News arrives, as it often does, with a whiff of scandal and a dash of irony. Pam Bondi, the former US attorney general, now finds herself under the steely gaze of British authorities. The matter? The Epstein files, those dusty artefacts of high society malfeasance which continue to haunt the corridors of power on both sides of the Atlantic. One might ask: is this a genuine pursuit of justice, or merely a theatrical performance by a nation that once ruled the waves and now rules nothing but its own anxieties?
Let us not mince words. The Epstein saga is a monument to the decadence of the elite, a tale of Epstein and Maxwell that reeks of the final days of the Roman Empire. We have seen this before: a ruling class so insulated, so convinced of its own immortality, that it indulges in perversions which would make Caligula blush. And now, Bondi, a woman who served as Florida's top prosecutor, is dragged into the mire. Why? Because she once showed leniency to a certain accused. Because the webs of influence are tangled, and the British, ever eager to remind themselves of their moral superiority, see a chance to claw at the American establishment.
But let us cast a colder eye. The British inquiry, led by the Home Office, is a curious beast. It smacks of the same moral panic that gripped Victorian England when Jack the Ripper stalked Whitechapel. Then, as now, the public demanded blood, and the authorities obliged with a show of vigour. Yet what will this inquiry achieve? Will it unearth new truths, or will it simply serve as a ritual purification for a nation whose own elites are hardly pristine? The British aristocracy, with its country houses and old school ties, has its own closets, and they rattle with bones.
Bondi's alleged missteps, particularly her decision not to prosecute Epstein in Florida in 2007 with a plea deal, have been reanimated by British investigators. The charge: that she failed to inform victims or show proper diligence. This is a grave accusation, but it is also a convenient one. It allows the British to pose as righteous arbiters while ignoring the fact that their own legal system has often turned a blind eye to the powerful. The Maxwell trial, after all, was a spectacle, but it did not cleanse the stables.
I suspect the real issue here is not justice but power. The Epstein files are a sword that cuts both ways. They expose the rot at the heart of the Anglo-American establishment, a web of financiers, politicians, and royalty who believed themselves beyond consequence. Bondi is merely a pawn in a larger game, a game of reputation and influence. The British, smarting from their diminished global role, seek to remind the Americans that they too can be held accountable. It is a petty squabble dressed in judicial robes.
History teaches us that such inquiries often end in farce. The Warren Commission, the Chilcot Report: each was a monument to bureaucracy, not truth. The Bondi inquiry will likely produce reams of reports, hours of testimony, and a shrug from the public. The elites will carry on, as they always do, until the next scandal breaks. The fall of Rome did not happen in a day, but in a slow decay of institutions and trust. We are living through that decay now.
So let us watch this circus with a jaundiced eye. Bondi may be guilty of poor judgment, but she is also a symbol of a system that rewards the well-connected. The British, for their part, are not saints. They are playing a game of moral one-upmanship. In the end, justice will be served only if we demand it, but the odds are against us. The empire of corruption is vast, and it will not crumble without a fight.
