Democratic Delegate Stacey Plaskett of the Virgin Islands just dropped a bombshell that’s got Washington buzzing with outrage and disbelief.
On Wednesday, November 19, 2025, Plaskett admitted to relying on text messages from none other than convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein to shape her questioning during a high-profile hearing with Michael Cohen, former fixer for President Donald Trump, seven years ago, narrowly escaping a House censure vote of 214-209 amidst a storm of political crossfire.
Let’s rewind to that hearing, circa 2018, where Cohen was spilling details on alleged hush money payments to Stormy Daniels tied to claims against Trump. Plaskett, a seasoned former prosecutor, was in the hot seat, grilling Cohen with questions that, as she now concedes, were influenced by Epstein’s input. This isn’t just a footnote—it’s a glaring red flag about who’s whispering in the ears of our elected officials.
Epstein, a man with a web of ties to high-profile figures like L Brands founder Lex Wexner and former Prince Andrew, was a known predator even back then. How does a sitting delegate justify texting with such a figure for “information” during a critical congressional moment? It’s a question that cuts to the core of trust in public service.
Plaskett defended herself on CNN’s “Situation Room,” saying, “I’ve been a prosecutor for many years. And there are a lot of people who have information that are not your friends, that you use to get information to get to the truth.” Nice try, but leaning on a convicted offender for intel during a hearing about presidential misconduct feels less like gritty detective work and more like a dangerous misstep.
She doubled down, claiming the hearing was a big deal with “lots of people texting” her information. But let’s be real—most folks aren’t getting hot tips from someone with Epstein’s rap sheet. This isn’t just about one question; it’s about judgment in a role where every decision is under a microscope.
Fast forward to November 19, 2025, when the House took up a resolution to censure Plaskett for this very lapse, only for it to fail by a razor-thin margin of 214-209. Reports suggest some defections were tied to protecting Republican Rep. Cory Mills of Florida from his own censure over unrelated allegations of domestic abuse and stolen valor, introduced by Rep. Nancy Mace of South Carolina. It’s a classic case of political horse-trading, where principles take a backseat to strategy.
Now, let’s not pretend this is just about partisan gamesmanship. The core issue remains—Plaskett’s admission that without Epstein’s texts, she “probably” wouldn’t have asked Cohen about a specific individual close to Trump. That’s not a minor detail; it’s a direct line from a predator to a public hearing, and it stinks of compromised integrity.
Speaking of Trump, it’s worth noting that Epstein’s victims and their legal counsel have consistently cleared him of any wrongdoing in this sordid saga. Attorney Bradley Edwards, who represented some of those victims, recalled in a 2018 video, “The only thing that I can say about President Trump is that he is the only person who, in 2009, when I served a lot of subpoenas … picked up the phone and said, ‘let’s just talk.’”
Edwards added, “And [Trump] was very helpful in the information that he gave and gave no indication whatsoever that he was involved in anything untoward.” Compare that to Plaskett’s questionable source, and you’ve got a stark contrast in how public figures navigate the Epstein shadow. Trump’s cooperation back then stands as a reminder that not everyone got tangled in this mess the same way.
Even Virginia Giuffre, one of Epstein’s most prominent victims, didn’t point fingers at Trump in her posthumous memoir released on October 21, 2025, roughly six months after her tragic suicide. Her ghostwriter even told People magazine that Giuffre admired Trump, a detail that cuts against the progressive narrative often eager to link him to every scandal. Other victims, speaking on NBC News on September 3, 2025, also confirmed they had no knowledge of any misconduct by Trump.
So, where does this leave us with Plaskett? Her escape from censure might save her seat for now, but it doesn’t erase the stain of associating with Epstein for professional gain. This isn’t about piling on—it’s about expecting better from those who wield power on our behalf.
The Epstein connection isn’t just a personal failing; it’s a reminder of how deeply his influence corrupted elite circles, even after his conviction. Plaskett’s rationale—that she was just mining sources—might hold water in a courtroom, but in the court of public opinion, it’s a tough sell. Voters deserve representatives who don’t need to text predators to do their jobs.
Let’s not lose sight of the bigger picture: congressional hearings are supposed to uncover truth, not become conduits for tainted advice. If anything, this debacle should spark a broader reckoning about who’s feeding information to our lawmakers and why. A little sunlight on those backchannels might do wonders.
In the end, while Plaskett dodged formal reprimand, the court of common sense isn’t so forgiving. Her Epstein tie, however she spins it, is a blemish that won’t fade easily in a political climate already skeptical of insider games. Here’s hoping this serves as a wake-up call for accountability—because Washington could use a few more of those.
