terrain that DPF seeks to name. In the DPF paradigm, money is public credit in a strong sense: public institutions at every scale are already issuing and receiving promises that can be redesigned. The question is not simply how much New York can “prudently” borrow from Wall Street, but rather how the city’s own credit instruments can be reframed and rerouted as tools of democratic coordination.

From the standpoint of DPF, the immediate challenges look different:

  • not only to resist Wall Street’s structural veto, but also to reframe New York’s bonds as instruments that mobilize unions, pensions, and residents around shared projects;
  • not only to avoid borrowing, but also to build complementary currencies, public payment systems, and institutional “swap lines” between schools, clinics, unions, and campaigns that expand the field of receivability;
  • not only to determine extant constraints, but also to openly contest the inherited design choices that organize fiscal and legal limitations;
  • not only to resist capital and its vested interests, but also to organize coalitions that experiment with different ways of insulating essential services from federal sabotage and punishing rating agencies.

In the end, the imaginary of debt popularized by Graeber and amplified by today’s chorus of left experts threatens to clip our collective wings before we have left the ground. Conspicuously, the primal scenes of this imaginary are always elsewhere—at the still-unattainable heights of power, in the origins of the creditor’s encounter with the debtor, or in dramatic moments of refusal and jubilee. The generative infrastructural work of writing budgets (and writing about them), designing bond programs, creating complementary currencies, and revising accounting categories appears as naïve at best or collaborationist at worst.

Beyond refusal

DPF does not deny that debt can be cruel or that cancellation is often necessary. It simply refuses to let such scenarios exhaust the scope of left politics. Governance is not what comes after the real struggle is over. It is one of the main arenas in which struggles over what will count, quite literally, as a public obligation actually take place.

Within the DPF framework, the politics of refusal can be creatively transvalued. That is, we can redirect refusal to target the underlying legal architecture that naturalizes scarcity in the first place—what we describe as a “fourth area” of intervention. Rather than merely canceling particular debts or rejecting coordination altogether, this fourth area loudly repudiates the deep rules that restrict the powers of monetary creation to the federal government, while casting sub-federal entities as mere debtors. The point is to contest specific budget priorities in ways that simultaneously call out and labor to change the economic playing field itself. For example, at the same time as we work to advance Mamdani’s budget priorities, we can press at the federal level to amend the Constitution, extending the finance franchise to cities and states that have been denied monetary powers. 

Proposals like “Blue Bonds”—a Money on the Left initiative to politicize state bond issuance as public credit for democratic investment—often trigger familiar worries that “we” will simply be on the hook for more debt. It is striking that, from a horizon shaped by debt and jubilee, this kind of redesign can appear too risky or unrealistic, while large-scale debt cancellation is held out as the natural outer limit of the left’s political imagination. Why is it easier to picture ceremonially erasing all debts than to envision institutionally reclassifying them? Why merely work toward punctual cleansing when we can wholly rewrite certain obligations as public assets and guarantees? 

Many readers influenced by Graeber’s work, despite insisting on the fictive character of money and law, end up acquiescing to legal categories and balance-sheet positions as if they had only one possible meaning. Either we live inside the iron cage of debtor obligations, or we abolish it in a moment of jubilee. According to DPF, refusal calls for a very different strategy: make the existing playing field non-obligatory, so that more capacious arrangements of public credit can be built in its place.

This requires a different image of obligation, and of money. Instead of treating obligation only as quantified, enforceable debt to be discharged or forgiven, we can approach it as public credit: authorized capacity to coordinate work, infrastructure, and care over time. As a result, we avoid conflating ethics with a biopolitical ruse or a fleeting, pre-institutional kindness. Ethics involves the perpetual work of designing and contesting the fiscal and accounting forms that decide whose needs are seen, whose obligations are articulated, whose costs are counted, and whose futures are backed.

Graeber’s critique of debt and bureaucracy remains indispensable for anyone trying to build a more just monetary order. We argue not for setting his work aside, but rather for recognizing where its utopia of refusal leads to dead ends. The time has come to take up the emphatically political task of remaking credit systems as sites of democratic experimentation, obligation, and support. Graeber’s work can surely guide us, but it can only take us so far.