Politicians are under fire overseas. But New Zealand should take note too.
The US Justice Department’s release of more than three million Epstein files (including 180,000 images and 2,000 videos) has blown the doors off the most protected social network of the late twentieth century. What these documents reveal is not just a catalogue of one man’s depravity. It is, as Helen Rumbelow wrote in The Times, like “taking the back off the world clock”, exposing how power actually works at the top of the Western world. And the implications reach all the way to New Zealand.
New Zealand media has done useful work tracking the Kiwi names that appear in the files. Paula Penfold at Stuff searched more than a thousand New Zealand references. Joel MacManus at The Spinoff, Ben Tomsett and Ethan Manera at the Herald, and Steve Braunias at Newsroom have reported on the local angles — Peter Thiel’s investment relationship with Epstein, the New Zealand Defence Force couple who managed Epstein’s properties, Auckland academic Brian Boyd, physicist Lawrence Krauss and his pursuit of Epstein money for an Otago University role.
These stories matter. But the fixation on which Kiwis appear in the files misses the real story. The Epstein scandal is not fundamentally about which individuals had dinner with a monster. It is about what kind of political systems allow monsters to operate at the centre of global power for decades without consequence. On that score, New Zealand should be paying very close attention, because our systems are weaker than those now failing spectacularly in countries around us.
The Mandelson masterclass
The most instructive case study is not American but British. The fall of Peter Mandelson (the architect of New Labour, the self-described “Prince of Darkness”) is a textbook case of how politics and money have gone rotten in liberal democracies.
The Epstein files revealed that Mandelson, while serving as “Deputy PM” to Gordon Brown, and in the position of Business Secretary, forwarded highly sensitive government tax plans to Jeffrey Epstein. He told Epstein he was “trying hard to amend” a planned tax on bankers’ bonuses and suggested that JPMorgan’s CEO should “mildly threaten” the Chancellor to water down the policy. He gave Epstein advance notice of a €500 billion EU bailout before public announcement. On Christmas Day, he wrote to a convicted paedophile: “I do not want to live by salary alone”.
So, a sitting Cabinet minister was leaking government intelligence to a convicted sex offender, lobbying against his own government’s financial regulation on behalf of that offender’s banking contacts, and angling for post-politics employment — all at the same time. Within weeks of leaving office, his lobbying firm Global Counsel was chasing work with the Russian state investment fund and the state-owned China International Capital Corporation.
The Starmer Government is bleeding credibility. Police opened a criminal investigation, Mandelson’s properties were searched, and yesterday Starmer’s chief of staff Morgan McSweeney resigned, saying the appointment decision “has damaged our party, our country and trust in politics itself”. The Economist magazine has called it “Britain’s worst political scandal of this century”. UK Labour now trails Reform UK in the polls.
As former Prime Minister Gordon Brown wrote in The Guardian last Friday, in a remarkable act of public contrition: “I greatly regret this appointment... He seems to have used market-sensitive inside information to betray the principles in which he said he believed”. Brown’s piece was not merely an apology. It was a manifesto for integrity reform. Brown called for an independent anti-corruption commission with statutory powers, a fully accountable vetting system for major political appointments, mandatory parliamentary hearings for senior ambassadors and ministers, a five-year cooling-off period for former ministers entering lobbying, and the creation of corruption as a new statutory offence. Brown argued for nothing less than a “century-defining rebalancing of power and accountability”, and he warned that without fundamental change, the revelations would be “acid in our democracy, corroding trust still further”.
Heather Stewart, writing in The Guardian, drew out the structural lesson: Mandelson’s personal disgrace is “deep and unique, and may yet bring down a prime minister — but by laying bare the dark allure of the filthy rich, it also underlines the need for tougher constraints on money in politics”.
Stewart documented how Epstein’s efforts to influence government policy — working to water down Alistair Darling’s bonus tax at a time when the banks had crashed the economy — “underline the powerful forces with which politicians are faced”. She noted that Transparency International warned last summer: “We stand at the beginning of a new and dangerous era, where big money dominates in a way that has corroded US politics across the Atlantic”. The campaign group Spotlight on Corruption warned the current system is “full of major loopholes and gaps”.
The real takeaway is this: when it comes to money and politics, whether post-parliamentary employment, lobbying, or party funding, it is unwise to take honesty and decency as a given. As Stewart concluded: “It is not too late to pull up the drawbridge... by introducing stringent new rules to protect British democracy from the malign influence of powerful companies, and dodgy billionaires”.
The global rot at the top
What is striking is the convergence. Left, right, and libertarian commentators from across the ideological spectrum are reaching the same conclusion: the Epstein network was not an aberration. It was a symptom of what happens when wealth, power, and access operate without transparency or accountability.
As Josie Pagani observed in The Post, “there appears to be a high degree of crossover between the sort of people who attend World Economic Forum jamborees at Davos, and the sort of people who hung out with Jeffrey Epstein”. The Economist noted the files read “like a ‘Who’s Who’ which has gathered only a thin layer of dust”. These are not fringe figures being exposed. These are the people who run things.
Pratap Bhanu Mehta, a political theorist at Princeton, described the files as “a sobering x-ray of some of America’s elites — immature, full of impunity, corrupt, venal, venial, and venereal all at once”. He warned that “an elite so needy, greedy, and now so vulnerable can hardly be trusted to exercise good judgment”.
Owen Jones put it bluntly: Mandelson is “the logical culmination of the career politician, attracted to government office not because of any commitment to a set of values or public service, but simply for power, position, and profit”. Jones asked the question that should haunt every democracy: “What is being done now by ministers and politicians to secure preferment and nice jobs later?”
The Economist observed on the Epstein-Mandelson scandal that “a weakened elite is also more vulnerable to populism” and that “public opinion is less tolerant of hypocrisy than of sex scandals or corruption”. A record 43 per cent of Americans surveyed by Gallup now say they have “very little faith” in big business.
The political lesson people take from the documents is broader: elites protect elites. And once voters accept that as a general pattern, they start to look at their own politics differently. They see the local versions: the donor dinners, the quietly arranged appointments, the lobbyists writing submissions, the ministers lining up post-parliament careers. They start to interpret routine insider politics as corruption-by-another-name.
So what does this mean for New Zealand?
It’s easy to shrug this off as a foreign horror story. That shrug is the vulnerability.
New Zealand has no lobbying regulations. None. No register, no code of conduct, no cooling-off period for ministers who walk out of the Beehive and into lobbying firms or corporate boardrooms. We rank 42nd out of 48 OECD countries on lobbying transparency. NZ is ahead of only Slovakia, Luxembourg, and Turkey. Yet Justice Minister Paul Goldsmith has said lobbying reform “is not a priority”.
As the NZ Herald editorial argued on the Epstein scandal, “what this all reveals... is how utterly certain those in power are that they will be protected”. That certainty, and that sense of impunity, is not confined to Manhattan townhouses and Caribbean islands. It operates wherever wealth and politics intersect without adequate transparency.
Our own political history provides uncomfortable parallels. Minister Stuart Nash was sacked in 2023 for emailing confidential Cabinet information to wealthy donors, a mini-parallel to Mandelson’s alleged leaking of market-sensitive information to Epstein. But in Nash’s case, he lost his ministerial role without ever facing a police investigation. The structural failure is the same: the revolving door, the undisclosed lobbying, the donation loopholes, the absence of any meaningful cooling-off period.
If the Mandelson affair teaches one lesson, it is this: weak integrity systems do not just allow bad behaviour, they incentivise it. New Zealand has all of these mechanisms for embedding soft corruption, in weaker form than the UK. We rely on a “she’ll be right” attitude in place of the institutional safeguards that comparable democracies take for granted.
The example of Peter Thiel sharpens this further. Thiel is a New Zealand citizen. He is also a billionaire power broker in Silicon Valley and a funder of rightwing politics who appears prominently in the Epstein files. That is a reminder: New Zealand has granted citizenship, and effectively social legitimacy, to a man who sits inside the very global plutocratic networks now being publicly scrutinised for moral collapse and elite impunity. Thiel is symbolic because he represents something New Zealand has not seriously confronted: the country’s relationship with the global super-rich, and the way money can smooth entry into our political community.
Meanwhile, public trust in New Zealand’s institutions has collapsed. The 2025 Edelman Trust Barometer showed New Zealand’s trust index falling below the global average for the first time: 47% compared to 56% globally. Political parties are the least trusted institution, at just 32 per cent according to the OECD’s 2024 survey. And the anti-politics mood is deepening.
The recent McSkimming police corruption scandal, where a Deputy Commissioner’s misconduct was systematically covered up, has already forced a national debate about the “C-word”. The ground was prepared before the Epstein files even arrived.
An Election-year wake-up call
So what happens when this mood hits an election year? November 7 is nine months away, and the Epstein scandal feeds directly into a public mood that was already getting toxic.
The danger here is not that the public demands accountability. The danger is that the public concludes accountability is impossible, because the system is so captured by insiders and vested interests that reform cannot come from within.
Scandals like this feed anti-politics. People conclude that “they’re all the same,” that it’s a rigged game, that power protects itself. But the same disgust can create reform pressure. When trust collapses, political promises about integrity stop being an optional add-on. They become central. Voters start demanding answers: who is lobbying whom? Who is funding whom? Why do politicians leave office and immediately cash in? Why are conflicts of interest treated as personal errors rather than structural failures?
No party in New Zealand “owns” the anti-corruption space. That’s also both a vulnerability and an opening. The party or leader who takes integrity reform seriously in 2026 — who makes the lobbying register, the donation caps, the Integrity Commission a genuine campaign commitment rather than a footnote — will be tapping into something powerful and real. The party that ignores it will be betting that public anger stays diffuse. That would be a bad bet.
The global mood of elite scepticism will shape this election whether our politicians like it or not. Voters are more suspicious than ever of cosy relationships between politicians and the wealthy. They are less willing to accept opacity, conflicts of interest, and the revolving door as the price of doing business.
Chris Trotter, writing today in The Interest, argues there are “heaps of lessons New Zealanders can learn from what is unfolding in the United Kingdom”. He is right. New Zealand has an opportunity to get ahead of the global backlash. We can build the transparency infrastructure — the lobbying register, the Integrity Commission, the cooling-off rules — that most comparable democracies already have. Or we can keep pretending that we are too small and too decent for this kind of corruption, and wait for the next scandal to prove us wrong.
Starmer’s warning to his own cabinet, that “the public don’t really see individuals in this scandal, they see politicians”, applies here too. New Zealanders are watching the Mandelson affair, they’re reading the files, and they’re drawing the obvious conclusion: that the people who run the world are not to be trusted, and the systems meant to hold them accountable are broken.
A country can’t keep shrugging at unregulated influence while telling voters to trust the system. If New Zealand’s political class wants to avoid the kind of legitimacy collapse now unfolding overseas, the time to act is now. Not after the next (inevitable) scandal.
Tomorrow’s test
And here is the immediate test. Tomorrow night at 7pm, Transparency International releases its annual Corruption Perceptions Index. For the last couple of decades, New Zealand’s showing in the index has been in decline. Our score has slipped from the mid-90s to 83, and our ranking has dropped to fourth globally, now seven points behind Denmark.
Will this decline continue? If it does, it will be one more data point confirming what voters already sense: that the gap between New Zealand’s self-image as a clean, transparent democracy and the reality of our thin integrity architecture is growing wider. The Epstein files have taken the back off the world clock. New Zealanders can see the mechanism now. The question is what we do about it.
Dr Bryce Edwards
Director of the Democracy Project
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