When he was alive, Epstein bragged about his access and insight, hinted at shared sins, and worked behind the scenes to humiliate Trump through journalists like Michael Wolff. Now, in death, Epstein has achieved something more enduring. He has hijacked Trump’s presidency.
Early in Trump’s first administration, a White House official explained his media strategy to me. The morning tweets—the racist provocations, the impossible policy threats—were designed to whip the press into a frenzy. The goal was distraction: get us to chase everything and accomplish nothing. Some might say it worked. But Epstein doesn’t work like that.
These crimes are too grave, the network too sprawling, the documents too voluminous and concrete. Trump’s name appears tens of thousands of times across Epstein-related files. Roughly 3.5 million pages have already been released. Millions more remain under review or withheld by Trump’s own Justice Department, for reasons still unexplained.
Trump’s presidency has become about Epstein. For proof of this, look no further than the New York Times homepage, where the layout of coverage of the administration paints a clear picture of what matters: “Epstein Fallout” comes first, before news about his official policies or his geopolitical maneuvers.
Meanwhile, the files have fractured MAGA. To prevent their release, Trump pressured House leadership to avoid a vote on the Epstein Files Transparency Act. His myopic self-preservation was so intense that it helped trigger one of the longest government shutdowns in history. Marjorie Taylor Greene said Trump told her releasing the documents would mean that “my friends will get hurt,” a phrase Trump often uses when he means to talk about himself.
When survivors gathered on Capitol Hill in September to demand transparency, fighter jets roared overhead, drowning out their voices. The administration claimed it was unrelated, a ceremonial flyover for a fallen Polish airman. The timing was uncanny, but the symbolism was perfect.
Then came Trump’s exchange with CNN’s Kaitlan Collins.
After being asked last Tuesday whether the Epstein files should be more transparent and what he would say to survivors unhappy with the redactions, Trump didn’t offer empathy or accountability; he attacked the reporter.
“I think it’s really time for the country to get on to something else, now that nothing came out about me,” he said, refusing to acknowledge the crimes or the victims, “other than it was a conspiracy against me, literally, by Epstein and other people.”
Then, for good measure: “You are the worst reporter…. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile.”
It was telling. Asked what he would say to people who feel they’ve been denied justice, Trump defaulted to grievance and misogyny. His fixation is exoneration, not truth.
The Epstein files tell a number of stories about the president. There are statements, photos, and flight logs about trips on Epstein’s jet, about social overlap, about introductions, including a possible early connection to Melania Trump that echoes reporting by historian Andrew Lownie in his book about Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, Entitled. Lownie alleged that Epstein helped facilitate introductions within elite circles; Melania has denied any such connection involving herself. After her lawyers sought retractions and apologies from others who made claims that Epstein introduced Melania to Trump, several passages referencing her were removed from both the UK and US editions of Lownie’s book, and HarperCollins UK issued an apology to the first lady. What remains in the public record are photographs of and familiar exchanges between Ghislaine Maxwell and Melania, including at least one email in which Maxwell addresses her as “sweet pea.” Lucky for Trump, the height of his friendship with Epstein predates the reign of email, and predates the much more recent era in which he has expressed himself in private writing on digital channels, so we may never get a complete portrait of his personal communications.