sarahBy Bronwyn Fryer
People often wonder why it is that so many of the brilliant, over-educated, and powerful movers and shakers who run politics, finance, academia, science, the arts, and business could have overlooked or excused Jeffrey Epstein’s sex crimes for so long. How could everyone from Stephen Pinker, Bill Clinton, Howard Lutnick, and that left-wing saint, Noam Chomsky, have been so beguiled by this guy? How could they not have bothered to investigate his background — or question his cover story (that he was “framed” and just really wanted to help forward the work of artists, scientists, and philanthropists)?
As a former journalist, Harvard Business Review (HBR) editor, and collaborative writer on books and articles by a few of these brilliant people, I’ve sat on the periphery of the Epstein Class, looking in, for many, many years. So while this question seems genuinely puzzling to most people, I have a very simple, sad answer.
That answer is “Tribalism.” Tribalism is endemic not just to the human species, but animal species as well. The same kind of tribal network runs families of birds, apes, families, communities, states, countries. It’s the same kind of tribal network that declares who is out and who is in; the same network that says, “let me introduce you to my friend,” and “ignore that person.” There is nothing new in this; it’s built into our very bodies.
One of my friends named in the Epstein files has always been known as a super-networker. I met this person while I was the West Coast editor for HBR. She loved nothing more than bringing smart people together for a salon, or to help each other. From her perch at the top of the tech industry, she introduced me, a lowly journalist, to the who’s who of the business, from futurists, to founders of famous companies, to venture capitalists.
Those dinners with all these luminaries were fun, informative, and I came away with a basketful of ideas to write about. But nothing, I heard, like Epstein’s gatherings.
“(Epstein’s) dinner parties were amazing,” she told me not long ago. “I remember a poetry dinner party for his birthday one year, a number of science dinners … He often liked to start with a question and get different points of view from people from different scientific disciplines.”
Sounds so interesting, no? Wouldn’t you want to go to a party like that, especially if you thought the host was just a very rich philanthropist who wanted to hear about your Big New Idea That He Might Fund?
Another friend, whom I met after I’d departed my day job at HBR but remained a contributing editor, was a professor at various high-end schools. I collaborated with him on several of his books, most of which were best sellers. I learned just a few days ago that he met with Epstein several times, in hopes of securing support for research institutions like his. (His university just defunded his institute.)
A third friend, now deceased, was an anthropologist and popular TED speaker. She lived in Epstein’s neighborhood and went to some of his dinner parties. When I asked her about Epstein shortly after his death, she replied, “Well, I liked him. He was a really nice guy.”
All three of these people (and there may be more who connected with Epstein that I don’t know about yet) I have considered, and still consider, friends. But I have had to step back and look at what it was that got them so involved with him.
Like nearly all inquisitive journalists, part of my job was to hunt for the next big idea. Journalistic idea-hunters like me don’t look for salaciousness or crime stories; we want to know what lies on the frontiers of the future. I have to confess that sitting in rooms, drinking fine wine and listening to the Masters of the Universe offer their thoughts over these many years has been quite fascinating, and the people Epstein captured in his butterfly net were nothing if not full of big ideas.
Epstein constructed his intellectual web in much the same way he and Ghislane Maxwell constructed their pedophile web: it was a total charm offensive in the who-do-you-know network. The young girls drawn into Epstein’s web were first lured with promises of promises: career opportunities, scholarships, and, of course, requests for “massages,” “persuaded” by Maxwell to recruit their friends with similar “opportunities.” Read about it at nytimes.com/2019/08/30/nyregion/jeffrey-epstein-women.html.
It’s not a far step to imagine a trusted friend inviting a scientist to one of Epstein’s dinners with an offer of, “you are going to meet the most amazing people!” and “here are some opportunities!”
I am not writing this to forgive or excuse anything. My friends who were associated with Epstein were opportunistic, as tribal members are, and some have been pretty well Scarlet-lettered. Some others unknown to me — and some whom I’ve admired, like Chomsky — have been tarred or lost their reputations, jobs, careers. The big fat Epstein-network paintbrush has struck everyone in those echelons — including those whom, I really believe, didn’t know anything about this amazing dinner-party host because they didn’t bother to ask, but merely trusted their friend’s “hey, come join us!” recommendation. And because their friends invited them to what promised to be a fascinating dinner/discussion, who among them could say “no?”
Maxwell and Epstein knew how to take this basic networking, who-do-you-know, don’t-ask-questions, tribal thing and work it. Like spiders, they built their web with small prey in the form of children, and then used that prey to attract bigger and bigger flies in the Epstein Class. The whole web would have remained intact, if it were not for the courage of that very brave small prey.
And now we have the Masters of the Universe in full denial, running away from the dinner party, hiding in corners.
I don’t regret the dinner parties I attended, listening for great ideas. I’m just very, very glad I was never invited to one of Epstein’s.
Bronwyn Fryer is a writer in Montpelier.
The material presented here represents the opinion of the author and does not reflect the opinions of The Bridge. Commentaries may be submitted to editor@montpelierbridge.com. Preference is given to submissions by those who live in central Vermont. Submissions are encouraged to be 500 to 750 words in length.
