Understanding the history of consumer debt in the twentieth century seems simple enough: market making. Debt has existed as long as civilization, but it was only in the last century that our petty debts became big business, and that was made possible by making markets for consumer debts akin to those of businesses and governments.

It is hard to review African American history without confronting the multiple meanings of debt. There was debt owed, debt paid, debt inherited, and debt hidden in the social tax associated with a subordinate status in the United States. All of these meanings are embedded in the murder of Elmore Bolling. Called Buddy by his relatives, Bolling defied probability by building a highly successful business in Lowndesboro, Alabama, in the 1930s and 1940s. He used debt in a conventional sense, to lease a plantation. Yet his entrepreneurial skills allowed him to offset that debt and amass wealth. He grew corn, cotton, and sugar cane. More impressively, he owned a general store, a gas station, a fleet of trucks, and a catering business, which enabled him to employ at least forty other Black residents. His business acumen allowed him to maintain $40,000 in the bank and another $5,000 in other assets, a remarkable sum for a Black man in the American South during the Jim Crow era.

In the first half of the twentieth century, debt played an unexpectedly large role in shaping public views of American foreign relations. Debt—specifically, the public debt of other sovereign states—seems far removed from the everyday experience of Americans seeking credit from butchers and grocers or, in the global arena, decidedly dull in contrast to headlines about wars and assassinations. Yet if articles in thousands of local newspapers are an indicator, before World War I millions of Americans had been exposed to detailed coverage of the problematic indebtedness of the nearer nations of Latin America. To engaged readers in every corner of the United States, the financial entanglements of Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, and Honduras must have been a familiar trope—a sign of weakness if not immorality—and, as the policy of Dollar Diplomacy emerged after 1904, a harbinger of U.S. intervention.

#BankBlack. #BuyBlack. In the wake of deadly police murders of unarmed Black women and men, calls for greater investment in Black business emerged as one panacea for the myriad divisions rending the very flesh of the American promise. In July 2016, hip-hop artist and business owner Michael “Killer Mike” Render issued a call to action days after the police murders of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile. “We owe them our outrage,” he stressed in a call-in to a town hall meeting sponsored by cable television channels MTV and BET and hosted by a popular local Atlanta radio station. “But,” he countered, “we don't have to burn our city down.” Instead of burning, he challenged 1 million people to open a 100-dollar account at a Black bank. Days following Killer Mike's call to “bank Black,” about 8,000 Atlanteans opened accounts in Citizens Trust Bank, a Black-owned bank started in 1921. Riding a catchy hashtag and waves of discontent, the #BankBlack movement quickly spread beyond Atlanta. In less than a year, people around the world moved an estimated $60 million into Black-owned banks.

Massachusetts Representative Ayanna Pressley was one of many progressive Democrats denouncing student debt as a “multigenerational, multiracial injustice” in the new millennium. She joined researchers, activists, and frustrated borrowers in pointing out that federal student loan programs disproportionately left people of color, especially women, drowning in college debt.