Jessica Leeds.
Rachel Crooks.
Natasha Stoynoff.
Kristin Anderson.
Jill Harth.
Summer Zervos.
Cathy Heller.
Amy Dorris.
Lisa Boyne.
Temple Taggart.
Karena Virginia.
Mindy McGillivray.
Cassandra Searles.
Tasha Dixon.
E. Jean Carroll.
And more than a dozen more.
Each one accused Donald J. Trump of sexual misconduct, groping, assault, or rape. Some were contestants. Some were reporters. Some were guests at Mar-a-Lago. Their stories weren’t whispers — they were shouted. Sworn. Testified. Published. Mocked.
And America shrugged.
Trump didn’t deny the behavior. He bragged about it.
“When you’re a star, they let you do it.”
His supporters laughed away.
He walked in on undressed teenage pageant contestants. He kissed women without consent. He openly joked about dating his own daughter. He used hush money to silence a porn star — and then became the first American president convicted of felonies for covering it up. He called Stormy Daniels “Horseface,” sued her for speaking out, and lost in court.
But the cult kept looking away.
We dismissed the women as gold-diggers, liars, political pawns. We told them to come forward, and then destroyed them when they did.
26 women. Two juries.
One predator who still holds rallies and sells Bibles, brags about grabbing women “by the pussy,” calls women “disgusting,” and jokes about their weight. He mocked Christine Blasey Ford. He humiliated Megyn Kelly. He said women who get abortions should be “punished.” He made misogyny part of his brand. He knew he could get away with it. He said so. Out loud. Into a microphone. Because he knew America wouldn’t care — or wouldn’t care enough.
But... This isn’t just about Trump. It’s about what we tolerate. It’s about what we’re still willing to excuse for a promise of cheaper eggs or gas or crab legs.
If this man were your neighbor, your teacher, your boss, or your pastor, he’d be gone.
As a country, we need a spine.
26 of 26 women who came forward paid a price. And the man who assaulted them? He’s serving a second term as President of the United States.
Virginia Giuffre, said she was recruited by Ghislaine Maxwell at Mar-a-Lago — where she was working as a teenager. She says Epstein trafficked her. She says she was forced to have sex with powerful men that she he did not name, for fear of reprisal.
In 2016, a woman named Katie Johnson filed a federal lawsuit in New York alleging that Trump raped her when she was 13 years old at an Epstein-hosted party. She later dropped the suit, citing death threats. That’s not confirmation. But it’s not fiction either. It was filed in court. And it was ignored.
Trump’s cult point out that he later banned Epstein from Mar-a-Lago. That’s true — after Epstein reportedly assaulted a young girl there. But banning him after the damage is done isn’t heroism. It’s damage control.
Trump isn’t the only one whose name has been connected to Epstein — not by a long shot. There are flight logs, contact books, visitor logs, sealed court records. And yes, many of them remain sealed — because the justice system doesn’t want us to know who else might crack under sunlight.
That list of names — some powerful, some still anonymous — wasn’t sealed for privacy. It was sealed for protection. Not of victims. Of reputations. Of dynasties. Of power.
Epstein didn’t cater to one party. He catered to anyone with enough money and ego to believe they were untouchable. He was the concierge of elite perversion — and Trump was on the guest list.
We don’t know every detail of what happened in those mansions, islands, and jets. But we know enough to ask why Donald Trump, already a man accused of sexual misconduct or assault by more than two dozen women, is still treated like a punchline instead of a cautionary tale. Why does this man — who joked about walking in on teens, who said “you have to treat women like shit,” who praised Epstein after his conviction — still command respect from anybody?
Because the truth isn’t that we didn’t believe the women. It’s that we did. And we didn’t care. That’s the sickness. That’s the rot. This country didn’t need more proof. We had their names. Their stories. Their pain. Their courage. But for every brave woman who spoke out, there was a louder chorus of enablers saying shut up. That she was too late. Too angry. Too young. Too old. Too quiet. Too messy. Too threatening. Too inconvenient for the man they wanted to believe in.
If you want to know why more survivors don’t come forward, look at what happened to the ones who did.
This isn’t about old news. It’s about what we’re willing to normalize. Donald Trump is what happens when a nation refuses to listen. He is what happens when we look away.
And the cost isn’t just political. It’s personal. For every woman watching this unfold, it’s another message that her story doesn’t matter. That pain is politics. That power will always win. That unless there’s a camera rolling, a jury seated, and a billionaire on the stand, no one will believe her.
If we have any conscience left — if we still believe in justice that doesn’t wear a red hat — then we have to stop asking what will it take to stop him and start asking what the hell took us so long.
We already know who he is. The real question now is: who are we?