Hillary Clinton Insists Husband Was Unaware of Jeffrey Epstein’s Crimes

February 27, 2026

Clinton confident husband didn't know of Epstein's crimes — Hillary Clinton said that she knew Ghislaine Maxwell casually as an acquaintance

In the Quiet of Chappaqua, a Loud Reminder of Power and Pain

Chappaqua wears its history like an old coat: familiar, slightly frayed, a little proud. On the day Hillary Clinton slipped into the room to give her closed-door deposition, fog lay low over the town green and the diner on King Street poured coffee into paper cups for the same faces that have read the morning paper here for decades.

It was here, amid maple trees and modest clapboard houses, that a national drama folded inward. Reporters clustered like shorebirds outside the quiet suburban house where the Clintons live, microphones glinting, while inside a Republican-led congressional committee pursued questions about Jeffrey Epstein — the disgraced financier who died in a federal jail cell in 2019 while awaiting trial on sex‑trafficking charges.

What Was Said — and What Wasn’t

Hillary Clinton told lawmakers she had “no idea” about Epstein’s criminal conduct and was confident her husband, former President Bill Clinton, did not know about the crimes, either. “I think the chronology of the connection that he had with Epstein ended years, several years, before anything about Epstein’s criminal activities came to light,” she said in an opening statement shared publicly.

Her answers, she said afterward, were as complete as she could make them in the face of endless, repetitive questioning. “I answered every question as fully as I could,” she told aides and social media followers. When pressed about Ghislaine Maxwell, Epstein’s close associate who was convicted of sex trafficking and sentenced to 20 years in prison, Clinton described Maxwell as an acquaintance she had met on a few occasions — but nothing more.

If you were looking for fireworks, you didn’t find them in the transcript of her opening remarks. What you did find were careful, measured denials threaded with a challenge: if Congress truly wanted the whole picture about Epstein, it should ask President Donald Trump — who socialized with Epstein in the 1990s and early 2000s — to testify under oath about his own connections.

Politics, Process, and a Leaked Photograph

The deposition in Chappaqua was the culmination of months of rancor. The Clintons initially resisted subpoenas but ultimately agreed to testify after Republicans threatened contempt. The hearing briefly paused when a photograph, taken in violation of committee rules, leaked to social media — a reminder that in the age of viral images, even closed rooms are porous.

James Comer, the Republican chair of the House Oversight Committee, called the session “productive” and said it raised unanswered questions about Epstein’s web of connections. “The purpose of the whole investigation is to try to understand many things about Epstein,” he said afterward. Yet Comer also acknowledged the limits of a single deposition. “There were a lot of questions that we asked that we weren’t satisfied with the answers that we got,” he told reporters.

The Man at the Center — and the Papers That Keep Revealing

Jeffrey Epstein’s name still convenes a constellation of threads: mansions, private islands, elite networking — and a mountain of paperwork. In recent months, the Justice Department has released millions of pages of court records and documents tied to the Epstein dossier, revealing meetings, flight logs and social circles that span finance, politics, and celebrity.

Those records include references to flights Bill Clinton took on Epstein’s plane in the early 2000s, which the former president has acknowledged and regretted. According to Comer, Epstein visited the White House 17 times while Clinton was in office — a tally the committee says warrants further scrutiny. For many, the paperwork has been an ugly reminder that proximity to power can look like complicity, even when it is not.

Voices from the Town and the Courtroom

“You could feel the tangle of history here,” said Maria Alvarez, who runs the bakery across from the train station. “People have their opinions. Some defend the Clintons; some are angry that politicians never seem to face consequences. But mostly folks here are tired — tired of hearings, tired of secrets.” Her voice was soft but edged with frustration.

A legal expert following the probe, Professor Daniel Hargrove of Columbia Law School, put the session into a broader legal frame. “A deposition like this can clear a name or raise more questions. It’s not a trial. It’s a thread in a larger fabric of inquiry. What matters most is whether these documents and testimonies cohere into something that can be tested,” he said.

Meanwhile, survivors’ advocates say that the spectacle of politically charged depositions risks sidelining the people who were harmed. “We keep seeing name‑calling and partisan theater,” said Anika Jones, director of Survivors’ Voice, an advocacy nonprofit. “What survivors need is accountability and resources, not politicking. That’s been the tragedy of this story: the victims are often the afterthought.”

Beyond Chappaqua: Power, Partisanship, and Public Trust

Why does this matter beyond the picturesque streets of Chappaqua? Because Epstein’s case is a mirror held up to how societies handle allegations that intersect with elite networks. It asks whether institutions — political, legal, social — are able to rise above rivalry and deliver transparency. It also forces a reckoning over how we treat survivors of sexual exploitation and trafficking.

Think about it: a man with multi-million-dollar connections dies awaiting trial; a handful of powerful names are scattered through documents and flight logs; one associate is convicted and imprisoned; others deny wrongdoing and point fingers. How does a democracy square that circle without succumbing to the partisan grindstone?

What Comes Next

Bill Clinton is slated to testify in the days after his wife’s deposition — an unprecedented moment in American history, as it will mark the first time a former president has been compelled to testify before Congress in such an investigation. For many, that raises the stakes and the emotional temperature.

Representative Robert Garcia, the top Democrat on the committee, pressed for a wider lens. “This shouldn’t be a selective show,” he told reporters. “If we’re serious about truth, we call everyone whose name is in the files.” Others on the committee have hinted at plans to release full video and transcripts, which will inevitably become fodder for both newsrooms and dinner-table debates.

Questions to Carry with You

As this chapter unfolds, ask yourself: Do you trust the institutions charged with investigating these matters? Who benefits when inquiries become political pugilism? And above all, how can systems better protect survivors while ensuring that claims are fairly and thoroughly examined?

In Chappaqua, the maple leaves fell like small, slow apologies. The town went back to its routines, even as the nation watched the threads of a long, painful story unwind. The deposition was one scene in a far larger drama — and the questions it raises will not be answered by one testimony, one photograph, or one news cycle. They will be answered, if at all, by the arc of investigation, reform, and public will.

Denmark’s Prime Minister Announces Early General Election Date

hanad

February 27, 2026

Danish Prime Minister calls snap general election — Denmark's Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen walks to the Parliament Hall in Copenhagen

Denmark at a Crossroads: An Election Called as the Arctic Turns Hot

On an overcast morning in Copenhagen, where bicycles outnumber cars and the smell of freshly baked rye bread hangs in the air, Denmark’s prime minister stepped onto the steps of Christiansborg and announced what many here had been bracing for: a general election on 24 March. The declaration was crisp, parliamentary in formality, but it landed amid a geopolitical storm that stretches from the cobbled streets of the capital to the windswept ice fjords of Greenland.

“This is a moment to ask the people what kind of Denmark we want to be,” said Mette Frederiksen, her voice measured but unmistakably intent. Frederiksen—once Denmark’s youngest prime minister, raised in a Social Democratic household by a typesetter and a childcare assistant—has come to embody a paradox: socially rooted yet militarily resolute; compassionate at home and uncompromising on security abroad.

Why Now? The Clock, the Law and the Compass of Foreign Policy

Under Denmark’s constitution, an election must be held within four years of the last one—so the calendar alone made a 2026 vote inevitable. But the timing also carries political calculation. Frederiksen folded her announcement into a platform that leans hard into two subjects likely to matter to voters: security and redistribution. She proposed reforming the retirement age and introducing a wealth tax while pledging to deepen Denmark’s defense posture against renewed Russian assertiveness.

“Security policy will remain at the heart of Danish politics for years,” she told reporters, framing the vote as a referendum on Copenhagen’s role in a changing Europe. The language was no accident: Denmark has been one of Kyiv’s staunchest supporters since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, providing military equipment, humanitarian aid and vocal diplomatic backing.

Arctic Tensions: Greenland, Geopolitics and Personal Pride

At the heart of the diplomatic turbulence lies Greenland—an autonomous nation of roughly 56,000 people, whose ice-carved coastlines and strategic location have long drawn global attention. The saga that began with an extraordinary 2019 overture from then-US President Donald Trump—in which he floated buying Greenland—has simmered and flared, leaving a residue of mistrust.

“Greenlanders are not a piece of real estate,” sighed Aviaja, a Greenlandic schoolteacher I met in Nuuk. “We make decisions about our future.”

Washington’s renewed interest in Greenland has been framed as a matter of security: proximity to the North American continent, potential air bases, and new sea lanes as the Arctic warms. NATO’s response—an initiative called Arctic Sentry—aims to bolster allied presence in the high north. Denmark, which retains responsibility for Greenland’s foreign affairs, has insisted that any decisions about the island’s future must involve Greenlanders themselves.

The deeper concern for many Danes is this: how do you defend sovereignty and regional influence when your closest ally behaves unpredictably? Frederiksen hinted that Denmark must “stand on our own feet,” suggesting Copenhagen will seek to redefine aspects of its relationship with Washington without severing the alliance.

Domestic Politics: Polls, Losses and an Unsettled Electorate

Domestically, Frederiksen’s Social Democrats enter the campaign bruised. The party’s fortunes have waned since 2022, when it secured a plurality in the general election. Local and European election results last year were unkind: the Social Democrats lost nearly half the municipalities it once controlled, including Copenhagen—closing a century-long chapter of municipal dominance.

A recent TV2 poll placed the party at 21 percent—some 6.5 percentage points down from its 2022 general-election result of roughly 27.5 percent. “Numbers matter,” said political analyst Katrine Holm. “But narratives matter too. Security gives the Social Democrats a theme they can own. Whether that will be enough is another question.”

Not everyone was thrilled about the sudden campaign. Lars Løkke Rasmussen, leader of the coalition partner the Moderates, hinted at reluctance. “If it were up to us, we would have waited,” he told reporters, a terse reminder that coalitions are often marriages of convenience rather than romance.

The Platform: Guns, Gold and the Social Contract

Frederiksen’s sketch of a platform blends two currents that define contemporary Danish politics: muscular security policy and renewed attention to social fairness. She proposed a wealth tax aimed at funding welfare measures and signaled readiness to reform retirement rules in response to demographic shifts.

“We must protect our country and care for the many, not just the few,” said a municipal worker in Aarhus, who preferred not to give her name. “That’s a message that still resonates in neighbourhoods where people depend on public services.”

Beyond rhetoric, the broader region is moving: since 2022, many NATO members have increased defense budgets and committed to meeting the alliance’s 2 percent of GDP guideline. Denmark has contributed significantly to Ukraine relative to its size—sending ammunition, specialized equipment and financial support—and has signaled sustained investment in capability-building.

Voices from the North: Greenlanders Weigh In

Travel to Greenland and the abstract becomes visceral. At a fish market in Ilulissat, where wind gnaws at fishermen’s faces and enormous icebergs calve into the sea, locals speak of sovereignty in terms of livelihood. “Our fisheries sustain us,” said a fisherman, his hands knotted by years of work. “We decide how to manage those waters.”

Greenlandic leaders have been plain: meddling from overseas is unacceptable. The island’s 2009 Self-Government Act devolved many powers to Nuuk, and many Greenlanders view new diplomatic overtures with skepticism. There is also pride—an insistence that Greenland’s future must be charted by Greenlanders.

What This Election Means for Europe and the World

Small states often feel big-world tremors more acutely. Denmark’s vote will not only decide domestic policy; it will send a message about how Europe intends to navigate a more fractured transatlantic relationship, a warming Arctic, and an era of renewed great-power competition.

Ask yourself: when allies disagree, who sets the terms? When strategic geography collides with local identity, which wins? The Danish contest is a vivid reminder that in our interconnected age, local ballots can reverberate through capitals from Washington to Brussels to Nuuk.

Election date: 24 March 2026
Denmark population: ~5.9 million
Greenland population: ~56,000
Recent poll (TV2): Social Democrats at ~21% (a drop of ~6.5 percentage points from 2022)
Key issues: security and rearmament, retirement age reform, proposed wealth tax, Greenland’s future

Looking Ahead: A Small Nation’s Big Questions

On election day, Danes will cycle to polling stations, possibly pausing for a last cup of coffee—hygge in miniature—and consider whether they want a steady hand, a sharper rearmament, or a different social contract. Whatever the result, the contest will reflect a nation wrestling with its identity: protector of liberal values, pragmatic security actor, and guardian of northern lands that feel both remote and central to global strategy.

Will Denmark choose continuity or change? Will Greenland’s voice be amplified or sidelined? And how will Europe respond if alliances fray under pressure? These are not abstract questions. They matter to fishermen in Ilulissat, parents in Odense, and soldiers training on the ranges outside Aalborg. They matter to the West’s idea of solidarity in an uncertain century.

When the ballots are counted, the outcome will be a thermometer for a region in flux—a test of whether Denmark can reconcile the old social contract with urgent new demands from geopolitics. For now, Copenhagen’s streets hum with debate. The fjords are quiet, but the questions they inspire are anything but.

U.S. and Iran Report Major Headway in High-Stakes Negotiations

hanad

February 27, 2026

'Significant progress' in talks between US and Iran — Iran's Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi (L) with Oman's Foreign Minister Badr Albusaidi during their meeting in Geneva

At the edge of escalation: quiet diplomacy in Geneva, loud consequences across the globe

There is a particular hush to Geneva in late winter — soft coats, the clack of briefcases, a sky the color of unspent ink. In a glass-walled room not far from the lake, envoys shuffled in and out, translated phrases were weighed and reweighed, and an unlikely intermediary poured coffee and offered a steady hand.

Oman, long the understated broker between Washington and Tehran, announced what diplomats call a cautious success: “significant progress” had been made in indirect talks aimed at defusing one of the world’s most combustible disputes — Iran’s nuclear programme and the web of sanctions and threats that surround it.

“We have finished the day after significant progress in the negotiation between the United States and Iran,” Oman’s foreign minister, Sayyid Badr Albusaidi, posted on X after the sessions concluded. The two sides agreed to reconvene soon, with technical-level talks slated next week in Vienna.

It is tempting to imagine these rooms as removed from the clangor of aircraft carriers and airfields. It is not. The diplomatic thread is woven through a very visible military tapestry: the USS Gerald R. Ford steaming in the Mediterranean, the movement of fighter jets, and the evacuation of some diplomatic dependents from parts of the Middle East. The stakes are immediate and spectral — a deal could defuse threats of new strikes, while a breakdown could open a path toward a much wider, bloodier conflict.

What they brought to the table

On one side were American envoys, reportedly Steve Witkoff alongside Jared Kushner, engaging indirectly with Iran’s lead negotiator, Abbas Araqchi. On the other was Tehran’s steadfast demand: relief from sanctions and explicit recognition of the right to enrich uranium under international safeguards. Iran’s team said it would show “seriousness and flexibility,” while clearly prioritizing sanctions relief.

On the other side, the Trump administration — as it has publicly insisted — wants to widen the agenda. Washington’s negotiators have pushed for discussions that would bring Iran’s ballistic missile programme and its regional activities into the frame. “If you can’t even make progress on the nuclear programme, it’s going to be hard to make progress on the ballistic missiles as well,” said a senior U.S. official in a round of press briefings, echoing concerns shared by allies.

In Tehran, officials say nuclear and non-nuclear matters should remain separate. “Our position is clear: nuclear issues and the lifting of sanctions must be at the center,” an Iranian foreign ministry spokesperson told local state media. “The other matters can be discussed in other forums.”

These are not abstract disputes. Under the 2015 JCPOA (the nuclear deal that once bound Iran and six world powers), Tehran limited its enrichment and allowed unprecedented monitoring by the International Atomic Energy Agency. When the United States withdrew in 2018, sanctions returned and Iran gradually rolled back many of those limitations. By 2021–2022 Iran had enriched uranium to near-weapon-grade levels — as high as 60% fissile purity in some reported instances — and analysts warned that the country’s so-called “breakout time” to produce a bomb’s worth of fissile material had shortened from a year to months, depending on assumptions.

Between a warning and a deadline

President Trump has set unmistakable timelines and stark choices in public remarks, warning that “really bad things” could happen if Tehran did not make a deal in days. For many observers, this rhetoric has added urgency to the negotiations while also underscoring the peril: when leaders publicly set short windows for diplomacy, the risk of miscalculation rises.

“Diplomacy is often noisy and slow,” said a veteran Middle East analyst at a European think tank, who asked not to be named. “But noisy deadlines have a way of producing desperate decisions. The hope here is that you can convert public pressure into discreet progress, quietly, before the drums of war get louder.”

Voices on the ground: fear, resilience, and the everyday

Walk through Tehran’s bazaar and the air carries cardamom, diesel, and impatience. Shopkeepers talk about rising prices, parents worry about conscription and the future of their children, and young Iranians — many who were born after the revolution — recite a different calculus when they talk about their nation and its ambitions.

“We want life, job, and peace,” said Azar, a mother of two who runs a tea stall near the Grand Bazaar. “Talks are good if they bring bread and stability, not just headlines. If the corridors of power decide everything, what about us?”

In the Gulf, energy markets skitter with every whisper of escalation. Traders and ministers watch not only carrier movements but also the quiet numbers: oil accounts for a significant share of Iran’s state revenue; sanctions have slashed exports and battering public services. Several Gulf producers have signaled nervousness at the prospect of renewed conflict that could choke shipping in the Strait of Hormuz and send oil prices spiking. World Bank and IMF analyses over recent years have documented how sanctions and inflation have eroded household incomes across Iran, feeding social unrest and political pressure for some kind of relief.

Why this matters to you

Global energy markets are sensitive to even the threat of conflict in the Persian Gulf; consumers in Seoul, London and Lagos may see it reflected in prices at the pump.
Non-proliferation norms are at stake: whether a negotiated rollback, rigorous verification, and return to inspections can be an effective template for preventing nuclear proliferation elsewhere.
Regional stability hinges on a delicate balance — the more Iran feels cornered, the more it is likely to lean on proxies around the region. That translates into everyday violence for people in Lebanon, Yemen, Iraq and beyond.

“This is not just about centrifuges and sanctions,” said a former IAEA inspector. “It’s about whether international rules and verification can outlast geopolitical competition. If diplomacy works here, it can be an argument for restraint globally.”

What happens next?

The next technical-level talks in Vienna will be critical. They will focus on timelines, sequencing of sanctions relief, and the technical benchmarks that inspectors can verify. But even if diplomats thread this needle, the agreement’s survival will hinge on domestic politics in both Tehran and Washington, regional trust deficits, and the stubborn realities of enforcement.

So I’ll ask you, the reader: do you trust the machinery of diplomacy — the translators, the back channels, the tweaks in Vienna — to keep a conflagration from starting? Or do public deadlines and military posturing make you think we are closer to miscalculation than to compromise?

These Geneva talks are small in the footprint of global headlines yet enormous in consequence. They are a reminder that the difference between war and negotiation often rests in rooms that the public never sees, and in the improbable patience of intermediaries like Oman who, for now, are buying the world more time.

Bill Clinton to Face Questioning by House Panel in Epstein Probe

hanad

February 27, 2026

Epstein files: Thousands of redacted documents released — Bill Clinton has previously expressed regret for socialising with Epstein and said he was not aware of any criminal activity

In the Quiet of Chappaqua, a Storm Overpowering the Small-Town Calm

The day the Clintons sat for depositions in a modest arts centre in Chappaqua felt like a town meeting that had swallowed the national conversation whole.

Journalists, camera crews and local residents funneled into that leafy Westchester hamlet as if a magnet had been dropped into a swimming pool: ripples outward, everyone converging on the centre. The Secret Service strung up metal barricades. Press vans clustered like migratory birds. Somewhere nearby, a deli owner wiped down the counter and shook his head at the spectacle.

“You usually come in for coffee and a crossword,” said Maria Hernandez, who has run the corner café for 18 years. “Now it’s ‘Did you see who walked by? Did you see the barricades?’. It feels unreal — like we’re in a movie about people who made a movie about people.”

Why the Depositions Matter

At the heart of the proceedings is Jeffrey Epstein — the late financier whose criminal conduct and connections have continued to ricochet through the corridors of power. Epstein pleaded guilty in 2008 to state charges related to soliciting prostitution, including accusations involving underage girls. He later faced federal sex-trafficking charges before his death in a New York jail cell in 2019, which authorities ruled a suicide.

This is not just about the man who died; it’s about the files, the flight logs, the photographs and the networks — and what they say about wealth, influence and accountability.

Republicans on the House Oversight Committee, armed with new disclosures from the Department of Justice that they describe as “millions of documents,” say they are trying to understand who moved in Epstein’s orbit and why. Democrats warn that the current probe is more about scoring political points against President Donald Trump than about seeking survivors’ justice.

Who was questioned, and why it matters

Hillary Clinton testified before the panel first, delivering an opening statement in which she pushed the committee to call President Trump to testify as well. “If this committee is serious about learning the truth about Epstein’s trafficking crimes,” she said publicly, “it would ask him directly under oath about the tens of thousands of times he shows up in the Epstein files.”

The following day, former President Bill Clinton took his turn. He is more entangled in public perception, having acknowledged several flights on Epstein’s private plane in the early 2000s for humanitarian work linked to the Clinton Foundation, but he has insisted he severed ties long before Epstein’s 2008 conviction and denied ever visiting Epstein’s private island.

Neither Hillary nor Bill Clinton has been accused of criminal wrongdoing in connection with Epstein. Mere mention in documents does not equate to criminal culpability. Yet the appearances were demanded under threat of contempt of Congress — two former first family members summoned into a moment that blends the personal and the political.

Images, Logs and the Weaponization Claim

Among the trove released by the Justice Department were photographs and travel logs that set off renewed public curiosity. One image included in the files — obscured by a black rectangle to protect parts of the photograph — showed Bill Clinton reclining in a hot tub. Another picture appeared to show him swimming beside a dark-haired woman widely identified as Ghislaine Maxwell, Epstein’s alleged accomplice. Such images, whether grainy or pixel-perfect, are potent: they require no legalese to elicit a reaction.

“Photos have this strange power,” observed Dr. Lena Morales, a media studies professor at Columbia University. “They compress complexity into a moment and let our imaginations rush in. That’s why they’re central in political theatre, even if they tell an incomplete story.”

For Democrats, the whole inquiry smells of a partisan fishing expedition. “This is being used as a cudgel,” said Representative Aisha Carter, a Democrat on the committee. “We should be focused on victims. Instead, we are weaponizing trauma for political theater.”

For Republicans, the push is an accountability exercise. “The public deserves answers,” said Committee Chair James Comer. “We are following leads and documents. No one is above scrutiny.”

Chappaqua’s Uncomfortable Spotlight

Inside the arts centre, the mood was tightly controlled, but outside, neighbors struggled to reconcile the relaxed rhythms of their community with the gravity of what was unfolding. A retired teacher named Harold Peck, who moves easily between newspaper clippings and neighborly greetings, lamented how national debates arrive without knocking.

“Chappaqua is a town of book clubs and PTA meetings,” Peck said. “We like to think we can keep our lives small. But power has ways of collapsing distance.”

The depositions were held behind closed doors — a choice that angered the Clintons, who had asked for open hearings and even televised testimony, only to find themselves in a quiet room away from the public gaze. Bill Clinton called closed hearings akin to a “kangaroo court.” That line — sharp and performative — landed differently depending on one’s political lens.

What This Reveals About Power and Accountability

Beyond the personalities and photographs, the hearings invite deeper questions. How do wealth and access shape legal outcomes? How does public curiosity about the rich and famous intersect with the real needs of survivors seeking justice? And when political actors put their own interests ahead of victims’, who holds them accountable?

There are concrete numbers that help frame the scale. Epstein’s 2008 plea deal allowed him to serve 13 months in a county jail with work-release privileges — a sentence widely criticized as lenient. Civil suits connected to Epstein and Maxwell have alleged harm to dozens of women, and various legal settlements and claims have resulted in millions of dollars paid to victims, illustrating the monetary dimension of the fallout even as many survivors say money cannot be justice.

“We must not let spectacle eclipse substance,” said Naomi O’Connell, director of a nonprofit working with survivors of trafficking. “Investigations should be survivor-centered. Too often, they become about personalities and not accountability.”

Readers, what do you think?

Do high-profile hearings like these bring us closer to justice, or do they gratify a national appetite for scandal while leaving systemic problems untouched? When the cameras leave Chappaqua, will anything meaningful have changed for those Epstein wronged?

Epstein’s 2008 conviction: state charges related to solicitation of prostitution; served roughly 13 months.
2019 federal charges: Epstein was facing sex-trafficking charges when he died in custody; death ruled a suicide.
Ongoing scrutiny: DOJ releases of documents have provided new leads and renewed political debate.

Closing Thoughts: A Community, a Country, a Conversation

The tiny town of Chappaqua, with its maple-lined streets and Sunday farmers’ market, may one day shrug off the attention. But the questions raised by these depositions are not local; they are national and global. They speak to how institutions respond when allegations implicate wealth and proximity to power, and whether public inquiry can evolve into meaningful reform.

As the sun set on the arts centre and the last of the press vans rolled away, Maria at the café poured one more coffee. “People will forget details,” she said, stirring sugar into a cup. “But stories like this hang around in the town like a smell. They make you notice things: who you trust, how you listen. Maybe that’s the point.”

So we keep watching, probing, asking. Because history is not only what powerful people do when no one is looking — it is also what we, as a society, insist upon seeing when we finally look back.

Watch: Kharkiv pensioner pleads, “If I die, let it be here”

hanad

February 27, 2026

Watch: 'If I die, I want to die here' - Kharkiv pensioner — Workers put up anti-drone nets along a stretch of motorway

Before Dawn in Saltivskyi: The Quiet That Breaks

It was almost four in the morning when the sky over Saltivskyi, a northern suburb of Kharkiv, split for a moment and the block of flats on the corner answered with a shower of glass. The sound was not like a bomb in movies — no great roar, just a metallic percussion as windows exploded outward, curtains sucked through frames, and the street filled with a fine, glittering rain.

The missile was not a cruise missile but a Shahed — one of the loitering drones that have become grim punctuation marks in Ukraine’s second winter of war. Miraculously, there were no deaths. No bodies were carried down stairwells that morning. But lives were upended: tenants woke to rooms scattered with shards, kitchens rendered unusable, and the urgent, private arithmetic of what to salvage and what to leave behind.

The woman who came back

Margarita Belkina is 72, slight, and wrapped in a cardigan that could tell stories of other winters. She moved back to her second-floor studio in December after years as an internally displaced person in Kyiv. She had been away for almost four years, part of the great, ongoing shuffle of Ukrainians who left and returned depending on where the shells fell and where work and family tugged.

“I thought Saltivskyi was safe,” she said, tea black at the bottom of a chipped cup. “For four years nothing touched this district. I returned because my son was frightened for me in Kyiv — he said ‘come home, here is quieter.’ Now look.” Her hands folded, then unclenched. “If I must die, let it be here. This is my city, my people.” The words landed like a small flag planted in shattered glass.

Her pension, she told me, amounts to 3,000 Ukrainian hryvnia a month — roughly €60 by current conversion. “It does not buy warm blankets or peace of mind,” she joked, then cried. She had spent the night at her son’s apartment nearby and learned of the strike through a neighbourhood messaging group; at 3:52am a single text pulsed across screens: “Is everyone alive?”

Boarding up, handing out blankets

By late morning, municipal teams were at work gluing plywood over jagged window frames, while volunteers with the Ukrainian Red Cross handed out blankets, hot drinks, and small emergency kits. A young volunteer named Olena, who had the practised calm of someone who had seen too much, moved through the apartments with a clipboard.

“We don’t just give out bandages,” she said. “We listen. People need to name what happened. The practical help, the hot water, the glass repair — that comes later. Right now, they need to feel seen.” Her voice softened when she spoke of Margarita. “She says she regrets coming back but then — she says she will not be taken from her columns and her trees. That is the kind of stubbornness that keeps this city breathing.”

Community networks — a modern lifeline

In a war where the sky is the front, neighbourhood chat groups have become as vital as cellars. From the ministerial evacuation lines to private Telegram channels, residents warn one another of incoming attacks, share shelter locations, and coordinate help. “We text, we drive, we knock on doors,” said Yaroslav, a 34-year-old IT worker who runs a local group that maps which buildings have heating and which have broken windows. “It’s how we stay a neighbourhood rather than a list of victims.”

Nets on the motorway: improvisation against a new threat

On the outskirts of Kharkiv, beyond the rows of Soviet-era tenements and newly spruced shopfronts, construction crews are attaching something that looks like fishing net to poles above a major motorway. The nets are not ornamental; they are a crude but effective countermeasure to a more modern weapon.

Workers who have been on this job for weeks say they have already mounted some 18 kilometres of anti-drone netting on approaches to the city, inching their way closer to the centre. The goal: to snare fibre-optic tethered FPVs (first-person view drones), which travel along a long cable to evade electronic jamming and can carry explosives or act as guided munitions.

What the nets do: catch or deflect the drone’s flight path, entangle the tethering cable, and prevent detonation on critical infrastructure.
Who uses them: municipal construction teams, often working through curfew windows.
How far the threat reaches: FPVs can travel up to around 40km, placing Kharkiv within range if launched from across the border.

“We are building a physical web across the roads,” said Oleg, a foreman with a liner’s tan and the bluntness of someone who measures danger in bolts and knots. “It’s slow, dirty work. It doesn’t stop everything. But it makes the enemy adjust, and every minute they adjust gives someone a chance to live another day.”

Weapons of a new era — Shaheds, FPVs, and urban life

The attack on the Saltivskyi block is a small thread in a larger tapestry: Kyiv, Kharkiv, and other cities have endured waves of drone and missile strikes since Russia’s full-scale invasion began. The Shahed — an Iranian-designed loitering munition — has been used in swarms to saturate air defenses. FPVs, often homemade or improvised, are a newer challenge: cheap, hard to jam when tethered, and lethal in their unpredictability.

“What we’re seeing is a democratization of aerial strike capability,” explained Dr. Kateryna Hrytsenko, a drone warfare specialist at a university in Lviv. “You no longer need a billion-dollar bomber to threaten a city street. You need a few hundred dollars’ worth of components and a plan. Asymmetric technologies redistribute risk but increase civilian vulnerability.”

Kharkiv, a city of roughly 1.2 million people that sits some 30 kilometres from the frontline and the Russian border, has paid this price. The geography that once made it a hub of industry and culture also makes it reachable by relatively low-cost weapons.

What does home mean now?

Walking down Saltivskyi’s avenues later that day, I saw a child on a scooter wobble past a window boarded with fresh plywood. A neighbour waved and shouted that there would be a community meeting to discuss repairs and who could take shifts at the basement shelter. A cafe owner had put out thermoses of coffee for volunteers and for anyone trying to fill out forms for state compensation.

These small civic acts — the plywood nailed at sunrise, the volunteer shifting a blanket, the chat group that asks “Is everyone alive?” in the middle of the night — are the threads by which a community stitches itself together in wartime. They are also the human answers to a question that will haunt readers far from Ukraine: what does it mean to rebuild while bombs still hang in the air?

Would you go back if it were your home? Would you risk the evenings when the sky, once taken for granted, can no longer be trusted? These are not theoretical queries for Margarita or the volunteers in Kharkiv. They are daily decisions wrapped in the ordinary business of life: pensions, hot water, a son’s worried call.

Beyond the block: what this moment says about our world

This strike, these nets, this elderly woman on a chipped-cup life — they are a microcosm of global shifts. The proliferation of drones puts cities at a new kind of risk. Aging populations, low pensions, and disrupted supply chains make recovery slower. Yet the improvised, often community-led responses show an enormous, often unreported human resilience.

On a practical level, Kharkiv’s experiment with nets, community messaging, and rapid volunteer response offers lessons to other cities learning to live under the shadow of remote warfare. On a moral level, it forces a question that should sit uncomfortably with all of us: as technology lowers the barrier to violence, who protects the places we call home?

Back in Saltivskyi, Margarita swept glass from her windowsill with trembling hands. “I cannot be ashamed of being afraid,” she said. “But fear does not get to own what I love.” She smiled, and in that small, fierce smile was the answer she had already chosen: to stay, to stitch, and to carry on.

U.S. Justice Department Faces Allegations of Withholding Jeffrey Epstein Files

hanad

February 27, 2026

US justice dept accused of withholding Epstein documents — Donald Trump has said the release of the 'Epstein Files' exonerated him

What’s Missing From the Epstein Files: A Quiet Roar of Papers, Pain and Politics

There is a particular hush that falls over archival rooms and courthouse basements when millions of pages are catalogued, digitised and handed to the public. It is the silence of inked names, the quiet breath between redactions, the pause where a victim’s life is reduced to a sentence. This hush has been stirring into a storm. In recent days, lawmakers, reporters and survivors have converged on one question: why do more than three million Epstein-related documents—released under a congressional order—appear to omit crucial interview materials tied to an allegation that would touch the life of a former president?

The headline is blunt. Representative Robert Garcia, the senior Democrat on the House Oversight Committee, says the Justice Department has withheld more than 50 pages of FBI interview material relating to a woman who alleges she was sexually abused as a minor and who has accused Donald Trump of assault. According to NPR and independent reporting confirmed by Garcia, FBI records indicate four interviews were conducted with the woman; in the public database, only one summary appears—one that focuses on Epstein and largely omits her allegations concerning Mr. Trump.

The paper trail that didn’t make the cut

We are not talking about stray briefs or clerical missteps. We are talking about a trove: more than three million documents generated during probes into Jeffrey Epstein’s trafficking network. Within that mass of paper are indexes and serial numbers—breadcrumb trails that suggest the FBI produced at least four interview summaries. Yet the public-facing “Epstein Files” database contains only one of those summaries, and it does not contain the fuller allegations that the interview notes reportedly captured.

“The fact that DOJ is suppressing documents alleging President Trump’s commission of sexual abuse of an underage victim only heightens my genuine concerns about a White House cover-up,” Garcia wrote in a letter to the Justice Department—words that have turned murmurs into parliamentary demands.

The Justice Department counters that it is still reviewing flagged documents and that, if anything has been improperly tagged, it will be published consistent with the law. The department notes that some materials are withheld to protect the identities of victims or to avoid compromising ongoing investigations. The White House, meanwhile, has leaned on a familiar refrain: a spokeswoman asserting that Mr. Trump has been “totally exonerated on anything relating to Epstein.”

Why a missing 50 pages matters

Fifty pages in a pile of three million can be dismissed as minutiae. But to survivors, investigators and historians, each page is a life threaded into evidence. Interviews are not neutral documents; they are where pain is recorded, context is given, dates are stamped, and potential suspects are named. If the FBI did indeed interview the woman four times, the absent summaries could contain clarifying details—chronologies, locations, corroborating witnesses—that change the texture of the public record.

“Every page matters,” said Erin Matthews, director of the Survivors’ Advocacy Network. “For survivors, it’s not about political theater. It’s about being seen. If there are interviews that were done and we can’t access them, the integrity of the entire process is undermined.”

Legal scholars also fret about the implications. “Transparency is the only armor the public has when powerful institutions are involved,” said Professor Linda Chen, a constitutional law scholar. “When large swathes of a production are redacted or appear to be missing, it erodes trust—not only in the Department of Justice, but in the rule of law itself.”

Voices on the street

In Palm Beach, where Epstein’s social orbit once turned through the manicured lawns of Mar-a-Lago, locals describe a community oddly habituated to scandal and spectacle. “You never imagined it would land like this,” said Maria Alvarez, who runs a small gallery not far from the club. “We saw the photos, the parties. But the human cost? That’s something else entirely.”

On the other side of the country, in a Washington café near the Capitol, a legislative aide who asked not to be named leaned over a cup of coffee and observed, “There’s a kind of institutional defensiveness right now. Agencies are terrified of releasing something that could harm an ongoing case or reveal sources. But there’s also a political calendar that makes secrecy convenient.”

Context and consequences

Jeffrey Epstein’s death in a federal lockup in 2019 left a legal vacuum; criminal prosecutions slowed, while civil suits, congressional inquiries and journalism rushed to fill the space. Ghislaine Maxwell’s conviction in 2021 brought further testimony into the light, but the ledger is far from complete. The bipartisan bill passed by Congress last year ordered the executive branch to release its Epstein-related materials; the DOJ set out to do that, but missed the tight deadline, citing the overwhelming volume and the need to protect victims.

To date, the documents that have surfaced publicly include photographs—some with faces redacted—emails, and a suggestive note that, according to the archive, bears a signature resembling Mr. Trump’s. The records also contain notes that one powerful associate “knew about the girls,” an ambiguous line that has fed both speculation and defense counters. Trump himself has denied wrongdoing, called the note a forgery, and stated that he never flew on Epstein’s plane—a claim that conflicts with evidence suggesting multiple flights.

What do we do with uncertainty?

When records are incomplete, the public is left with two unsatisfying options: believe the absence of evidence as evidence of innocence, or suspect the absence of evidence as evidence of suppression. Neither is a responsible default.

“Transparency isn’t an on-off switch,” said Maya Desai, a fellow at the Center for Public Integrity. “It’s a process. Agencies have to balance privacy, operational security and the public’s right to know. But that balancing act must be explained. Right now, the explanation is thin.”

That thinness fuels conspiracy and corrodes trust. It sets off a cascade: journalists demand more, lawmakers threaten oversight, survivors ask for dignity, and the public watches, sometimes aghast, often confused. It is worth asking: what kind of democracy tolerates a permanent fog around allegations of sexual violence—especially allegations that touch high places?

Looking forward: accountability, not applause

We are living through a test of institutions. Will the Justice Department finish the review it promised? Will Congress insist on a verifiable audit trail of the document production? Will survivors be given a meaningful voice in decisions about redactions that affect them?

“Accountability is not automatic,” notes Professor Chen. “It must be demanded, documented and legislated when necessary. Millions of documents should not be a shield for inaction.”

For the woman whose interviews are now the alleged missing pages, for the dozens of survivors who have waited years for public acknowledgment, and for a public hungry for clarity, the stakes are immediate and human. The missing pages are not just blanks in an archive; they are potential corroboration, denials, the shape of memory itself.

So I leave you with this: how do we, as a society, reconcile our appetite for accountability with the messy reality of legal procedure and victim protection? When power meets secrecy, who is the referee? The answers will require patience, persistence, and, above all, the courage to keep turning pages—even when what they reveal is uncomfortable.

Clinton Testifies About Epstein, Urges Investigators to Question Trump

hanad

February 27, 2026

Clinton testifies over Epstein, urges Trump be questioned — Democrats say the investigation is being weaponised to attack political opponents of Donald Trump

In the hush of Chappaqua: a small town thrust into a national reckoning

On an October morning that felt more like a scene from a political novel than the peaceful suburb it usually is, the Hudson Valley town of Chappaqua woke to an unusual kind of attention. News vans lined the maples, hot coffee steamed from insulated cups, and a procession of reporters threaded their way along narrow streets toward the unassuming address where a former secretary of state quietly sat for hours of questioning.

Hillary Clinton’s testimony, given behind closed doors to the House Oversight Committee, landed like a stone in a still pond — ripples that reached Washington power brokers, survivors’ advocates, and ordinary neighbors who have tilled the same soil for decades. The subject: Jeffrey Epstein, the disgraced financier who died in a Manhattan jail cell in 2019 while awaiting federal sex-trafficking charges, and the long, tangled web of connections that stitched him to a constellation of the powerful.

The testimony and the theatre

Clinton’s opening statement, shared publicly ahead of the secret session, was direct. “I had no idea about their criminal activities. I do not recall ever encountering Mr. Epstein,” she wrote. That line — simple, declarative — was the fulcrum of an afternoon of probing. Republicans on the Oversight Committee said they were trying to get at the facts: any ties between the Clintons and Epstein, whether Epstein’s wealth and access intersected with philanthropic work, and if Ghislaine Maxwell — Epstein’s convicted co-conspirator — ever served as a bridge between them.

“No one is accusing at this moment the Clintons of any wrongdoing,” Oversight Chairman James Comer of Kentucky told reporters before the deposition. His goal, he said, is to “understand many things about Epstein” — a phrase that has become shorthand for a sprawling, months-long inquiry into alliances and allegations that crossed continents and decades.

The hearing itself was punctuated by moments that felt almost theatrical. A photograph of Clinton at the table — captured, leaked, and circulated on social media — briefly halted proceedings and raised questions about committee protocol and the intoxicating role of online influencers in real-time political news. Conservative influencer Benny Johnson posted the image; he later said it had been taken by Republican Representative Lauren Boebert. The episode underscored how modern congressional oversight is performed on a stage built of smartphones and followers.

What’s next: a former president takes the stand

Bill Clinton is slated to testify the following day, a development that would mark the first time a former U.S. president has been compelled to give evidence before Congress. That historical weight has not been lost on locals, who woke to television lights and an influx of cable networks but also to the surreal idea that their quiet streets had become a locus for constitutional drama.

“I walked out to get my dry cleaning and thought, ‘What is happening to our little town?’” said Mary Lou Hernandez, who has lived across from the train station for 34 years. “You can’t help but feel the gravity of it all — and the exhaustion. This subject has consumed a lot of people’s lives.”

The facts the committee is pursuing

The committee’s line of inquiry is relatively straightforward on paper: trace contact, financial ties, and potential facilitation. Chairman Comer has pointed to evidence that Epstein visited the White House 17 times while Bill Clinton was in office. The former president has acknowledged flying on Epstein’s private plane several times in the early 2000s and has said he regrets those associations.

Donald Trump’s name also figures prominently in the background. Trump socialized with Epstein in the 1990s and 2000s, and has said he severed ties before Epstein’s 2008 conviction for soliciting prostitution from a minor. In recent months, the Justice Department has released more than three million pages of Epstein-related documents — a trove meant to bring transparency to victims, researchers, and journalists alike. Those filings have linked Epstein to a long list of business and political leaders around the globe and have spurred criminal inquiries abroad, including high-profile probes into members of European royalty.

What the law and history tell us

Ghislaine Maxwell remains the only person convicted in connection with Epstein. In December 2021 she was found guilty of sex trafficking and related charges and, in June 2022, she was sentenced to 20 years in prison. Maxwell invoked her Fifth Amendment rights before the Oversight Committee when she appeared via videolink earlier this month. Her decision to remain silent has left a satisfier of legal closure dangling for many survivors and investigators.

“Legal closure is never neat,” said Dr. Aisha Rahman, a law professor who studies institutional accountability. “What witnesses and documents can do is fill in the texture of how networks of privilege enable abuse. That matters to survivors and to democracy.”

Voices in the town and beyond

Reactions in Chappaqua ran the gamut. A diner-owner, Tom Kline, shrugged and said, “I’m more worried about the economy than who hung out with who in the 90s,” while a teacher, Mei Lin, pointed to a deeper unease. “For survivors, this is not nostalgia,” she said. “They want answers, and they want systems to change so this doesn’t happen again.”

Some Democrats on the committee say Republicans’ fixation on the Clintons smacks of partisan theater. Representative Robert Garcia of California argued publicly that President Trump and others with ties to Epstein — including business figures whose names have surfaced in the document releases — should also testify. The tug-of-war across party lines has turned the investigation into a mirror reflecting larger trends: the national appetite for accountability, the weaponization of oversight, and the fast, often messy confluence of politics and public conscience.

Why this still matters

Why do these hearings matter beyond spectacle? Because they force a reckoning about power. Epstein’s crimes were brutal and systemic, involving recruitment, coercion, and networks that blurred private and public life. The documents released to date — millions of pages — are both a record and a warning. They show how wealth and access can be used to shield wrongdoing, and how difficult it is for victims to break through institutional defenses.

“We have to ask the hard questions,” said survivor advocate Lauren McKay. “Not just who sat in the same room, or flew on the same plane, but how institutions enabled impunity. That’s where policy change must come.”

Questions for the reader

As you read this, consider: what does accountability look like in an era where power can be invisible, money can buy access, and social media can both reveal and obscure truth? How should democracies balance transparency with the rights of individuals? And perhaps most importantly, how do we center survivors in conversations that so often default to the interests of the powerful?

Chappaqua will go back to its regular rhythms — the commuter trains, the school buses, the corner bakery — but the shadow from these depositions will likely linger. Not because of the headlines, but because each disclosure, each testimony, nudges a public conversation forward about responsibility, privilege, and the structures that allow abuse to persist. That, more than the spectacle, is the real story.

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