In 2021, Florida and Texas enacted statutes regulating large social-media companies and other internet platforms. The States’ laws differ in the entities they cover and the activities they limit. But both curtail the platforms’ capacity to engage in content moderation—to filter, prioritize, and label the varied third-party messages, videos, and other content their users wish to post. Both laws also include individualized-explanation provisions, requiring a platform to give reasons to a user if it removes or alters her posts.

  NetChoice LLC and the Computer & Communications Industry Association (collectively, NetChoice)—trade associations whose members include Facebook and YouTube—brought facial First Amendment challenges against the two laws. District courts in both States entered preliminary injunctions.

  The Eleventh Circuit upheld the injunction of Florida’s law, as to all provisions relevant here. The court held that the State’s restrictions on content moderation trigger First Amendment scrutiny under this Court’s cases protecting “editorial discretion.” 34 F. 4th 1196, 1209, 1216. The court then concluded that the content-moderation provisions are unlikely to survive heightened scrutiny. Id., at 1227–1228. Similarly, the Eleventh Circuit thought the statute’s individualized-explanation requirements likely to fall. Relying on Zauderer v. Office of Disciplinary Counsel of Supreme Court of Ohio, 471 U. S. 626, the court held that the obligation to explain “millions of [decisions] per day” is “unduly burdensome and likely to chill platforms’ protected speech.” 34 F. 4th, at 1230.

  The Fifth Circuit disagreed across the board, and so reversed the preliminary injunction of the Texas law. In that court’s view, the platforms’ content-moderation activities are “not speech” at all, and so do not implicate the First Amendment. 49 F. 4th 439, 466, 494. But even if those activities were expressive, the court determined the State could regulate them to advance its interest in “protecting a diversity of ideas.” Id., at 482. The court further held that the statute’s individualized-explanation provisions would likely survive, even assuming the platforms were engaged in speech. It found no undue burden under Zauderer because the platforms needed only to “scale up” a “complaint-and-appeal process” they already used. 49 F. 4th, at 487.

Held: The judgments are vacated, and the cases are remanded, because neither the Eleventh Circuit nor the Fifth Circuit conducted a proper analysis of the facial First Amendment challenges to Florida and Texas laws regulating large internet platforms. Pp. 9–31.

 (a) NetChoice’s decision to litigate these cases as facial challenges comes at a cost. The Court has made facial challenges hard to win. In the First Amendment context, a plaintiff must show that “a substantial number of [the law’s] applications are unconstitutional, judged in relation to the statute’s plainly legitimate sweep.” Americans for Prosperity Foundation v. Bonta, 594 U. S. 595, 615.

 So far in these cases, no one has paid much attention to that issue. Analysis and arguments below focused mainly on how the laws applied to the content-moderation practices that giant social-media platforms use on their best-known services to filter, alter, or label their users’ posts, i.e., on how the laws applied to the likes of Facebook’s News Feed and YouTube’s homepage. They did not address the full range of activities the laws cover, and measure the constitutional against the unconstitutional applications.

 The proper analysis begins with an assessment of the state laws’ scope. The laws appear to apply beyond Facebook’s News Feed and its ilk. But it’s not clear to what extent, if at all, they affect social-media giants’ other services, like direct messaging, or what they have to say about other platforms and functions. And before a court can do anything else with these facial challenges, it must “determine what [the law] covers.” United States v. Hansen, 599 U. S. 762, 770.

 The next order of business is to decide which of the laws’ applications violate the First Amendment, and to measure them against the rest. For the content-moderation provisions, that means asking, as to every covered platform or function, whether there is an intrusion on protected editorial discretion. And for the individualized-explanation provisions, it means asking, again as to each thing covered, whether the required disclosures unduly burden expression. See Zauderer, 471 U. S., at 651.

 Because this is “a court of review, not of first view,” Cutter v. Wilkinson, 544 U. S. 709, 718, n. 7, this Court cannot undertake the needed inquiries. And because neither the Eleventh nor the Fifth Circuit performed the facial analysis in the way described above, their decisions must be vacated and the cases remanded. Pp. 9–12.

 (b) It is necessary to say more about how the First Amendment relates to the laws’ content-moderation provisions, to ensure that the facial analysis proceeds on the right path in the courts below. That need is especially stark for the Fifth Circuit, whose decision rested on a serious misunderstanding of First Amendment precedent and principle. Pp. 12–29.

  (1) The Court has repeatedly held that ordering a party to provide a forum for someone else’s views implicates the First Amendment if, though only if, the regulated party is engaged in its own expressive activity, which the mandated access would alter or disrupt. First, in Miami Herald Publishing Co. v. Tornillo, 418 U. S. 241, the Court held that a Florida law requiring a newspaper to give a political candidate a right to reply to critical coverage interfered with the newspaper’s “exercise of editorial control and judgment.” Id., at 243, 258. Florida could not, the Court explained, override the newspaper’s decisions about the “content of the paper” and “[t]he choice of material to go into” it, because that would substitute “governmental regulation” for the “crucial process” of editorial choice. Id., at 258. The next case, Pacific Gas & Elec. Co. v. Public Util. Comm’n of Cal., 475 U. S. 1, involved California’s attempt to force a private utility to include material from a certain consumer-advocacy group in its regular newsletter to consumers. The Court held that an interest in “offer[ing] the public a greater variety of views” could not justify compelling the utility “to carry speech with which it disagreed” and thus to “alter its own message.” Id., at 11, n. 7, 12, 16. Then in Turner Broadcasting System, Inc. v. FCC, 512 U. S. 622, the Court considered federal “must-carry” rules, which required cable operators to allocate certain channels to local broadcast stations. The Court had no doubt the First Amendment was implicated, because the rules “interfere[d]” with the cable operators’ “editorial discretion over which stations or programs to include in [their] repertoire.” Id., at 636, 643–644. The capstone of this line of precedents, Hurley v. Irish-American Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual Group of Boston, Inc., 515 U. S. 557, held that the First Amendment prevented Massachusetts from compelling parade organizers to admit as a participant a gay and lesbian group seeking to convey a message of “pride.” Id., at 561. It held that ordering the group’s admittance would “alter the expressive content of the[ ] parade,” and that the decision to exclude the group’s message was the organizers’ alone. Id., at 572–574.

 From that slew of individual cases, three general points emerge. First, the First Amendment offers protection when an entity engaged in compiling and curating others’ speech into an expressive product of its own is directed to accommodate messages it would prefer to exclude. Second, none of that changes just because a compiler includes most items and excludes just a few. It “is enough” for the compiler to exclude the handful of messages it most “disfavor[s].” Hurley, 515 U. S., at 574. Third, the government cannot get its way just by asserting an interest in better balancing the marketplace of ideas. In case after case, the Court has barred the government from forcing a private speaker to present views it wished to spurn in order to rejigger the expressive realm. Pp. 13–19.

  (2) “[W]hatever the challenges of applying the Constitution to ever-advancing technology, the basic principles” of the First Amendment “do not vary.” Brown v. Entertainment Merchants Assn., 564 U. S. 786, 790. And the principles elaborated in the above-summarized decisions establish that Texas is not likely to succeed in enforcing its law against the platforms’ application of their content-moderation policies to their main feeds.

 Facebook’s News Feed and YouTube’s homepage present users with a continually updating, personalized stream of other users’ posts. The key to the scheme is prioritization of content, achieved through algorithms. The selection and ranking is most often based on a user’s expressed interests and past activities, but it may also be based on other factors, including the platform’s preferences. Facebook’s Community Standards and YouTube’s Community Guidelines detail the messages and videos that the platforms disfavor. The platforms write algorithms to implement those standards—for example, to prefer content deemed particularly trustworthy or to suppress content viewed as deceptive. Beyond ranking content, platforms may add labels, to give users additional context. And they also remove posts entirely that contain prohibited subjects or messages, such as pornography, hate speech, and misinformation on certain topics. The platforms thus unabashedly control the content that will appear to users.

 Texas’s law, though, limits their power to do so. Its central provision prohibits covered platforms from “censor[ing]” a “user’s expression” based on the “viewpoint” it contains. Tex. Civ. Prac. & Rem. Code Ann. §143A.002(a)(2). The platforms thus cannot do any of the things they typically do (on their main feeds) to posts they disapprove—cannot demote, label, or remove them—whenever the action is based on the post’s viewpoint. That limitation profoundly alters the platforms’ choices about the views they convey.

 The Court has repeatedly held that type of regulation to interfere with protected speech. Like the editors, cable operators, and parade organizers this Court has previously considered, the major social-media platforms curate their feeds by combining “multifarious voices” to create a distinctive expressive offering. Hurley, 515 U. S., at 569. Their choices about which messages are appropriate give the feed a particular expressive quality and “constitute the exercise” of protected “editorial control.” Tornillo, 418 U. S., at 258. And the Texas law targets those expressive choices by forcing the platforms to present and promote content on their feeds that they regard as objectionable.

 That those platforms happily convey the lion’s share of posts submitted to them makes no significant First Amendment difference. In Hurley, the Court held that the parade organizers’ “lenient” admissions policy did “not forfeit” their right to reject the few messages they found harmful or offensive. 515 U. S., at 569. Similarly here, that Facebook and YouTube convey a mass of messages does not license Texas to prohibit them from deleting posts they disfavor. Pp. 19–26.

  (3) The interest Texas relies on cannot sustain its law. In the usual First Amendment case, the Court must decide whether to apply strict or intermediate scrutiny. But here, Texas’s law does not pass even the less stringent form of review. Under that standard, a law must further a “substantial governmental interest” that is “unrelated to the suppression of free expression.” United States v. O’Brien, 391 U. S. 367, 377. Many possible interests relating to social media can meet that test. But Texas’s asserted interest relates to the suppression of free expression, and it is not valid, let alone substantial.

 Texas has never been shy, and always been consistent, about its interest: The objective is to correct the mix of viewpoints that major platforms present. But a State may not interfere with private actors’ speech to advance its own vision of ideological balance. States (and their citizens) are of course right to want an expressive realm in which the public has access to a wide range of views. But the way the First Amendment achieves that goal is by preventing the government from “tilt[ing] public debate in a preferred direction,” Sorrell v. IMS Health Inc., 564 U. S. 552, 578–579, not by licensing the government to stop private actors from speaking as they wish and preferring some views over others. A State cannot prohibit speech to rebalance the speech market. That unadorned interest is not “unrelated to the suppression of free expression.” And Texas may not pursue it consistent with the First Amendment. Pp. 26–29.

No. 22–277, 34 F. 4th 1196; No. 22–555, 49 F. 4th 439; vacated and remanded.

 Kagan, J., delivered the opinion of the Court, in which Roberts, C. J., and Sotomayor, Kavanaugh, and Barrett, JJ., joined in full, and in which Jackson, J., joined as to Parts I, II and III–A. Barrett, J., filed a concurring opinion. Jackson, J., filed an opinion concurring in part and concurring in the judgment. Thomas, J., filed an opinion concurring in the judgment. Alito, J., filed an opinion concurring in the judgment, in which Thomas and Gorsuch, JJ., joined.

Notes
¹ *Together with No. 22–555, NetChoice, LLC, dba NetChoice, et al. v. Paxton, Attorney General of Texas, on certiorari to the United States Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit.

A federal grand jury indicted former President Donald J. Trump on four counts for conduct that occurred during his Presidency following the November 2020 election. The indictment alleged that after losing that election, Trump conspired to overturn it by spreading knowingly false claims of election fraud to obstruct the collecting, counting, and certifying of the election results. Trump moved to dismiss the indictment based on Presidential immunity, arguing that a President has absolute immunity from criminal prosecution for actions performed within the outer perimeter of his official responsibilities, and that the indictment’s allegations fell within the core of his official duties. The District Court denied Trump’s motion to dismiss, holding that former Presidents do not possess federal criminal immunity for any acts. The D. C. Circuit affirmed. Both the District Court and the D. C. Circuit declined to decide whether the indicted conduct involved official acts.

Held: Under our constitutional structure of separated powers, the nature of Presidential power entitles a former President to absolute immunity from criminal prosecution for actions within his conclusive and preclusive constitutional authority. And he is entitled to at least presumptive immunity from prosecution for all his official acts. There is no immunity for unofficial acts. Pp. 5–43.

 (a) This case is the first criminal prosecution in our Nation’s history of a former President for actions taken during his Presidency. Determining whether and under what circumstances such a prosecution may proceed requires careful assessment of the scope of Presidential power under the Constitution. The nature of that power requires that a former President have some immunity from criminal prosecution for official acts during his tenure in office. At least with respect to the President’s exercise of his core constitutional powers, this immunity must be absolute. As for his remaining official actions, he is entitled to at least presumptive immunity. Pp. 5–15.

  (1) Article II of the Constitution vests “executive Power” in “a President of the United States of America.” §1, cl. 1. The President has duties of “unrivaled gravity and breadth.” Trump v. Vance, 591 U. S. 786, 800. His authority to act necessarily “stem[s] either from an act of Congress or from the Constitution itself.” Youngstown Sheet & Tube Co. v. Sawyer, 343 U. S. 579, 585. In the latter case, the President’s authority is sometimes “conclusive and preclusive.” Id., at 638 (Jackson, J., concurring). When the President exercises such authority, Congress cannot act on, and courts cannot examine, the President’s actions. It follows that an Act of Congress—either a specific one targeted at the President or a generally applicable one—may not criminalize the President’s actions within his exclusive constitutional power. Neither may the courts adjudicate a criminal prosecution that examines such Presidential actions. The Court thus concludes that the President is absolutely immune from criminal prosecution for conduct within his exclusive sphere of constitutional authority. Pp. 6–9.

  (2) Not all of the President’s official acts fall within his “conclusive and preclusive” authority. The reasons that justify the President’s absolute immunity from criminal prosecution for acts within the scope of his exclusive constitutional authority do not extend to conduct in areas where his authority is shared with Congress. To determine the President’s immunity in this context, the Court looks primarily to the Framers’ design of the Presidency within the separation of powers, precedent on Presidential immunity in the civil context, and criminal cases where a President resisted prosecutorial demands for documents. P. 9.

   (i) The Framers designed the Presidency to provide for a “vigorous” and “energetic” Executive. The Federalist No. 70, pp. 471–472 (J. Cooke ed. 1961) (A. Hamilton). They vested the President with “supervisory and policy responsibilities of utmost discretion and sensitivity.” Nixon v. Fitzgerald, 457 U. S. 731, 750. Appreciating the “unique risks” that arise when the President’s energies are diverted by proceedings that might render him “unduly cautious in the discharge of his official duties,” the Court has recognized Presidential immunities and privileges “rooted in the constitutional tradition of the separation of powers and supported by our history.” Id., at 749, 751, 752, n. 32. In Fitzgerald, for instance, the Court concluded that a former President is entitled to absolute immunity from “damages liability for acts within the ‘outer perimeter’ of his official responsibility.” Id., at 756. The Court’s “dominant concern” was to avoid “diversion of the President’s attention during the decisionmaking process caused by needless worry as to the possibility of damages actions stemming from any particular official decision.” Clinton v. Jones, 520 U. S. 681, 694, n. 19.

 By contrast, when prosecutors have sought evidence from the President, the Court has consistently rejected Presidential claims of absolute immunity. During the treason trial of former Vice President Aaron Burr, for instance, Chief Justice Marshall rejected President Thomas Jefferson’s claim that the President could not be subjected to a subpoena. Marshall simultaneously recognized, however, the existence of a “privilege” to withhold certain “official paper[s].” United States v. Burr, 25 F. Cas. 187, 192 (No. 14,694) (CC Va.). And when a subpoena issued to President Richard Nixon, the Court rejected his claim of “absolute privilege.” United States v. Nixon, 418 U. S. 683, 703. But recognizing “the public interest in candid, objective, and even blunt or harsh opinions in Presidential decisionmaking,” it held that a “presumptive privilege” protects Presidential communications. Id., at 708. Because that privilege “relates to the effective discharge of a President’s powers,” id., at 711, the Court deemed it “fundamental to the operation of Government and inextricably rooted in the separation of powers under the Constitution.” Id., at 708. Pp. 9–12.

   (ii) Criminally prosecuting a President for official conduct undoubtedly poses a far greater threat of intrusion on the authority and functions of the Executive Branch than simply seeking evidence in his possession. The danger is greater than what led the Court to recognize absolute Presidential immunity from civil damages liability—that the President would be chilled from taking the “bold and unhesitating action” required of an independent Executive. Fitzgerald, 457 U. S., at 745. Although the President might be exposed to fewer criminal prosecutions than civil damages suits, the threat of trial, judgment, and imprisonment is a far greater deterrent and plainly more likely to distort Presidential decisionmaking than the potential payment of civil damages. The hesitation to execute the duties of his office fearlessly and fairly that might result when a President is making decisions under “a pall of potential prosecution,” McDonnell v. United States, 579 U. S. 550, 575, raises “unique risks to the effective functioning of government,” Fitzgerald, 457 U. S., at 751. But there is also a compelling “public interest in fair and effective law enforcement.” Vance, 591 U. S., at 808.

 Taking into account these competing considerations, the Court concludes that the separation of powers principles explicated in the Court’s precedent necessitate at least a presumptive immunity from criminal prosecution for a President’s acts within the outer perimeter of his official responsibility. Such an immunity is required to safeguard the independence and effective functioning of the Executive Branch, and to enable the President to carry out his constitutional duties without undue caution. At a minimum, the President must be immune from prosecution for an official act unless the Government can show that applying a criminal prohibition to that act would pose no “dangers of intrusion on the authority and functions of the Executive Branch.” Fitzgerald, 457 U. S., at 754. Pp. 12–15.

  (3) As for a President’s unofficial acts, there is no immunity. Although Presidential immunity is required for official actions to ensure that the President’s decisionmaking is not distorted by the threat of future litigation stemming from those actions, that concern does not support immunity for unofficial conduct. Clinton, 520 U. S., at 694, and n. 19. The separation of powers does not bar a prosecution predicated on the President’s unofficial acts. P. 15.

 (b) The first step in deciding whether a former President is entitled to immunity from a particular prosecution is to distinguish his official from unofficial actions. In this case, no court thus far has drawn that distinction, in general or with respect to the conduct alleged in particular. It is therefore incumbent upon the Court to be mindful that it is “a court of final review and not first view.” Zivotofsky v. Clinton, 566 U. S. 189, 201. Critical threshold issues in this case are how to differentiate between a President’s official and unofficial actions, and how to do so with respect to the indictment’s extensive and detailed allegations covering a broad range of conduct. The Court offers guidance on those issues. Pp. 16–32.

  (1) When the President acts pursuant to “constitutional and statutory authority,” he takes official action to perform the functions of his office. Fitzgerald, 456 U. S., at 757. Determining whether an action is covered by immunity thus begins with assessing the President’s authority to take that action. But the breadth of the President’s “discretionary responsibilities” under the Constitution and laws of the United States frequently makes it “difficult to determine which of [his] innumerable ‘functions’ encompassed a particular action.” Id., at 756. The immunity the Court has recognized therefore extends to the “outer perimeter” of the President’s official responsibilities, covering actions so long as they are “not manifestly or palpably beyond [his] authority.” Blassingame v. Trump, 87 F. 4th 1, 13 (CADC).

 In dividing official from unofficial conduct, courts may not inquire into the President’s motives. Such a “highly intrusive” inquiry would risk exposing even the most obvious instances of official conduct to judicial examination on the mere allegation of improper purpose. Fitzgerald, 457 U. S., at 756. Nor may courts deem an action unofficial merely because it allegedly violates a generally applicable law. Otherwise, Presidents would be subject to trial on “every allegation that an action was unlawful,” depriving immunity of its intended effect. Ibid. Pp. 17–19.

  (2) With the above principles in mind, the Court turns to the conduct alleged in the indictment. Certain allegations—such as those involving Trump’s discussions with the Acting Attorney General—are readily categorized in light of the nature of the President’s official relationship to the office held by that individual. Other allegations—such as those involving Trump’s interactions with the Vice President, state officials, and certain private parties, and his comments to the general public—present more difficult questions. Pp. 19–30.

   (i) The indictment alleges that as part of their conspiracy to overturn the legitimate results of the 2020 presidential election, Trump and his co-conspirators attempted to leverage the Justice Department’s power and authority to convince certain States to replace their legitimate electors with Trump’s fraudulent slates of electors. According to the indictment, Trump met with the Acting Attorney General and other senior Justice Department and White House officials to discuss investigating purported election fraud and sending a letter from the Department to those States regarding such fraud. The indictment further alleges that after the Acting Attorney General resisted Trump’s requests, Trump repeatedly threatened to replace him.

 The Government does not dispute that the indictment’s allegations regarding the Justice Department involve Trump’s use of official power. The allegations in fact plainly implicate Trump’s “conclusive and preclusive” authority. The Executive Branch has “exclusive authority and absolute discretion” to decide which crimes to investigate and prosecute, including with respect to allegations of election crime. Nixon, 418 U. S., at 693. And the President’s “management of the Executive Branch” requires him to have “unrestricted power to remove the most important of his subordinates”—such as the Attorney General—“in their most important duties.” Fitzgerald, 457 U. S., at 750. The indictment’s allegations that the requested investigations were shams or proposed for an improper purpose do not divest the President of exclusive authority over the investigative and prosecutorial functions of the Justice Department and its officials. Because the President cannot be prosecuted for conduct within his exclusive constitutional authority, Trump is absolutely immune from prosecution for the alleged conduct involving his discussions with Justice Department officials. Pp. 19–21.

   (ii) The indictment next alleges that Trump and his co-conspirators “attempted to enlist the Vice President to use his ceremonial role at the January 6 certification proceeding to fraudulently alter the election results.” App. 187, Indictment ¶10(d). In particular, the indictment alleges several conversations in which Trump pressured the Vice President to reject States’ legitimate electoral votes or send them back to state legislatures for review.

 Whenever the President and Vice President discuss their official responsibilities, they engage in official conduct. Presiding over the January 6 certification proceeding at which Members of Congress count the electoral votes is a constitutional and statutory duty of the Vice President. Art. II, §1, cl. 3; Amdt. 12; 3 U. S. C. §15. The indictment’s allegations that Trump attempted to pressure the Vice President to take particular acts in connection with his role at the certification proceeding thus involve official conduct, and Trump is at least presumptively immune from prosecution for such conduct.

 The question then becomes whether that presumption of immunity is rebutted under the circumstances. It is the Government’s burden to rebut the presumption of immunity. The Court therefore remands to the District Court to assess in the first instance whether a prosecution involving Trump’s alleged attempts to influence the Vice President’s oversight of the certification proceeding would pose any dangers of intrusion on the authority and functions of the Executive Branch. Pp. 21–24.

   (iii) The indictment’s remaining allegations involve Trump’s interactions with persons outside the Executive Branch: state officials, private parties, and the general public. In particular, the indictment alleges that Trump and his co-conspirators attempted to convince certain state officials that election fraud had tainted the popular vote count in their States, and thus electoral votes for Trump’s opponent needed to be changed to electoral votes for Trump. After Trump failed to convince those officials to alter their state processes, he and his co-conspirators allegedly developed and effectuated a plan to submit fraudulent slates of Presidential electors to obstruct the certification proceeding. On Trump’s view, the alleged conduct qualifies as official because it was undertaken to ensure the integrity and proper administration of the federal election. As the Government sees it, however, Trump can point to no plausible source of authority enabling the President to take such actions. Determining whose characterization may be correct, and with respect to which conduct, requires a fact-specific analysis of the indictment’s extensive and interrelated allegations. The Court accordingly remands to the District Court to determine in the first instance whether Trump’s conduct in this area qualifies as official or unofficial. Pp. 24–28.

   (iv) The indictment also contains various allegations regarding Trump’s conduct in connection with the events of January 6 itself. The alleged conduct largely consists of Trump’s communications in the form of Tweets and a public address. The President possesses “extraordinary power to speak to his fellow citizens and on their behalf.” Trump v. Hawaii, 585 U. S. 667, 701. So most of a President’s public communications are likely to fall comfortably within the outer perimeter of his official responsibilities. There may, however, be contexts in which the President speaks in an unofficial capacity—perhaps as a candidate for office or party leader. To the extent that may be the case, objective analysis of “content, form, and context” will necessarily inform the inquiry. Snyder v. Phelps, 562 U. S. 443, 453. Whether the communications alleged in the indictment involve official conduct may depend on the content and context of each. This necessarily factbound analysis is best performed initially by the District Court. The Court therefore remands to the District Court to determine in the first instance whether this alleged conduct is official or unofficial. Pp. 28–30.

  (3) Presidents cannot be indicted based on conduct for which they are immune from prosecution. On remand, the District Court must carefully analyze the indictment’s remaining allegations to determine whether they too involve conduct for which a President must be immune from prosecution. And the parties and the District Court must ensure that sufficient allegations support the indictment’s charges without such conduct. Testimony or private records of the President or his advisers probing such conduct may not be admitted as evidence at trial. Pp. 30–32.

 (c) Trump asserts a far broader immunity than the limited one the Court recognizes, contending that the indictment must be dismissed because the Impeachment Judgment Clause requires that impeachment and Senate conviction precede a President’s criminal prosecution. But the text of the Clause does not address whether and on what conduct a President may be prosecuted if he was never impeached and convicted. See Art. I, §3, cl. 7. Historical evidence likewise lends little support to Trump’s position. The Federalist Papers on which Trump relies concerned the checks available against a sitting President; they did not endorse or even consider whether the Impeachment Judgment Clause immunizes a former President from prosecution. Transforming the political process of impeachment into a necessary step in the enforcement of criminal law finds little support in the text of the Constitution or the structure of the Nation’s Government. Pp. 32–34.

 (d) The Government takes a similarly broad view, contending that the President enjoys no immunity from criminal prosecution for any action. On its view, as-applied challenges in the course of the trial suffice to protect Article II interests, and review of a district court’s decisions on such challenges should be deferred until after trial. But questions about whether the President may be held liable for particular actions, consistent with the separation of powers, must be addressed at the outset of a proceeding. Even if the President were ultimately not found liable for certain official actions, the possibility of an extended proceeding alone may render him “unduly cautious in the discharge of his official duties.” Fitzgerald, 457 U. S., at 752, n. 32. The Constitution does not tolerate such impediments to “the effective functioning of government.” Id., at 751. Pp. 34–37.

 (e) This case poses a question of lasting significance: When may a former President be prosecuted for official acts taken during his Presidency? In answering that question, unlike the political branches and the public at large, the Court cannot afford to fixate exclusively, or even primarily, on present exigencies. Enduring separation of powers principles guide our decision in this case. The President enjoys no immunity for his unofficial acts, and not everything the President does is official. The President is not above the law. But under our system of separated powers, the President may not be prosecuted for exercising his core constitutional powers, and he is entitled to at least presumptive immunity from prosecution for his official acts. That immunity applies equally to all occupants of the Oval Office. Pp. 41–43.

91 F. 4th 1173, vacated and remanded.

 Roberts, C. J., delivered the opinion of the Court, in which Thomas, Alito, Gorsuch, and Kavanaugh, JJ., joined in full, and in which Barrett, J., joined except as to Part III–C. Thomas, J., filed a concurring opinion. Barrett, J., filed an opinion concurring in part. Sotomayor, J., filed a dissenting opinion, in which Kagan and Jackson, JJ., joined. Jackson, J., filed a dissenting opinion.

Since it opened for business in 2018, petitioner Corner Post, like most merchants, has accepted debit cards as a form of payment. Debit card transactions require merchants to pay an “interchange fee” to the bank that issued the card. The fee amount is set by the payment networks (such as Visa and MasterCard) that process the transaction. In 2010 Congress tasked the Federal Reserve Board with making sure that interchange fees were “reasonable and proportional to the cost incurred by the issuer with respect to the transaction.” 15 U. S. C. §1693o–2(a)(3)(A). Discharging this duty, in 2011 the Board published Regulation II, which sets a maximum interchange fee of $0.21 per transaction plus .05% of the transaction’s value.

  In 2021, Corner Post joined a suit brought against the Board under the Administrative Procedure Act (APA). The complaint challenged Regulation II on the ground that it allows higher interchange fees than the statute permits. The District Court dismissed the suit as time-barred under 28 U. S. C. §2401(a), the default six-year statute of limitations applicable to suits against the United States. The Eighth Circuit affirmed.

Held: An APA claim does not accrue for purposes of §2401(a)’s 6-year statute of limitations until the plaintiff is injured by final agency action. Pp. 4–23.

 (a) The APA grants Corner Post a cause of action subject to certain conditions, see 5 U. S. C. §702 and §704, and 28 U. S. C. §2401(a) delineates the time period in which Corner Post may assert its claim. Section 702 authorizes persons injured by agency action to obtain judicial review by suing the United States or one of its agencies, officers, or employees. See Abbott Laboratories v. Gardner, 387 U. S. 136, 140–141. The Court has explained that §702 “requir[es] a litigant to show, at the outset of the case, that he is injured in fact by agency action.” Director, Office of Workers’ Compensation Programs v. Newport News Shipbuilding & Dry Dock Co., 514 U. S. 122, 127. A litigant therefore cannot bring an APA claim unless and until she suffers an injury. While §702 equips injured parties with a cause of action, §704 provides that judicial review is available in most cases only for “final agency action.” Bennett v. Spear, 520 U. S. 154, 177–178. Reading §702 and §704 together, a plaintiff may bring an APA claim only after she is injured by final agency action.

 To determine whether Corner Post’s APA claim is timely, the Court must interpret §2401(a), which provides that civil actions against the United States “shall be barred unless the complaint is filed within six years after the right of action first accrues.” The Board says an APA claim “accrues” under §2401(a) when agency action is “final” for purposes of §704; the claim can accrue for purposes of the statute of limitations even before the plaintiff suffers an injury. The Court disagrees. A right of action “accrues” when the plaintiff has a “complete and present cause of action,” which is when she has the right to “file suit and obtain relief.” Green v. Brennan, 578 U. S. 547, 554. Because an APA plaintiff may not file suit and obtain relief until she suffers an injury from final agency action, the statute of limitations does not begin to run until she is injured. Pp. 4–6.

 (b) Congress enacted §2401(a) in 1948, two years after it enacted the APA. Section 2401(a)’s predecessor was the statute-of-limitations provision for the Little Tucker Act, which provided for district court jurisdiction over certain claims against the United States. When Congress revised and recodified the Judicial Code in 1948, it converted the Little Tucker Act’s statute of limitations into §2401(a)’s general statute of limitations for all suits against the Government. But Congress continued to start the statute of limitations period when the right “accrues.” Compare 36 Stat. 1093 (“after the right accrued for which the claim is made”) with §2401(a) (“after the right of action first accrues”).

 “Accrue” had a well-settled meaning in 1948, as it does now: A “right accrues when it comes into existence,” United States v. Lindsay, 346 U. S. 568, 569—i.e., “when the plaintiff has a complete and present cause of action,” Gabelli v. SEC, 568 U. S. 442, 448. This definition has appeared “in dictionaries from the 19th century up until today,” which explain that a cause of action accrues when a suit may be maintained thereon. 568 U. S., at 448. Thus, a cause of action does not become complete and present—it does not accrue—“until the plaintiff can file suit and obtain relief.” Bay Area Laundry and Dry Cleaning Pension Trust Fund v. Ferbar Corp. of Cal., 522 U. S. 192, 201. Contemporaneous legal dictionaries explained that a claim does not “accrue” as soon as the defendant acts, but only after the plaintiff suffers the injury required to press her claim in court.

 The Court’s precedent treats this definition of accrual as the “standard rule for limitations periods,” Green, 578 U. S., at 554, and the Court has “repeatedly recognized that Congress legislates against” this standard rule, Graham County Soil & Water Conservation Dist. v. United States ex rel. Wilson, 545 U. S. 409, 418. Conversely, the Court has “reject[ed]” the possibility that a “limitations period commences at a time when the [plaintiff] could not yet file suit” as “inconsistent with basic limitations principles.” Bay Area Laundry, 522 U. S., at 200. The Court will not reach such a conclusion “in the absence of any such indication in the text of the limitations period.” Green, 578 U. S., at 554. Departing from the traditional rule is particularly inappropriate here because contemporaneous statutes demonstrate that Congress in 1948 knew how to create a limitations period that begins with the defendant’s action instead of the plaintiff’s injury.

 The Board would have this Court interpret §2401(a) as a defendant-protective statute of repose that begins to run when agency action becomes final. A statute of repose “puts an outer limit on the right to bring a civil action” that is “measured. . . from the date of the last culpable act or omission of the defendant.” CTS Corp. v. Waldburger, 573 U. S. 1, 8. But §2401(a)’s plaintiff-focused language makes it a “statute of limitations,” which—in contradistinction to statutes of repose—are “based on the date when the claim accrued.” Id., at 7–8. Pp. 6–10.

 (c) The Board’s arguments to the contrary lack merit. Pp. 10–23.

  (1) The Board points to the many specific statutory review provisions that start the clock at finality, contending that such statutes reflect a standard administrative-law practice of starting the limitations period when “any proper plaintiff ” can challenge the final agency action. But unlike the specific review provisions that the Board cites, §2401(a) does not refer to the date of the agency action’s “entry” or “promulgat[ion]”; it says “right of action first accrues.” That textual difference matters. The latter language reflects a statute of limitations and the former a statute of repose. Moreover, the specific review provisions illustrate that Congress has sometimes employed the Board’s preferred final-agency-action rule—but did not do so in §2401(a). As the Court observed in Rotkiske v. Klemm, it is “particularly inappropriate” to read language into a statute of limitations “when, as here, Congress has shown that it knows how to adopt the omitted language or provision.” 589 U. S. 8, 14. Moreover, most of the finality-focused statutes that the Board cites came after §2401(a) was enacted in 1948. These other, textually distinct statutes therefore do not establish a background presumption that the limitations period for facial challenges to agency rules begins when the rule is final. Given the settled, plaintiff-centric meaning of “right of action first accrues” in 1948—not to mention in the Little Tucker Act before it—the Board cannot “displace” this “standard rule” for limitations periods. Green, 578 U. S., at 554.

 While the Board argues that §2401(a) should not be interpreted to adopt a “challenger-by-challenger” approach, the standard accrual rule that §2401(a) exemplifies is plaintiff specific. The Board reads §2401(a) as if it says “the complaint is filed within six years after a right of action [i.e., anyone’s right of action] first accrues”—which it does not say. Rather, §2401(a)’s text focuses on when the specific plaintiff had the right to sue: It says “the complaint is filed within six years after the right of action first accrues.” (Emphasis added). And the Court has explained that the traditional accrual rule looks to when the plaintiff—this particular plaintiff—has a complete and present cause of action. See Green, 578 U. S., at 554. No precedent supports the Board’s hypothetical “when could someone else have sued” sort of inquiry.

 Importing the Board’s special administrative-law rule into §2401(a) would create a defendant-focused rule for agency suits while retaining the traditional challenger-specific accrual rule for other suits against the United States. That would give the same statutory text—“right of action first accrues”—different meanings in different contexts, even though those words had a single, well-settled meaning when Congress enacted §2401(a). The Court “will not infer such an odd result in the absence of any such indication in the text of the limitations period.” Green, 578 U. S., at 554. Pp. 10–16.

  (2) The Board maintains that §2401(a)’s tolling provision—which provides that “[t]he action of any person under legal disability or beyond the seas at the time the claim accrues may be commenced within three years after the disability ceases”—“reflects Congress’s understanding that a claim can ‘accrue[ ]’ for purposes of Section 2401(a)” even when a person is unable to sue. Brief for Respondent 24. While true, the tolling exception applies when the plaintiff had a complete and present cause of action after he was injured but his legal disability or absence from the country prevented him from bringing a timely suit. The exception sheds no light on when the clock started for Corner Post. P. 16.

  (3) The Court’s precedents in Reading Co. v. Koons, 271 U. S. 58, and Crown Coat Front Co. v. United States, 386 U. S. 503, do not support the Board’s unusual interpretation of “accrual.” In Koons, the Court held that a statutory wrongful-death claim accrued upon the death of the employee, not on the appointment of an estate administrator, even though the latter was the “only person authorized by the statute to maintain the action.” Koons, 271 U. S., at 60. The Board interprets Koons to hold that a claim accrued at a time when no plaintiff could sue, just as it says Corner Post’s claim “accrued” before it could sue. But in Koons, the beneficiaries on whose behalf any administrator would seek relief—the “real parties in interest”—had the right to “procure the action” after the employee died. Given this unique context, Koons does not contradict the proposition that a claim generally accrues when the plaintiff has a complete and present cause of action. Next, the Board relies on dicta in Crown Coat to support its contention that the word “accrues” can take on different meanings in different contexts. But the Board misreads Crown Coat, which did not suggest that the words “right of action first accrues” in a single statute should mean different things in different contexts. Instead, the Court interpreted §2401(a)—the very statute at issue here—to embody the traditional rule that a claim accrues when the plaintiff has the right to bring suit in court. Pp. 16–20.

  (4) Finally, the Board raises policy concerns. It emphasizes that agencies and regulated parties need the finality of a 6-year cut off, and that successful facial challenges filed after six years upset the reliance interests of those that have long operated under existing rules. But “pleas of administrative inconvenience . . . never ‘justify departing from the statute’s clear text.’ ” Niz-Chavez v. Garland, 593 U. S. 155, 169 (quoting Pereira v. Sessions, 585 U. S. 198, 217). Congress could have chosen different language in §2401(a) or created a general statute of repose for agencies, but it did not. In any event, the Board’s policy concerns are overstated because regulated parties may always challenge a regulation as exceeding the agency’s statutory authority in enforcement proceedings against them. Moreover, there are significant interests supporting the plaintiff-centric accrual rule, including the APA’s “basic presumption” of judicial review, Abbott Labs., 387 U. S., at 140, and our “deep-rooted historic tradition that everyone should have his own day in court,” Richards v. Jefferson County, 517 U. S. 793, 798. Pp. 20–23.

55 F. 4th 634, reversed and remanded.

 Barrett, J., delivered the opinion of the Court, in which in which Roberts, C. J., and Thomas, Alito, Gorsuch, and Kavanaugh, JJ., joined. Kavanaugh, J., filed a concurring opinion. Jackson, J., filed a dissenting opinion, in which Sotomayor, J., and Kagan, J., joined.