Trump Lawsuit Against IRS Raises Serious Conflict Of Interest Questions

A recent segment on MSNOW’s The Briefing with Jen Psaki dug into one of the most extraordinary and under-discussed stories of the moment: Donald Trump suing the IRS and the U.S. Treasury for $10 billion over the leak of his tax returns. On its face, the lawsuit is framed as a grievance about privacy violations stemming from the unauthorized disclosure of his tax information several years ago. But when you step back and consider who Trump is, the office he holds, and the long history surrounding his tax returns, the case raises profound conflict-of-interest questions that go well beyond a routine civil claim.

Trump’s tax returns were a defining controversy of his first term, not because of a single leak, but because of his unprecedented refusal to release them at all. For years, Trump broke with decades of presidential precedent, claiming audits prevented disclosure—a claim the IRS itself later contradicted. Litigation dragged on through multiple courts, House committees fought for access, and the public was left to speculate about what Trump was hiding. When portions of those returns finally became public, they revealed chronic losses, aggressive write-offs, questionable valuations, and a financial structure deeply entangled with foreign income streams and debt. Those revelations only reinforced why transparency had mattered in the first place.

Against that backdrop, Trump now suing the IRS for $10 billion takes on a far more troubling dimension. As Psaki pointed out, this is not a private citizen suing an independent entity; it is a sitting president suing an agency that ultimately answers to his own administration. Even if the alleged leak was real and improper, the structure of the lawsuit itself creates a situation where government lawyers are placed in an impossible bind. DOJ attorneys tasked with defending the IRS and Treasury know their client is also their boss. Career officials may insist they can act independently, but the chilling effect is obvious. How aggressively does a government lawyer fight a $10 billion claim brought by the president who controls promotions, budgets, and leadership appointments?

This is why critics see the lawsuit not merely as legal redress, but as a potential vehicle for self-enrichment and intimidation. Trump has a long history of weaponizing litigation—not necessarily to win on the merits, but to pressure, exhaust, or extract concessions. We saw this pattern repeatedly in his business career and again during his first term, whether it was targeting critics, inspectors general, or perceived enemies within the federal bureaucracy. Suing the IRS fits squarely into that pattern, particularly when the damages sought are so wildly disproportionate that they function more as leverage than compensation.

The lawsuit also dovetails with the broader corruption narrative now surrounding Trump’s administration and family. From his hotels and golf courses profiting off foreign governments during his first term, to his children maintaining business interests while holding senior advisory roles, Trump has consistently blurred the line between public power and private gain. The Trump Organization’s foreign licensing deals, Ivanka Trump’s fast-tracked trademarks abroad, and Jared Kushner’s post-White House financial windfalls all reinforced the sense that access to the presidency was being monetized. The IRS lawsuit feels like an extension of that same ethos—using the machinery of government not to serve the public, but to settle personal scores and potentially line one’s own pockets.

What makes this moment especially dangerous is normalization. Each individual act can be waved away by defenders as technically legal, procedurally defensible, or politically motivated criticism. But taken together, a pattern emerges: constant ethical edge-pushing, relentless conflicts of interest, and an erosion of institutional independence. When a president can sue his own tax authority for billions while appointing the people who oversee that authority, the guardrails of democratic accountability start to look frighteningly thin.

As the country heads toward the 2026 midterms, these issues are unlikely to fade. Midterm elections are historically difficult for the party in power, and this one appears especially volatile given persistent voter anger over corruption, cost of living pressures, and perceived abuses of power. Whether this IRS lawsuit becomes a defining symbol of those concerns remains to be seen, but it already stands as a stark illustration of how deeply intertwined Trump’s personal interests are with the public institutions he is supposed to lead—and why so many Americans remain alarmed by that reality.

Another Epstein Files Release Deadline Passes

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A segment on MSNOW’s The Last Word with Lawrence O’Donnell focused on yet another missed deadline for the release of the Epstein files under the Epstein Files Transparency Act. O’Donnell noted that Friday, 01/16/26, was the date by which Trump’s Department of Justice was required either to release the documents or explain to a federal court why it could not do so. Even as he laid out the requirement, O’Donnell expressed skepticism that the administration would comply.

That skepticism proved well founded. The DOJ did not release the Epstein files by the deadline, nor did it offer a straightforward justification for continued secrecy. Instead, it submitted a filing advancing a far more provocative claim: that the federal court itself lacks the authority to impose disclosure deadlines on the DOJ under the transparency law. In effect, the department argued that judicial oversight does not extend to enforcing Congress’s mandate for public release.

The filing struck many observers as both evasive and revealing. The DOJ had no shortage of familiar excuses it could have relied upon. It could have requested additional time, citing the need to review millions of Epstein-related files it now claims to have “discovered” years after Epstein’s death—an explanation that few in the public find credible, but one that would have followed the well-worn script of bureaucratic delay. Instead, the department chose to challenge the court’s authority outright, a move that signaled a deeper resistance to transparency rather than a temporary logistical problem.

That posture stripped away any remaining doubt about the administration’s intentions. From the beginning, critics warned that Trump’s DOJ would engage in procedural gamesmanship—offering symbolic compliance while ensuring that the most consequential material never sees the light of day. The latest filing suggests those warnings were prescient. By disputing the court’s power to impose deadlines, the DOJ is effectively asserting the right to delay disclosure indefinitely, regardless of statutory language, judicial orders, or public demand.

At this point, what once sounded like cynical speculation is hardening into an unavoidable conclusion. Despite sustained public outcry, congressional action, and repeated court-imposed deadlines, less than one percent—one percent—of the Epstein files have been released. That figure alone tells the story. At this pace, full disclosure is not merely delayed; it is effectively being denied. The administration appears content to manage optics rather than deliver transparency, releasing token material while the core of the record remains sealed. With each missed deadline, the promise of accountability fades further, leaving the public with a grim realization: the dream of a full Epstein files release may never be realized, and the cynics may have been right from the very beginning.

Less Than One Percent Of The Epstein Files Have Been Released Thus Far

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A recent segment on MSNBC’s Weeknight featured Rep. Robert Garcia (D-CA), who joined the program to discuss his ongoing efforts to force the release of the Epstein files. What he revealed caught many viewers off guard. Despite the passage of the Epstein Transparency Act, Garcia said the Department of Justice has released less than one percent of the total body of material related to Jeffrey Epstein. For an audience that assumed the law had jump-started a meaningful disclosure process, the figure landed like a gut punch.

While few people believed the government had released anything close to half of the files, most assumed the number was at least significantly higher than one percent. Garcia clarified that even within that already minuscule fraction, extensive redactions further limit what the public can actually see. In other words, the amount of usable, unredacted information is effectively even smaller. The disclosure process, far from accelerating, appears to be stalled almost entirely, raising serious questions about whether the law is being honored in anything more than name.

The segment also revisited Attorney General Pam Bondi’s recent appearance before the U.S. Senate, including pointed questioning from Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse. Bondi’s posture during the hearing was notably defiant, offering little indication that the Justice Department feels compelled to move faster or provide fuller transparency. If that testimony is any guide, expectations for a voluntary release of the Epstein files remain exceedingly low, regardless of statutory requirements.

Garcia noted that House Democrats are now planning to call Bondi before the House Oversight Committee to explain why the DOJ continues to withhold the vast majority of the files despite the clear intent of the Epstein Transparency Act. That hearing could become a pivotal moment, not only in determining whether the law has any real enforcement power, but also in testing whether congressional oversight will be allowed to function at all. The looming question is whether Bondi will bring the same combative resistance to the House—and whether House Republicans will once again enable stonewalling rather than demand answers the public has been waiting years to hear.

Minneapolis ICE Shooting Deepens the Trump Administration’s Credibility Crisis

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The fatal shooting of a 37-year-old American woman in Minneapolis by an ICE agent has once again thrown a harsh spotlight on a problem that has increasingly defined Trump administration 2.0: a deepening credibility crisis. What began as a disturbing law-enforcement encounter quickly metastasized into something larger—another episode in which the public was asked to accept an official account that appeared to conflict with what many people could see with their own eyes.

This credibility gap did not emerge overnight. Over the past year, Americans have grown increasingly skeptical of information coming from the administration, including economic data once treated as authoritative, public-health guidance from HHS, representations made in court filings, and on-the-record statements from senior officials. Americans have always practiced a degree of “trust but verify” when it comes to government pronouncements, but the level of doubt now surrounding official statements is markedly different—more pervasive, more reflexive, and more corrosive.

In the Minneapolis case, video of the encounter circulated quickly on social media, allowing the public to assess the incident independently. To many observers, the footage appeared to show a verbal confrontation between the woman and ICE agents, followed by her attempt to leave the scene in her vehicle. Based on the available video, critics argued that the use of deadly force was unnecessary and disproportionate, raising immediate questions about judgment, training, and accountability.

Those questions intensified when DHS Secretary Kristi Noem addressed the incident publicly. Her description of events sharply diverged from what many believed the video showed. She claimed the woman had “run over” an ICE agent, sending him to the hospital, and went further by characterizing the incident as an act of domestic terrorism. These assertions were widely challenged and fueled accusations that the administration was misrepresenting the facts rather than awaiting a full investigation. President Trump later echoed the secretary’s account on social media, amplifying a narrative that many Americans had already begun to doubt.

While the president relied on information provided by his cabinet, the responsibility for accuracy rested squarely with the Department of Homeland Security. It is the job of senior officials to verify facts from agents on the ground before presenting a definitive account to the public—particularly in cases involving lethal force. When that process fails, the damage extends far beyond a single incident.

As a result, what might have remained a grave but contained use-of-force controversy instead became another data point in the administration’s broader credibility problem. MSNBC contributor Eddie Glaude captured this sentiment on Deadline: White House, noting that the administration now faces a public conditioned to doubt its word. Minnesota Governor Tim Walz echoed similar concerns, emphasizing the importance of transparency and factual accuracy as the situation unfolded.

If this were an isolated misstatement—an early briefing that later required correction—the public might have been more forgiving. But because the Minneapolis shooting followed a series of prior episodes in which official accounts were revised, contradicted, or quietly abandoned, skepticism hardened almost instantly. Each incident compounds the last, reinforcing a perception that truth is being shaped to fit political needs rather than facts.

In a democratic society, credibility is not a cosmetic asset; it is foundational. When government officials lose the public’s trust, even accurate statements are greeted with suspicion, and accountability becomes harder to achieve. The Minneapolis shooting underscores how urgently the Trump administration must confront this problem. Leveling with the public is not optional—it is essential to restoring confidence in institutions meant to serve, protect, and answer to the people.

Senior Official At Trump’s Interior Department Accused Of Corruption

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The January 5, 2026 edition of MSNOW’s Rachel Maddow Show devoted a lengthy segment to corruption allegations involving Karen Budd-Falen, a powerful but little-known figure who served as the number three official at Donald Trump’s Department of the Interior and previously held senior posts there during Trump’s first term. Maddow framed the story as emblematic of a familiar pattern from the Trump years: public office intersecting uncomfortably with private financial interests, and the ethical guardrails that normally prevent that collision appearing either weakened or ignored.

Maddow opened with a sardonic observation that Budd-Falen may have been an unintended beneficiary of Trump’s dramatic weekend escalation involving Venezuela, which dominated headlines just as The New York Times was preparing a major investigative report on Budd-Falen. The international crisis effectively crowded out what might otherwise have been a front-page political scandal, buying time and quiet for a senior Interior Department official facing serious scrutiny.

At the center of the allegations is Budd-Falen’s role at Interior, where she wielded substantial influence over land use, water rights, and energy development—particularly in the West. Before and during her government service, Budd-Falen was well known as a lawyer representing ranchers, mining interests, and extractive industries, often in disputes against federal regulators and environmental protections. That background made her appointment controversial from the start, as critics argued she was now overseeing, from inside the government, policy areas that directly overlapped with her prior clients and personal interests.

According to reporting discussed on Maddow’s show, Budd-Falen and her husband own a ranch in Nevada that became strategically important to investors seeking to build a lithium processing facility nearby. Lithium, a critical mineral for electric vehicle batteries and energy storage, has been the subject of intense political and economic interest, and Interior Department approvals can make or break such projects. The investors allegedly offered the Budd-Falens $3.5 million for the ranch’s water rights—a staggering sum in itself—but the payment was reportedly contingent on the Interior Department approving the lithium plant. As Maddow summarized it, the deal appeared to hinge on a simple but troubling condition: no approval, no money.

What deepens the ethical concerns is the timeline. Maddow reported that Budd-Falen met with the investors for lunch in the Interior Department cafeteria during Trump’s first term. Not long afterward, the department gave the lithium project the green light. Even more striking, the project was reportedly fast-tracked, allowing it to bypass layers of environmental and regulatory review that similar projects typically face. Critics argue that this accelerated process reduced the chances that internal watchdogs or career civil servants would flag the apparent conflict of interest between a senior official’s personal financial stake and her department’s decision-making.

From an ethics standpoint, the issue is not merely whether Budd-Falen personally signed off on the approval, but whether her position and influence created an environment in which subordinates understood what outcome was desired. Federal ethics rules are designed to prevent even the appearance of such impropriety, precisely because public trust erodes when officials stand to gain financially from decisions made by their agencies.

At the same time, Maddow emphasized that Budd-Falen and the lithium investors deny any wrongdoing. A potential defense is that the water rights transaction was a private land deal negotiated at arm’s length, and that Interior Department approvals followed standard procedures driven by policy priorities rather than personal enrichment. Budd-Falen could also argue that she formally recused herself from decisions directly involving the project, or that career staff—not political appointees—made the ultimate determinations. Without full documentation and testimony, those claims remain unresolved, and they underscore why independent investigations, rather than television segments or partisan talking points, are essential to establishing the facts.

Still, the optics are undeniably damaging, particularly when viewed against the broader backdrop of corruption and ethics scandals that repeatedly engulfed Trump’s senior officials. From former Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke’s real estate dealings, to EPA Administrator Scott Pruitt’s resignation amid revelations of lavish perks and secret meetings with lobbyists, to Cabinet members like Tom Price and Wilbur Ross facing scrutiny over private travel and undisclosed financial ties, the Trump administration developed a reputation for blurring the line between public service and private gain. Even figures outside the Cabinet, such as Jared Kushner, drew sustained criticism for foreign financial entanglements that appeared to follow directly from their government roles. More recently, other high-profile Trump allies and officials, including Kristi Noem, have faced their own waves of controversy and ethical questions, reinforcing the sense that these were not isolated incidents but part of a recurring pattern.

Whether Karen Budd-Falen ultimately becomes another confirmed example of that pattern remains to be seen. What is clear is that the allegations strike at the heart of public trust in government: the expectation that officials act in the public interest, not their own financial self-interest. For now, Budd-Falen’s case sits in an uneasy limbo between denial and suspicion, with unanswered questions about influence, transparency, and accountability. As Maddow suggested, time—and thorough investigation—will determine whether these allegations collapse under scrutiny or become yet another entry in the long ledger of Trump-era corruption scandals.

A Strong Case For Trump’s Military Intervention In Venezuela

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An interesting segment on MSNOW featured Hagar Chemali, who made one of the most coherent and intellectually serious cases yet for President Trump’s military posture toward Venezuela. Going into the segment, the prevailing narrative across television news was nearly unanimous: Trump’s actions were framed as a reckless violation of international law, untethered from any legitimate U.S. national security interest. What Chemali did—methodically and without theatrics—was complicate that narrative in a way most pundits either cannot or will not.

Chemali did not dispute that Trump’s actions strain, and may even violate, existing international legal frameworks. Instead, she argued that focusing exclusively on legality misses the more consequential question of national security. According to Chemali, the post–World War II international system—particularly institutions like the United Nations—has become largely incapable of enforcing the very rules it was designed to uphold. That vacuum, she contends, has been aggressively exploited by rogue states and non-state actors who operate with near impunity, often embedding themselves in fragile or hostile regimes much closer to U.S. shores than many Americans appreciate.

What gives Chemali’s argument particular weight is her background. She is not a partisan talking head or an armchair strategist. Chemali served in senior roles at the U.S. Department of the Treasury, including in the Office of Terrorist Financing and Financial Crimes, where she worked directly on counterterrorism, sanctions policy, and efforts to disrupt the financial networks of hostile states and extremist groups. She also held positions during the Obama administration and has worked closely with interagency national security teams, giving her firsthand exposure to how threats are assessed when cameras are not rolling. In other words, she understands how national security doctrine is applied in practice, not just debated on cable news panels.

From that vantage point, Chemali argues that Venezuela cannot be viewed in isolation. It is not merely a failing state or a humanitarian crisis; it has become a strategic foothold for U.S. adversaries seeking influence in the Western Hemisphere. In that context, she suggests, the United States asserting a policing role in the Americas is less about imperial ambition and more about responding to a security architecture that no longer functions. When international bodies fail to act—or selectively enforce rules—power vacuums do not remain empty for long.

Chemali’s analysis effectively provides the Trump administration with a serious national security rationale that goes beyond bluster or appeals to raw power. It offers a framework for countering the charge that the administration is acting lawlessly by arguing that the law itself has become disconnected from enforcement realities. Whether one agrees with that conclusion or not, it is a far more substantive defense than the caricature of Trump acting on impulse or ego.

Trump has occasionally gestured toward the Monroe Doctrine when addressing Venezuela, at times referring to his own version as the “Donroe Doctrine,” but he has rarely articulated the argument with the clarity or discipline Chemali brings to it. Her explanation distills what the administration seems to believe but has struggled to communicate: that American restraint, in a world where enforcement mechanisms are broken, can itself become a liability. Whether Trump adopts this rationale more explicitly going forward remains to be seen, but Chemali’s intervention may well give the administration an opening to reframe the debate on terms that are strategic rather than merely legalistic.

How Long Will The U.S. Keep Boots On The Ground In Venezuela?

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Rep. Anna Paulina Luna (R-FL) appeared on MSNOW this weekend to discuss the rapidly unfolding developments surrounding the U.S. capture of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro. When pressed by one of the hosts on how long Americans should expect U.S. military boots to remain on the ground in Venezuela, Luna offered little beyond a hope—saying she “hopes” the deployment won’t last long. That answer may sound reassuring, but history gives us little reason to share her optimism.

Hope is not a strategy, especially when it comes to U.S. regime-change operations. If there is one consistent lesson from America’s modern military interventions, it is that removing a leader is usually the easiest part. What follows—stabilization, governance, security, and reconstruction—is where things unravel, drag on, and become vastly more expensive in both blood and treasure. Libya and Iraq loom large as cautionary tales, and Venezuela shows every sign of following the same grim script.

Iraq is perhaps the clearest example of this delusion. Military planners and television pundits alike once spoke confidently of a war that would be over in days or weeks. And indeed, the initial invasion was swift and overwhelming, culminating in the rapid toppling of Saddam Hussein. But the fall of a dictator did not produce the democratic transformation Washington promised. Instead, the United States found itself mired in a prolonged occupation, battling insurgencies, sectarian violence, and political chaos that cost hundreds of thousands of lives and trillions of dollars. Libya followed a similar trajectory: regime change first, disorder and state collapse afterward.

There is little reason to believe Venezuela will be any different. Removing Maduro does not magically resolve deep political divisions, economic collapse, or regional instability. Those problems do not disappear when a strongman is captured; they intensify. The idea that U.S. forces can simply step in, flip a switch, and then quickly depart belongs more to fantasy than to serious strategic thinking. The smart money says that once boots are on the ground, they stay—often far longer than anyone publicly admits at the outset.

This reality also collides head-on with “America First” rhetoric. An unprovoked military incursion into Venezuela, paired with open threats toward other governments in the region, hardly aligns with a foreign policy supposedly focused on rebuilding at home. Every dollar spent sustaining an open-ended military presence abroad is a dollar not spent addressing America’s own crumbling infrastructure, healthcare gaps, or economic inequality. And as history has shown, these ventures rarely remain bloodless. Casualties are not an unfortunate possibility; they are an almost inevitable outcome.

Americans should therefore be clear-eyed about what is unfolding. If past is prologue, the United States is not heading for a brief, tidy mission in Venezuela, but for a long and costly entanglement. Congress cannot simply defer to vague hopes or executive assurances. It has a constitutional obligation to demand accountability, debate the mission honestly, and decide whether this path truly serves the nation’s interests—before yet another “quick intervention” turns into a generational tragedy.

Longtime Pentecostal Preacher Accused Of Child Sexual Abuse

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As the nation continues to reckon with the disturbing legacy of the Jeffrey Epstein case — where power, influence, and fear kept abuse hidden for years — a newly emergent story out of Missouri and Oklahoma reveals that the problem of predatory abuse hidden behind religious authority is deeply systemic and far broader than most Americans realize.

Over the past year, major investigative reporting has spotlighted veteran Pentecostal preacher Joseph Lyle “Joe” Campbell, a once-beloved children’s pastor with decades of ministry across the South and Midwest. For more than 40 years, Campbell built a reputation as a charismatic faith leader, ministering to thousands of children in Assemblies of God congregations and, more recently, at Jim Bakker’s Morningside Church in Blue Eye, Missouri — a ministry broadcast on national Christian television networks. 

Despite repeated allegations dating back to the 1970s and 1980s that he sexually abused young girls under his spiritual care, Campbell continued preaching for decades without criminal consequences. Multiple women have come forward publicly, including in major NBC News reporting, saying they were abused as children or teens by Campbell while he held youth and children’s ministry positions. Many said they told church leaders and even civil authorities at the time, only to be dismissed, ignored, or told nothing could be done — a chilling echo of the fear and silence surrounding Epstein’s victims. 

The turning point arrived in December 2025 when a multi-county grand jury in Oklahoma returned an indictment against Campbell, now 68 years old, on serious criminal charges: one count of first-degree rape and one count of lewd or indecent acts with a child under 16. These allegations stem from events tied to his ministry in Tulsa, Oklahoma in 1984, where prosecutors say he raped a girl believed to have been between 11 and 12 years old and sexually abused another 14-year-old while serving as a youth pastor. 

On December 17, 2025, U.S. Marshals arrested Campbell at a location in Elkland, Missouri and lodged him in the Greene County Jail in Springfield, Missouri, before his expected transfer to Oklahoma where the charges were filed.  While the state’s legal system has not yet publicly announced an official trial date as of now, the indictment makes clear that prosecutors intend to move forward — and if convicted, Campbell faces up to life in prison. 

What makes this case especially disturbing is that the alleged abuse was first reported decades ago but was never prosecuted at the time. According to survivors and investigative reporting, church officials and some local authorities repeatedly failed to act on those early reports, allowing Campbell not only to stay in ministry but to grow his influence. This mirrors one of the central outrages in the Epstein saga — that powerful or charismatic figures could evade accountability for years while their victims suffered in silence. 

One victim, Phaedra Creed, who appeared on NBC-affiliated segments discussing the case, said she and others were too afraid to come forward earlier because they feared not being believed or being physically harmed — the same kinds of fears Epstein’s accusers long described. 

Now, as Campbell awaits his day in court, the larger questions hang over this case just as they did with Epstein: How many knew? Who enabled him? And why did it take so long for justice to begin? It is far too easy for prosecutors, church leaders, and law enforcement to treat Campbell’s arrest as the end of an ugly chapter. But unless there is a transparent investigation into what church authorities, denominational leaders, and civil officials knew — and when they knew it — this will be another example of systemic betrayal rather than genuine accountability.

Campbell may be facing the possibility of a life sentence, but without uncovering the broader network of complicity that allowed him to evade consequences for decades, the real lesson of this case — and its painful parallels with Epstein — will be lost.

Trump Lashes Out At Rep MTG Over Epstein Files

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A segment on CNN’s OutFront with Erin Burnett on December 29, with Brianna Keilar filling in, unpacked a stunning New York Times report describing an explosive phone call between President Trump and Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene. According to the report, Trump erupted in anger during a September conversation after learning that Greene was pressing to expose the names of powerful individuals allegedly implicated in Jeffrey Epstein’s sexual exploitation of children. What makes the exchange so consequential is not just the intensity of Trump’s reaction, but what he is said to have yelled at Greene: that her efforts would “hurt his friends.”

Greene, who has increasingly positioned herself as an advocate for Epstein’s victims, had warned that she was prepared to publicly name individuals connected to Epstein if the Department of Justice continued to stall on releasing the files. Many of the victims, most of them poor and lacking political or legal protection, have long expressed fear of retaliation if they come forward—fear not only of lawsuits, but of intimidation and physical harm from extraordinarily powerful people. That imbalance of power has been one of the central reasons the Epstein network has remained shrouded in secrecy for so long.

Unlike the victims themselves, Greene occupies a unique legal position. Under the Constitution’s Speech or Debate Clause, statements made by members of Congress during official proceedings are protected from civil liability. In other words, Greene can say things on the House floor that would expose an ordinary person to crushing lawsuits. That protection gives her leverage few others have, and it explains why her threat to name names carried real weight.

According to Greene, Trump berated her during the call, warning that continuing down this path would damage people close to him. That claim immediately collides with Trump’s long-standing public posture. For years, he has dismissed the Epstein files as a “Democrat hoax,” suggesting there is nothing real or consequential to be found in them. But if the files are meaningless fiction, then why the panic? Why the shouting? And why the concern that unnamed “friends” would be harmed by their release?

That contradiction is the heart of the story. Trump cannot simultaneously argue that the Epstein files are a baseless hoax and privately warn that exposing them would hurt people he knows. The two positions are mutually exclusive. If there is nothing there, no one should be worried. If, however, the revelations are dangerous—to reputations, careers, or worse—then the hoax narrative collapses under its own weight.

The most plausible explanation left is that Trump does not want the files released because they contain information that would cast him and people in his orbit in an extremely negative light. Whether that information rises to the level of criminal exposure is a separate question, but reputational damage alone would be reason enough to fight disclosure at every turn. At a minimum, the reported phone call suggests that Trump takes the contents of the Epstein files far more seriously in private than he does in public.

The White House dismissed Greene’s account by waving it off as bitterness and attacking her credibility, effectively portraying her as unstable rather than addressing the substance of the allegation. But that response does little to resolve the glaring inconsistency at the center of the story. If Greene is lying, the administration could directly deny the call or the quote attributed to Trump. Instead, it chose mockery and dismissal—an approach that raises more questions than it answers, and only deepens suspicion about what, exactly, remains buried in the Epstein files.

Trump Admin’s Troubling Art Of The Label

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An illuminating segment on MSNOW’s Weekend Primetime examined how the Trump administration has refined what can only be described as the art of the label—an exercise in branding human beings as threats and then using that label alone to justify the application of overwhelming military force. Host James Sample walked viewers through how this practice operates in real time: individuals or groups are branded with ominous-sounding designations, and those designations, largely untested and unchallenged, become sufficient grounds for detention, deportation, or death. The alarming part is not merely the labeling itself, but how seamlessly these hollow classifications are converted into acts of state violence, often without any discernible legal foundation or meaningful oversight.

For a country that endlessly invokes the rule of law and treats “due process” as a sacred principle, it is chilling to watch how easily government officials can, on little more than assertion, affix a label to a person and render that individual a legitimate military target. Once the label is applied, the usual safeguards—evidence, hearings, accountability—simply vanish. Even more disturbing is the near-total absence of resistance from Congress or sustained scrutiny from the media, allowing the executive branch to operate as judge, jury, and executioner based on nothing more than its own say-so.

Sample illustrated how this tactic has evolved and expanded. It began, he explained, with migrants being labeled as members of the dangerous gang Tren de Aragua, a claim often unsupported by evidence, and then using that unvetted designation to justify sending them to CECOT, where they were subjected to brutal conditions and torture. The label alone did the work; no adjudication was required, no proof demanded. From there, the administration escalated, branding people aboard boats in the Caribbean as “narcoterrorists” and then using that designation to justify blowing the vessels out of the water, killing those on board. Beyond the invocation of the narcoterrorism label itself, the administration offered little to persuade the public that the people killed actually met that definition.

According to Sample, the most recent and perhaps most dangerous iteration of this practice has emerged in Africa, where the administration has labeled certain regions in Nigeria and Somalia as ISIS-controlled areas and then relied solely on that characterization to carry out military strikes. In Nigeria, one such attack reportedly occurred on Christmas Day, underscoring the moral numbness that accompanies this kind of empty labeling. When entire regions can be reduced to a single word—“ISIS”—and that word becomes a license to kill, the line between lawful military action and lawless violence all but disappears.

At some point, Congress must intervene and reclaim its constitutionally mandated role. That intervention should begin with demanding answers about these labels: how they are defined, what evidence supports them, and what legal reasoning is used to transform them into justifications for lethal force. The military lawyers who sign off on these actions should be required to testify publicly and explain their rationale to the American people. Only sustained oversight and transparency can halt the dangerous slide toward governance by label, where words replace law and accountability is an afterthought. One can only hope Congress acts before more lives are lost to this reckless and hollow exercise of power.