Trump shouldn’t be sad about the royal family – he should be worried by Andrew’s fall from grace

There is a ghoulish thrill to the spectacle of our fallen prince. Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor’s disgrace has dominated our media landscape in a rare representation of entitlement finally meeting consequence.

But if the point of this moment is to show that power no longer buys immunity, then we cannot stop at Windsor. Across the Atlantic sits another man, who spent years orbiting Jeffrey Epstein – and unlike Andrew, he still occupies one of the most powerful offices on Earth.

Donald Trump – who said last night that he feels ‘badly’ for the Royal Family – should instead be feeling worried.

And our monarchy doesn’t need his sympathy. The ex-Duke of York’s public shaming has allowed ‘The Firm’ to pose as decisive, but the monarchy’s culture is secrecy first, transparency rarely. 

When the stakes are this high, that is not a quaint constitutional quirk – it is an accountability vacuum.

The handling of Andrew illustrates it. And while they might not care to admit it, that means they have something in common with the current occupant of the White House – who isn’t a monarch – but certainly behaves like he enjoys the divine rights of Kings. 

As the Epstein scandal has grown, and finally engulfed the King’s brother, the people pushed off-stage are always the survivors. 

Those who suffered at Epstein’s hands have watched as their trauma is turned into a royal soap opera – which property, which title, which snub? The question that matters most is still unanswered: Who, and with what power and proximity, knew about the abuse and looked away?

Which brings us neatly to Trump – his prominent role in this chapter is no fever dream – his proximity to Epstein at one point, is in the public record. 

Photographs, party guest lists, a chilling quote calling Epstein a ‘terrific guy’ who ‘likes beautiful women… on the younger side’. 

Trump insists the pair fell out, rather queasily, over Epstein ‘stealing’ young women who worked at Mar-A-Lago. 

Perhaps they did – but their history exists, and it sits alongside a present in which a jury has already found him liable for sexual abuse and defamation in the E. Jean Carroll case.

You don’t have to like the politics to accept the facts. The pattern is the point: rich, powerful men thinking the rules don’t apply to them. 

Trump may think he’s far enough removed to pass wry comment on Andrew’s fate, but the links to Epstein are not going away. 

In Washington DC, lawmakers have been pushing for a comprehensive release of the Epstein files and further investigation – even requesting Andrew himself testify before a committee. 

But at every turn, ‘process’ blocks the view – recesses, shutdowns, committee bottlenecks, arguments over jurisdiction, whatever they can find at the bottom of the drawer of excuses.

Despite winning her seat six weeks ago, Adelita Grijalva, a Democrat from Arizona, is still not in office. 

Republican speaker Mike Johnson won’t swear her in because Grijalva promised to sign a bipartisan petition to force a vote on the release of the Epstein files. Hers would be the decisive signature to trigger that vote. 

Johnson claims he’s waiting for the government shutdown (caused by Trump) to end first. This is despite him saying prior to Grijalva’s election that he would swear in the winner of the Arizona race as soon as they wanted. A combination of Trump’s malign influences and brutal congressional maths seems to have changed his mind. 

Either way, the practical effect is delay. 

That might suit those who would prefer the story to fall down the agenda, but it does nothing for public confidence and even less for survivors.

Trump allies dismiss renewed scrutiny as partisan theatre, claiming this is about humiliating their man in the White House rather than helping victims.

That is a useful line if you want to turn a moral question into a tribal one, but it collapses under the simplest test: they haven’t released the full records. 

This is where the royal story and the Trump story meet.

Both sit at the junction of celebrity, politics and authority, relying on institutions that mistake control for public service. 

Both feature men whose circles overlapped with a convicted sex offender, and whose defenders would rather you argued about etiquette than evidence.

And in both cases the most powerful people in the room have treated truth as optional.

The Palace could publish a clear standard for consequences triggered by specific findings, rather than improvising under pressure. It could adopt an independent and external system for handling allegations linked to members of the family.

In America, Congress and Trump’s administration could set a clear timetable for disclosure, with cross-party oversight and penalties for dithering.

In both cases, it’s an incredibly low bar for transparency – yet it still can’t be cleared by two of the world’s largest institutions.

None of this requires us to pretend the disgraced ex-Prince Andrew and President Trump are the same. They are not. 

But the principle is.

If you celebrate the consequence for a prince – and let’s be clear, it seems Andrew deserves everything he’s had and then some – you should demand at least as much scrutiny for a president.

If you believe victims’ voices matter in Britain, they matter in America too. Which returns us to that ghoulish thrill. It is satisfying to watch whether a man who thought he was untouchable will discover he is not.

But justice is not a viral moment, and accountability is not a headline. Keep the focus on the women whose bravery got us here. Keep pressing for the files, and for institutions – royal and republican – to open the curtains. 

If that happens, Andrew surely won’t be the only wealthy man left pacing a palatial hallway, wondering whether the knock at the door is finally coming. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

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