The Rot Within: Elite Networks and the Bipartisan Corruption Sustaining American Power

In the annals of American political history, the year 2025 stands as a stark reminder of deep-rooted problems inside the nation’s political and corporate elite. The re-election of Donald Trump, despite scandals linking him to Jeffrey Epstein, organised crime, and the sleazier corners of New York’s upper class, is not a shocking break from tradition – it’s a symptom of long-term decay. This rot cuts across both major parties, where elite circles – driven by power, wealth, and global dominance – have long prioritised self-preservation over democratic accountability.

Elite networks made up of think tanks, foundations, media outlets, corporations, and elite universities have shaped US policy at home and abroad since the early 20th century. Trump’s rise, and the bipartisan tolerance of his abuses, reflects a deeper crisis of legitimacy in these institutions. Far from challenging the system, Trump shows how it can adjust to threats by absorbing them – repackaging outrage, corruption, and far-right energy as just another part of business as usual.

It’s not new

This process of elite self-preservation has deep historical roots. What we see with Trump is not a dramatic break from the past but the latest version of a process that began, at least, under Woodrow Wilson.

Wilson was often seen as a progressive social reformer and internationalist, but at home he embraced racism and repression. His push for “100% Americanism” launched a wave of anti-immigrant, anti-Black, and anti-labour crackdowns. He resegregated the federal government and praised The Birth of a Nation, helping mainstream the revived Ku Klux Klan. Under Wilson, patriotism became a weapon to silence dissent – and the federal government used it aggressively.

For example, Wilson set up the Committee on Public Information (CPI), a pro-war propaganda agency, headed by journalist George Creel, shortly after the U.S. entered WWI in 1917. The CPI's goal was to generate support for the war and cultivate extreme nationalism through all available media, including newspapers, films, posters, and speeches. The CPI deliberately controlled the flow of information, presented a sanitised version of the war effort, and played on emotions to manufacture consent.

The Wilson administration viewed criticism of the war as disloyalty. It used the Espionage Act of 1917 and the Sedition Act of 1918 to punish anti-war statements, silence dissidents, and suppress ethnic newspapers perceived as unsupportive. Though president Wilson privately expressed misgivings about its methods, his administration allowed the American Protective League (APL) to operate.

This organisation of 250,000 private citizens, which worked with the Justice Department, spied on and harassed German sympathisers, anti-war activists, and union organisers. By deferring to his Attorney General, Wilson effectively allowed the APL's extra-legal activities to continue.

One of the clearest historical examples came in the 1930s, with the rise of the America First Committee – a group that claimed to oppose U.S. entry into World War II but was steeped in nativism, anti-Semitism, and admiration for European fascism.

Key figures in America First, including wealthy businessmen and public intellectuals, openly expressed support for Hitler’s policies, or at least saw Nazi Germany as a necessary bulwark against communism. Charles Lindbergh, the movement’s most famous spokesperson, praised Nazi air power and blamed “the Jewish race” for pushing the U.S. into war.

The America First Committee had deep elite backing – from corporate donors, Ivy League academics, and media barons – proving that far-right ideology wasn’t confined to the margins. It had real traction among the well-connected, and its message resonated with sectors of the ruling class anxious about both global conflict and domestic unrest.

This early mix of elite governance and far-right nationalism set a precedent. From Wilson’s Red Scare to Lindbergh’s America First, to Truman’s and McCarthy’s anti-communist crusades, and Nixon’s Southern Strategy to Reagan’s dog whistles about “welfare queens,” U.S. elites have repeatedly used far-right language and fear to tighten their grip. At each stage, what looks like grassroots backlash is often backed – or at least tolerated – by elite institutions.

The idea of “American exceptionalism” has always carried a fundamentally racial dimension. US power was built not just on markets and military force, but on the belief that the country had a moral mission –one that often excluded or punished anyone who didn’t fit the mould. When that mission seemed threatened, elites were more than willing to flirt with fascism.

The Cold War to Clinton

During the Cold War, elite networks worked closely with far-right forces under the banner of anti-communism. The FBI spied on civil rights leaders while US-backed coups installed right-wing regimes abroad. At home, a bipartisan elite built up a national security state that blurred the line between democracy and authoritarianism, laid the foundations of the military-industrial complex.

This same ruling elite, after the Cold War, embraced a new ideology: capitalist globalisation. Under Bill Clinton, this took the form of free trade, deregulation, and privatisation – all while maintaining the security state at home. Far-right anger didn’t disappear; it simmered in militia movements, talk radio, and anti-immigrant groups.

It was further fuelled and mainstreamed by Koch industries investments in faux grassroots anti-government and anti-immigrant organisations. But it was largely still on the margins waiting for a charismatic figure and a suitable catalytic effect of a crisis – after the 2008 financial meltdown, and the election of Barack Obama, the conditions were ripe for the emergence of Trumpism. Trump absorbed and weaponised the move to the far right.

Trump: The far right in the open

Trump didn’t create this reactionary politics – he gave it a gold elevator and a prime-time audience. His slogans like “America First” didn’t come out of nowhere. They directly echoed the isolationist, nativist, and pro-fascist politics of the 1930s. That earlier America First movement opposed US support for Britain and the Allies not on pacifist grounds, but because it sympathised with authoritarian regimes and feared racial and cultural change at home.

By reviving the phrase, Trump wasn’t just choosing a catchy slogan – he was tapping into a deep ultra-nationalist tradition shaped by fear of immigrants, workers’ power, disdain for international cooperation, and admiration for “strongmen” abroad. His open courtship of white nationalists, militias, and conspiracy theorists wasn’t a rejection of elite norms – it was their ugly undercurrent brought to the surface.

What’s more disturbing, but not very surprising, is how quickly elite institutions adjusted. Despite constant scandal, Trump maintained support from key parts of the financial sector, legal establishment, and media. Think tanks and donors who had backed previous Republican presidents didn’t abandon him – they adapted. Corporate power doesn’t rely on moral consistency. It survives by shifting its alliances, rebranding itself, and absorbing threats when needed.

The Mob, Epstein, and elite complicity

Trump’s personal ties to Epstein and organised crime aren’t side stories – they’re part of how elite networks work. Epstein wasn’t a rogue actor. He moved easily through worlds of finance, science, politics, and media. His connections to both Bill Clinton and Donald Trump reveal a social world where money, sex, and influence flow freely – protected by the powerful and ignored by regulators.

Trump’s ties to the mob go back to the 1980s, when he used concrete supplied by mafia-controlled firms to build Trump Tower. His McCarthyite fixer Roy Cohn also represented mob bosses and helped Trump cut deals that avoided labour unions and legal oversight. This wasn’t hidden – it was how things got done.

Elite power doesn’t always look like a polished think tank. Sometimes, it looks like backroom deals, non-disclosure agreements, and private jets. The real scandal is how normalised it all is.

The Rot is bipartisan

Democrats have not challenged this system – they’ve helped run it. The Clinton Foundation accepted donations from authoritarian regimes and Epstein-linked financiers. The Obama administration bailed out Wall Street but left foreclosed homeowners behind. Biden’s White House was filled with veterans of think tanks and private equity firms.

The polls in 2025 are striking: nearly half of Americans now see Democrats as more corrupt than Republicans. That doesn’t mean they are – but it reflects how both parties are seen as part of the same elite world. Trump may flaunt his sleaze, but the public sees little accountability for anyone at the top –left, right, or centre.

Conclusion: Managing the far right to maintain power

Trump’s appeal to the far right – his attacks on immigrants, praise for violence, and nostalgia for white male dominance – aren’t an accident. They are part of a longer American tradition where elites use fear, division, and nationalism to stay in power.

From Wilson to Trump, the story is clear: when elites feel threatened, they don’t defend democracy. They often side with – or quietly tolerate – the very forces they claim to oppose.

The strength of American elite power has always been its flexibility. It absorbs crisis, co-opts opposition, and rebrands itself. That’s how it survives. But legitimacy cannot last forever in a system built on corruption, silence, and inequality. Without real change – beyond partisan swaps and media outrage –the rot will only deepen.

And figures like Trump will keep returning. Not as flukes, but as symptoms of a system that refuses to cure itself.

Inderjeet Parmar is a professor of international politics and associate dean of research in the School of Policy and Global Affairs at City St George’s, University of London, a Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences, and a columnist at The Wire. He is an International Fellow at the ROADS Initiative think tank, Islamabad, and author of several books including Foundations of the American Century. He is currently writing a book on the history, politics, and crises of the US foreign policy establishment.

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