Power, Silence, and Survival: What the Release of the Epstein Files Demands of Us

A badly timed flu forced me to slow down last week. As I lay in bed, half-watching the world scroll past on my phone, I was confronted by an irony: it was Sexual Violence and Abuse Awareness Week. And at the same time, headlines about the release of the Epstein files were everywhere.

If you are even mildly online, you cannot avoid it. The names. The speculation. The screenshots. The hot takes. The conspiracy threads. The outrage.

And beneath it all, survivors.

My first thought was not about the powerful. Not about the political implications. Not about who knew what and when. My first thought was about survivors. The survivors of Epstein. Of Maxwell. Of every wealthy, connected individual who used status, money, and influence to access, exploit, silence, and discredit. And also the countless survivors around the world who have nothing to do with this case, but who are nonetheless forced to relive their own experiences as these stories dominate the news cycle.

For many, this week has not been about information. It has been about activation.

When stories like this break, especially with such intensity, they do not land in a vacuum. They land in bodies that remember. In nervous systems that have already been overwhelmed. In lives that were permanently altered by abuse, often by someone powerful in their own world: a parent, a coach, a boss, a partner, a community leader.

My fear is that in the frenzy, in the analysis, the sensationalism, the endless commentary, there is potential for us to lose sight of the lives that were deeply changed and disrupted. We risk turning trauma into spectacle. We risk allowing the shock value to eclipse the human cost.

The barrage of disturbing information can dull us. The repetition of horrific details can create distance. We scroll. We react. We argue. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, we drift further from the people whose lives were harmed.

Abuse is not gossip. It is not a headline. It is not a political football. It is not a source of morbid curiosity.

• It is a violation of autonomy, safety, and dignity.
• It is stolen childhoods.
• It is fractured trust.
• It is years, sometimes decades, of rebuilding a sense of self.

And when those responsible are wealthy and powerful, the harm compounds. Power does not just enable abuse; it often fortifies it. It casts doubt. It funds legal teams. It buys silence. It intimidates. It reframes. It erodes credibility. It dares survivors to speak and then punishes them when they do.

So when new files are released, when names circulate, when debates rage, we must anchor ourselves in this: behind every document is a person. Behind every redaction, every court filing, every testimony, is a human being whose life was altered.

We must not allow the conversation to become abstract.

For survivors reading these headlines and feeling the familiar churn in their stomach: you are not invisible in this. Your experience is not diminished by the scale of this case. You are not “too sensitive” for finding this difficult. The distress you feel makes sense.

• You are allowed to log off.
• You are allowed to set boundaries around your consumption.
• You are allowed to prioritise your nervous system over being informed.

Awareness should never come at the cost of your well-being.

At the same time, we cannot look away entirely. Accountability matters. Transparency matters. Systems that protect abusers must be dismantled. We must hold those responsible to account, not just the most infamous names, but all who enabled, facilitated, dismissed, or silenced.

And we must expand the frame.

This is not just about one man. Or one woman. Or one circle of elites. It is about a culture that repeatedly underestimates the reach of abuse when it intersects with power. It is about institutions that protect reputation over people. It is about the casual indifference toward survivors’ lives that reveals the deeply rooted and corrosive misogyny embedded within systems of power.

Sexual Violence and Abuse Awareness Week asks us to confront uncomfortable truths. The release of these files forces us to do so on a global stage. The intersection of the two is not incidental. It is revealing.

We must not stop talking about survivors. All survivors. Not only when their stories are attached to famous names. Not only when it is trending. Not only when it fits a narrative.

And we must insist, persistently, collectively, that power does not place anyone beyond accountability.

Behind every headline is a human being.

Let’s keep them at the centre.