There are many reasons that the Federal Communications Commission has outlived its usefulness. One is especially clear today: Its power to license broadcasters gives government officials leverage over speech.

In a recent post on X, FCC Chairman Brendan Carr responded to news coverage he deemed inaccurate regarding the war with Iran by warning broadcasters that they should “correct course before their license renewals come up.” He added that stations must operate in the “public interest” and “will lose their licenses if they do not.”

Even if it is meant as bluster, the message is unmistakable. When the government holds the power to grant or deny permission to speak over the airwaves, it inevitably exerts pressure—subtle or overt—on what is said.

Some observers dismiss such threats as hollow. Perhaps they are right: The FCC’s own guidance acknowledges that the First Amendment and federal law prohibit the agency from censoring content or interfering with freedom of expression. The commission has long maintained that “the public interest is best served by permitting free expression of views.”

But that protection is qualified. Broadcasters are still subject to scrutiny for “news distortion,” and the FCC reserves the authority to investigate and potentially sanction stations when it believes the line has been crossed. Even if rarely exercised, that authority is real—and its mere existence creates risk. The boundary between legitimate editorial judgment and alleged distortion is inherently subjective, making it fertile ground for political misuse.

This is not a hypothetical concern. Politicians of both parties have sought to use the FCC’s licensing authority to influence coverage. The Obama administration considered inquiries into newsroom decision-making. During the Trump years, lawmakers urged investigations into perceived conservative bias. The temptation is bipartisan and enduring.

The problem is structural. Broadcast licenses are not merely technical permissions; they are government permissions. To operate, stations must periodically seek renewal from the federal agency empowered to judge whether they serve the “public interest.” That standard is elastic by design—and therefore vulnerable to political interpretation.

No government agency should have that power over lawful speech.

The original justification for broadcast licensing was spectrum scarcity. Nearly a century ago, policymakers concluded that without centralized control, signal interference would render broadcasting unusable. That rationale has long since eroded. Advances in technology and the success of spectrum auctions in other spectrum bands show that radio frequencies can be allocated through markets, with clear rights and without administrative gatekeeping.

Yet broadcasting remains an exception. Instead of auctioning flexible rights, the FCC still conducts what amounts to beauty contests—awarding and renewing licenses based in part on subjective judgments about service to the public. In practice, that means speech is never fully free of regulatory shadow.

There is a better approach. Spectrum used for broadcasting should be treated like other spectrum: assigned through auctions, with licensees free to decide how to use it. There would be no special “broadcast license” tied to content obligations. General laws—antitrust, consumer protection, and the First Amendment—would apply, as they do in other situations.

Critics will warn that such a shift would be disruptive. It would. Today’s radios and televisions are built around a legacy system of tightly defined broadcast bands. But technology has already moved beyond that model. Consumers increasingly receive audio and video through internet-based platforms—some wireless and some not—that do not depend on broadcast licenses. The persistence of the old framework reflects regulatory inertia, not technical necessity.

More important, the current system carries a cost that is hard to measure in dollars: the risk that political officials will use licensing authority to influence what Americans can say, hear, and see. Even if that power is exercised sparingly, its presence distorts incentives and chills speech at the margins.

The First Amendment rests on a simple principle: The government does not decide which lawful speech may be expressed. Broadcast licensing is a relic of a different era, when technology seemed to demand administrative control. Today, it mainly serves as a reminder that government control is rarely relinquished.

It is time to let go.