Recently, the world learned that many of the people it sees on its screens — politicians, billionaires, academics, and Hollywood stars — were associated with the disgraced financier, Jeffrey Epstein. In 2019, the U.S. Department of Justice announced that Epstein had been charged with sex trafficking of minors. Court documents, including flight logs and depositions, were later unsealed, revealing the breadth of his network. It shocked Americans to think that a favorite rom-com actor might have visited his island once or twice. But these revelations cut deeper than shock. They raised pressing questions: Is anything going to happen to any of these people? And if so, who is going to make sure it does?
It is not irrational to question why the only ongoing, public investigations tied to Epstein are happening outside the United States. The most prominent example is Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, formerly Prince Andrew, who had previously faced a civil lawsuit connected to Epstein. The case, involving the late Virginie Giueffre, was settled in 2022. But, last week, on Feb. 19, Mountbatten-Windsor was arrested on suspicion of misconduct in public office as part of an investigation into his alleged ties to Epstein. This stunning development marked the first time in modern British history that a senior royal was taken into custody, according to CNN reporting. In Britain, someone as influential as a senior member of the typically insulated monarchy is being held accountable; and yet, in the United States — where many of the Epstein-related files were released — there seems to be no such accountability for our own higher-ups. We ought to ask why.
Epstein was charged, and Ghislaine Maxwell was later convicted of federal sex trafficking charges and sentenced to 20 years in prison. But what about everyone else? Epstein did not operate in a vacuum. Even if someone did not directly participate in his crimes, the question remains whether those who enabled, facilitated, protected, or financially benefited from such acts bear responsibility. For a month, names circulated, and everyone talked about it, but nothing happened to them — not really.
The official explanation for this shortcoming is due process. Prosecutors cannot indict someone simply because their name appeared on a flight log or in an email. Criminal law requires proof of intent and participation beyond a reasonable doubt — a constitutional standard the Supreme Court has upheld for decades. Association is not guilt. Grand juries operate in secrecy, often for long periods of time, and investigations are slow. That is how the system is designed.
And that explanation is legally correct.
But legal correctness does not eliminate public skepticism.
We can acknowledge due process while still questioning self-investigation. Many of the people whose names appear in these files are wealthy, politically connected, or deeply embedded in institutions. They have access to resources most people cannot even imagine. They hire the best attorneys, stretch timelines, and raise the political cost of prosecution. So it is not necessarily the system itself that blocks accountability — rather, it is the asymmetry of power within that system.
When due process consistently intersects with wealth and influence, caution begins to look like protection.
From the outside, the pattern starts to seem familiar: severe crime at the center, powerful names at the edges, and accountability that seems to weaken as it climbs upward. But thankfully, perception matters in a democracy. Democracies do not run on legal technicalities alone; they run on trust. That trust is rooted in the belief that the law applies as fairly upward as it does down. What seems refreshing is that the names in those files span parties, ideologies, industries, and continents.
This is not Republicans versus Democrats, even though they would like us to believe it is. Elected officials continually shift blame onto the opposing party, as if Epstein had not been in contact with some of the most prominent Democratic figures while also associating with some of the most conservative Republicans. The rhetoric surrounding the issue, despite it being fundamentally apolitical, has nevertheless become a recurring feature in many of President Trump’s speeches. Yet what we are witnessing is something far more fundamental: power versus accountability. That distinction has, in many ways, united the public around the principle that everyone must be held to the same standard. If anything, this scandal is one of the rare moments that exposes how deeply intertwined elite circles remain across political lines.
If justice has a ceiling — if it stops before it reaches the highest tiers of wealth and influence — then it is not justice at all. And if both parties are implicated in proximity to something this ugly, then accountability cannot be selective. It has to be universal.
The Zeitgeist aims to publish ideas worth discussing. The views presented are solely those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the views of the editorial board.
