So the former US attorney general is being roasted over the Epstein files, and British investigators are baying for transparency like hounds at a hunt. How deliciously hypocritical. Let us not forget that the same Establishment which now plays the crusader once wined and dined with the man, entertained him in London townhouses, and conveniently forgot his existence until a New York jail cell became the stage for his final act.
The Epstein affair is not a scandal of justice; it is a carnival of moral posturing, a ritual sacrifice to the gods of public outrage. We, the chattering classes of Britain, demand to see the files, to know the names, to point our fingers across the Atlantic. But what of our own dirty laundry?
What of the peers, the politicians, the princes who shuffled through Epstein’s orbit with a knowing glance? Transparency, dear investigators, is a double-edged sword. Be careful what you wish for—you might cut the very hands that feed you.
The American legal system is a farce, yes, but it is our farce, dear readers. Or rather, it is the farce of a global elite that knows no borders. The demand for full disclosure is not a demand for justice; it is a demand for a spectacle.
And we, the audience, are all too eager to watch the show, to gasp at each revelation, to feel righteous anger while ignoring the skeletons in our own closets. The Fall of Rome was not heralded by barbarians at the gates but by a morbid fascination with the salacious details of the powerful. We are there now, friends.
Enjoy the circus.
