Although Brendan Carr, the chair of the Federal Communications Commission, never issued a formal directive instructing ABC to suspend late‑night host Jimmy Kimmel, the eventual result aligned precisely with his strongly implied objectives. Kimmel, who has built a reputation as a sharp critic and frequent satirist of former President Donald Trump, suddenly found his eponymous program suspended by the network for an indefinite period. This drastic corporate decision came in the immediate aftermath of the host’s controversial remarks regarding Charlie Kirk, the right‑wing commentator and political influencer who was tragically killed in a public incident just a week earlier.
Rather than relying on official FCC enforcement powers, Carr chose to shape the outcome through indirect but pointed rhetoric. During an appearance on a conservative podcast, he suggested that the corporate owners of local broadcast stations—the very stations licensed by the FCC to distribute ABC’s programming—should pressure the network into removing Kimmel from the air. He went further by reminding those station owners that broadcasters who failed to act “in the public interest” might see their licenses subjected to renewed scrutiny. Though couched as advisory comments, his statements functioned as an unmistakable warning that inaction could carry professional or regulatory consequences.
This episode was not an isolated occurrence but rather part of a broader pattern in Carr’s tenure at the FCC. He has previously directed his influence against high‑profile media companies. A notable instance occurred when the Commission delayed approval of Skydance Media’s proposed acquisition of Paramount Global. That delay coincided with a lawsuit filed by Donald Trump against CBS News, a Paramount subsidiary, over a “60 Minutes” interview with then‑Vice President Kamala Harris, which Trump alleged was edited in a misleading fashion. Only after Paramount agreed to a sizeable $16 million settlement did the FCC permit the merger to advance, underscoring Carr’s willingness to leverage regulatory procedures in politically charged contexts.
The outcome in Kimmel’s case reflected a similar playbook. Within mere hours of Carr’s public rebuke, two of the most powerful station groups—Nexstar Media Group and Sinclair Broadcast Group—both owners of numerous local ABC affiliates, began to apply heavy pressure on ABC. This coordinated push led the network to suspend Kimmel’s show abruptly, a decision interpreted by media observers as the direct realization of Carr’s strategic aims.
Experts have characterized Carr’s approach as unprecedented in modern regulatory practice. Al Tompkins, a journalism professor at Syracuse University, described the situation as unlike anything broadcasters had previously encountered, noting the unusual spectacle of an FCC commissioner actively pressuring local station owners to drive programming changes at the network level. While historically novel, these tactics nevertheless reveal a widening pattern in Carr’s leadership style: he has consistently employed the agency’s authority in aggressive, interpretive, and sometimes unconventional ways—whether by holding up deals, threatening license reviews, or scrutinizing corporate diversity initiatives.
This aggressive posture has provoked criticism from other commissioners within the FCC itself. Anna Gomez, appointed under President Joe Biden, issued a sharp statement condemning Carr’s conduct, warning that he was politicizing a regulatory body originally designed to remain neutral. She reminded the public that the Commission has neither the constitutional right nor the legal mandate to police content simply on the basis of political or ideological disapproval. Her remarks underscored the tension between Carr’s expansive interpretation of his role and the traditional, more restrained functions of the FCC.
The controversy surrounding Kimmel also serves as a broader case study in the kind of power the FCC wields uniquely over broadcast television. Unlike cable channels or streaming services—which operate outside its direct jurisdiction—the FCC controls the licensing of broadcast frequencies. This authority includes the capacity to revoke licenses in cases where stations are deemed not to be serving the “public interest.” Historically, however, the Commission has exercised this authority sparingly, focusing its enforcement on explicit material such as profanity or nudity. A high‑profile example was CBS’s substantial fine after the 2004 Super Bowl halftime show, when Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction was broadcast to millions.
Revocation of a license remains extraordinarily rare. The few instances in U.S. history include the 1969 decision to strip WLBT in Jackson, Mississippi, of its license for refusing to cover the Civil Rights movement adequately—a deliberate act of censorship by omission. Another attempt in the 1970s targeted a Jacksonville station following its coverage of a racially offensive remark by a Supreme Court nominee under President Richard Nixon, though that effort ultimately failed and was overtaken by Nixon’s resignation the following year. Because license renewal is typically automatic, few observers expect large‑scale revocations to be viable in the modern media landscape.
Nonetheless, Carr’s strategy illustrates how exerting pressure need not involve formal revocation. As media analyst Rick Edmonds noted, the FCC has myriad intermediate tools: it can delay mergers, hold investigative hearings, or demand extensive studies. Carr has already extended pressure campaigns into corporate diversity, equity, and inclusion practices at Disney and Comcast, showing a willingness to challenge companies in areas not traditionally contested by the agency. Moreover, the mere possibility that a merger or acquisition may be held up—as Paramount experienced—can influence corporate behavior significantly. With Nexstar currently seeking approval to acquire Tegna, executives are particularly sensitive to remaining in Carr’s good graces, since consummating such a deal would require regulatory flexibility to bypass ownership cap rules.
Beyond regulatory levers, there is also market pressure from viewers. Many affiliate operators, especially those serving conservative or politically polarized audiences in red‑leaning states, remain wary of hosting late‑night programs that appear hostile to Trump or right‑wing politics, giving Carr’s criticisms added potency by aligning with certain audience sentiments.
From a historical perspective, the FCC’s “public interest” mandate has rarely been invoked to silence or punish political commentary specifically. Experts such as Seth Stern of the Freedom of the Press Foundation and lawyer Bob Corn‑Revere emphasize that existing law explicitly rejects the notion of the FCC policing political viewpoints. Yet Carr’s rhetoric functions as a kind of soft power: even without formally revoking a license, his outspoken threats carry weight and encourage networks to self‑censor in order to mitigate perceived regulatory risk. Gigi Sohn, formerly a nominee for FCC commissioner, described Carr’s behavior as exploiting the role of the chair as a “bully pulpit,” emphasizing that sometimes the symbolism and tone of authority are as effective as actual enforcement.
Ultimately, the suspension of Jimmy Kimmel’s show symbolizes a larger transformation in the relationship between regulatory officials and the media institutions they oversee. Carr’s willingness to use informal intimidation alongside formal powers reflects a new, untested pressure playbook—one where the threat of government action exerts influence even when statutory tools remain limited. In doing so, he has redefined the balance between oversight and interference, leaving the broader implications for free expression, corporate independence, and political accountability in uncertain and contentious territory.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/fcc-brendan-carr-abc-jimmy-kimmel-nexstar-media-first-amendment-2025-9
