There’s a strange, unsettling irony in the endless chants for Donald Trump to release the so-called “Epstein names.” For many in his base, these demands feel like the final frontier of truth and justice. But this obsession isn’t born merely from a desire to protect the vulnerable or expose elite wrongdoing. Instead, it’s the byproduct of a deeper, more painful economic story — one that tells us far more about modern America than any flight log ever could.
When Jeffrey Epstein, charged with child sex–trafficking, was found dead in his Manhattan jail cell in August 2019, under bizarre circumstances — broken cameras, inattentive guards, a prior alleged suicide attempt — the spark of distrust ignited into a bonfire. For countless Americans, especially those already feeling the sting of economic decline, Epstein’s death became living proof that the system is rigged to protect the powerful and punish the powerless.
Indeed, Epstein’s billionaire status, ostentatious hobnobbing with powerful public figures, and glamorous bachelor lifestyle in Palm Beach raised antennae. So did the fact that females he victimized were, put mildly, from a different social stratum. Most alarming, however, was Alex Acosta — Trump’s Labor secretary from 2017 to 2019 — reportedly telling transition team personnel that he had been instructed to back off Epstein years before. Acosta was a federal prosecutor during George W. Bush’s administration.
Acosta, so the report goes, had been told that Epstein was connected to intelligence agencies. Acosta allegedly said the matter was “above his pay grade.” He neither confirmed nor denied this when asked directly during a press conference. For certain, during the late 2000s, Epstein served time only for state charges, as part of a work-release program typically reserved for lower-level offenders, not those convicted of child prostitution.
The narrative of two-tiered justice, facilitated by Deep State intrigues, found a natural home among populist conservatives who had watched manufacturing towns wither, seen wages stagnate, felt the sting of mass migration, and struggled against inflation that made basic necessities feel like luxury goods. In Epstein’s face, they saw every unpunished banker from 2008, every corrupt politician, every smiling corporate CEO profiting from their misery.
The distrust was amplified as traditional media faltered. Local papers shuttered, TV viewership plummeted, and many turned to social media for answers. These platforms, designed not for truth, but for engagement, quickly realized that nothing engaged like fear and rage. Right-wing influencers eager to survive in a harsh economic landscape discovered that invoking Epstein’s name could fill bank accounts and build massive followings.
Instead of honest reporting or sober analysis, audiences received doom loops of speculation and sensationalism. Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, TikTok, and later Rumble incentivized viral content through algorithms that favored emotional extremes. With every post, the legend of Epstein’s “client list” grew into a mythical catch-all explanation for every societal woe. The Epstein story sucked up invaluable oxygen that other stories deserved — stories about real people whom right-wingers could’ve — and should’ve — stood for.
Eventually, Trump and his loyal allies, including Attorney General Pam Bondi, FBI director Kash Patel, and his deputy Dan Bongino, found themselves in an impossible bind. On one hand, they deeply understood the populist anger fueling demands about justice for Epstein’s victims and transparency regarding whether or not the world’s most powerful people were extorted by him. On the other, they also knew that carelessly releasing names — many of whom had nothing to do with Epstein’s crimes — would destroy innocent lives and further destabilize the country.
Trump himself expressed this dilemma during a private conversation with Bill O’Reilly in March 2025. He warned that releasing certain names could “destroy people” because public perception would not distinguish between casual associations and criminal complicity. His caution wasn’t weakness; it was moral clarity, a rare commitment to fairness even at great personal political risk.
But economic incentives for influencers were simply too strong. As the years passed, Epstein-focused videos, articles, and podcasts consistently ranked among the most lucrative content on conservative platforms. Entire business models now revolved around perpetual outrage, with Epstein as the ultimate boogeyman.
As inflation raged on, housing costs soared, and wage growth stalled, millions of Americans turned to these influencers not just for news, but for an emotional outlet. The Epstein mythos wasn’t simply a conspiracy; it became a psychological balm for the pain of economic betrayal, and all the poison ivy stemming from that. The story provided a clear villain when the true enemy — an impersonal, complex economic system and the sociopolitical upheaval it breeds — felt too vast and abstract to confront directly.
Earlier this month, Trump’s own Department of Justice issued a memo stating flatly that no comprehensive “client list” existed and no further disclosures were warranted. Backlash erupted. Influencers, now addicted to the revenue from Epstein-fueled content, turned on Trump’s DOJ. Even Kash Patel and Dan Bongino — men who had dedicated years to safeguarding American sovereignty and transparency — became targets of online fury.
This was a vivid example of what happens when economic incentives override loyalty, truth, and community. The so-called “Epstein economy” had become too valuable to let go. The more these creators hammered the narrative, the more they profited — fostering a cycle of distrust that threatens to fracture the very movement they claim to defend.
Trump himself saw the damage this fixation caused. After the memo was published, Trump asked a reporter why he was “still talking about Epstein,” urging focus on the White House’s recent administrative, legislative, and judicial successes, as well as the staggering loss of life — and material deprivation — caused by the Texas Hill Country floods. His frustration was justified. The obsession with Epstein had become a carnival sideshow, distracting from real-world victories and urgent policy battles.
The fact remains: Epstein was a vile criminal who hurt countless girls and young women. He deserved to face justice. But allowing influencers to spin his crimes into endless, monetized hysteria serves no one — least of all the victims.
Trump’s base has every right to demand accountability, but there must be a clear line between righteous skepticism and conspiratorial addiction. The MAGA movement wasn’t built on rumor mills; it was built on a concrete agenda — protecting borders, revitalizing the economy, and restoring responsiveness in government, among other essential things.
Instead of feeding algorithms with rage, America needs leaders who fight to bring jobs home, defend communities against violent crime, and ensure that families can thrive without fear of losing everything to inflation or becoming strangers in their own homeland via mass migration. That’s the vision Trump, Bondi, Patel, and Bongino have championed.
In the end, this moment offers a choice: follow those using Epstein as a cheap ticket to fame and fortune, causing psycho-emotional distress among their followers, or stand with leaders dedicated to restoring national greatness, however long that takes. The latter path is harder but infinitely more rewarding.
It’s time to end the keyboard warfare, reject the grifters profiting from paranoia, and focus on building an America strong enough never again to breed monsters like Epstein — or the parasitic, toxic social media celebrity that thrives on his ghost.
Image via Pixabay.