Epstein Files Expose Labour’s Mandelson—A Political Era Ends in Shame

Paul Riverbank, 2/2/2026Epstein files force Mandelson's resignation, exposing deep political rot and unraveling a tarnished era.

The scope of the files defied belief: millions of pages, a cascade of images and videos from Epstein’s personal archives. Tucked among them—a candid photo of Mandelson, hardly formal, caught in boxers and a t-shirt, chatting with a woman in a bathrobe. It’s the sort of image that, if seen in any family album, might be shrugged off. In this context, displayed across digital tabloids worldwide, it assumed new weight.

But photographs were only the surface. Buried within those documents, one transfer stood out—Epstein allegedly sending $75,000 to accounts linked to Mandelson. In another exchange, the peer tells Epstein he’ll use his influence to temper government policy concerning banker bonuses. Later, Mandelson told the BBC he had exaggerated, insisting his words had been twisted far beyond their intent.

Facing the cameras, Mandelson appeared composed, if a touch weathered, as he tried to separate himself from the seedy corners of Epstein’s world. “I was a gay man in his circle. I was kept separate from what he was doing in the sexual side of his life,” he insisted, voice steady if not defiant. He stopped, apologized to the victims—clear, unequivocal—yet held the line on personal knowledge. “If I had known, if I was in any way complicit or culpable, of course I would apologise for it. But I was not culpable, I was not knowledgeable...” The words hung heavy, like something rehearsed, but not for lack of feeling.

Before the ink had dried on Mandelson’s resignation, reactions flashed across British media. Sir Trevor Phillips, who has known Mandelson for years—and seen more than a few Westminster scripts flip—didn’t call for a hanging, but he was blunt. “Whatever is true as far as politics and public office are concerned, for Peter Mandelson, this is the end.” Phillip’s assessment on Sky News carried a sober inevitability that wasn’t quite an accusation, but not a reprieve either. “At best naïve and foolish, at worst greedy and duplicitous.” The phrase ricocheted through the day’s headlines, echoing what many inside the Party already whispered.

Meanwhile, Westminster kept up its performance of accountability. Steve Reed—the Communities Secretary—echoed the same call as Prime Minister Starmer: those with knowledge must step forward, especially figures like Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor (formerly the Duke of York), who still faces pointed scrutiny from past civil claims. Reed’s words landed with the tidy efficiency of a practiced spokesperson: if you know something, come forward; justice still waits.

Labour, for its part, had spent months slipping away from Mandelson, quietly removing him from the ambassador post long before these revelations put a full stop to his career. The fallout isn’t confined to Mandelson or even the Labour benches. Prince Andrew, who’d settled with Virginia Giuffre, remains trapped beneath a microscope. Denials or not, the public appetite for closure—if not retribution—only grows with every headline.

If there is anything consistent in this tangled story, it's the echo of Mandelson’s apology: the powerful shielding the powerful, the powerless left to fend for themselves. The files are out in the open now. Any sense of finality is fleeting—fresh names may yet surface. Yet, for Mandelson at least, the verdict seems less about criminality and more about the slow erosion of political trust. It's not the clanging of jail doors he heard, but the closing of history’s ledger.

What’s unclear is how far the fallout spreads, or how deep the rot goes. What’s certain is that these revelations act as both lesson and warning: secrets and power, however well concealed for a time, eventually come to light.

It’s not every day that an entire political chapter comes to an abrupt end before breakfast. Yet, late Sunday, Lord Peter Mandelson—known for weaving himself into nearly every thread of New Labour and once stationed as Britain’s diplomat to Washington—walked out of the Labour Party. His resignation appeared less a shock than a drawn-out inevitability, hastened by recently unveiled U.S. Justice Department records with Epstein’s name etched throughout.The scope of the files defied belief: millions of pages, a cascade of images and videos from Epstein’s personal archives. Tucked among them—a candid photo of Mandelson, hardly formal, caught in boxers and a t-shirt, chatting with a woman in a bathrobe. It’s the sort of image that, if seen in any family album, might be shrugged off. In this context, displayed across digital tabloids worldwide, it assumed new weight.But photographs were only the surface. Buried within those documents, one transfer stood out—Epstein allegedly sending $75,000 to accounts linked to Mandelson. In another exchange, the peer tells Epstein he’ll use his influence to temper government policy concerning banker bonuses. Later, Mandelson told the BBC he had exaggerated, insisting his words had been twisted far beyond their intent.Facing the cameras, Mandelson appeared composed, if a touch weathered, as he tried to separate himself from the seedy corners of Epstein’s world. “I was a gay man in his circle. I was kept separate from what he was doing in the sexual side of his life,” he insisted, voice steady if not defiant. He stopped, apologized to the victims—clear, unequivocal—yet held the line on personal knowledge. “If I had known, if I was in any way complicit or culpable, of course I would apologise for it. But I was not culpable, I was not knowledgeable...” The words hung heavy, like something rehearsed, but not for lack of feeling.Before the ink had dried on Mandelson’s resignation, reactions flashed across British media. Sir Trevor Phillips, who has known Mandelson for years—and seen more than a few Westminster scripts flip—didn’t call for a hanging, but he was blunt. “Whatever is true as far as politics and public office are concerned, for Peter Mandelson, this is the end.” Phillip’s assessment on Sky News carried a sober inevitability that wasn’t quite an accusation, but not a reprieve either. “At best naïve and foolish, at worst greedy and duplicitous.” The phrase ricocheted through the day’s headlines, echoing what many inside the Party already whispered.Meanwhile, Westminster kept up its performance of accountability. Steve Reed—the Communities Secretary—echoed the same call as Prime Minister Starmer: those with knowledge must step forward, especially figures like Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor (formerly the Duke of York), who still faces pointed scrutiny from past civil claims. Reed’s words landed with the tidy efficiency of a practiced spokesperson: if you know something, come forward; justice still waits.Labour, for its part, had spent months slipping away from Mandelson, quietly removing him from the ambassador post long before these revelations put a full stop to his career. The fallout isn’t confined to Mandelson or even the Labour benches. Prince Andrew, who’d settled with Virginia Giuffre, remains trapped beneath a microscope. Denials or not, the public appetite for closure—if not retribution—only grows with every headline.If there is anything consistent in this tangled story, it's the echo of Mandelson’s apology: the powerful shielding the powerful, the powerless left to fend for themselves. The files are out in the open now. Any sense of finality is fleeting—fresh names may yet surface. Yet, for Mandelson at least, the verdict seems less about criminality and more about the slow erosion of political trust. It's not the clanging of jail doors he heard, but the closing of history’s ledger.What’s unclear is how far the fallout spreads, or how deep the rot goes. What’s certain is that these revelations act as both lesson and warning: secrets and power, however well concealed for a time, eventually come to light.