The Jeffrey Epstein case is not a scandal. It is not an anomaly. It is sex slavery operating openly inside the United States.

That matters because sex slavery is not separate from how this country functions. It is the most concentrated expression of a system built on women’s unpaid, underpaid, and coerced labor—and on sexual access enforced through threat, dependency, and the ability to get away with it.

Girls and young women are recruited, controlled, and repeatedly used for sex by powerful men. They are treated as property. Calling this “abuse” instead of slavery is not neutral language. It obscures what is occurring.

The question is not how this happens.

The question is why, once it does, the conclusion rarely follows.

In the United States, women and girls are turned into sex slaves with little risk to the men who exploit them, so long as those men operate within systems of protection. Wealth, status, institutional delay, disbelief, jurisdictional fragmentation, and quiet refusal shield perpetrators. Where those shields exist, the law no longer functions as a boundary.

This is not a failure of individual morality.

It is structural permission.

When rape is not investigated, trafficking is not prosecuted, disappearances are not urgently pursued, and the deaths of exploited women are quietly closed, violence becomes low-risk. Harm is no longer constrained by justice. It is constrained only by whether men can get away with it. Most can.

As long as a woman is alive, she can speak. Survival threatens the system. That is why sex slavery relies on isolation and silencing—and why disappearances and deaths function as closure rather than alarm. The numbers are unknowable by design. No one counts what the economy and the status quo require to remain hidden.

For men who know they can get away with it, the Epstein survivors prove a simple fact: living women talk. Dead women don’t.

This is not a moral claim. It is how risk is managed when the law does not function.

At the same time, women who defend themselves are jailed. This is not a contradiction. It is the same logic applied consistently. The system is more willing to punish women who resist violence than to prosecute men who profit from it.

This is not a historical problem.

It is present tense.

I am a former tech executive. I built the beta of a platform valued in the billions. While seeking funding in South Africa, I was abducted, transported back to the United States, and held in a small town in Maine for two and a half years as a sex slave. I escaped in 2019.

Since then, I have reported what happened. I have requested investigation. I have requested protection. I have received neither.

No charges.
No inquiry.
No accountability.

My case is not exceptional because it is extreme. It is clarifying because it follows the same pattern as the Epstein survivors: trafficking enabled by silence, survival treated as inconvenience, and non-enforcement functioning as policy. The system does not fail to see women like me. It sees us and declines to act.

If the Epstein case meant what it logically means, this argument would be unavoidable. It would drive investigations. It would force a national reckoning with the reality that sex slavery operates openly inside the United States—and that men get away with it.

Instead, there is silence.

The facts are known. The pattern is documented. The conclusion is straightforward. Its absence from mainstream media is not confusion. It is enforcement. Naming sex slavery as structural threatens institutions, reputations, and the economic order itself. The conclusion is therefore managed by omission.

None of this occurs without the state.

We fund police who decline to investigate rape. We fund prosecutors who refuse trafficking cases. We fund courts that jail women for defending themselves. We fund systems that lose files and quietly close cases when women disappear or die.

These are not malfunctions.

They are choices, paid for with public money.

When women express fear, they are offered anxiety studies and medication instead of protection. Fear is not the pathology. Fear is the rational response to a system that does not enforce consequences.

A society that does not protect women does not merely tolerate slavery.

It depends on it.

Protection is not rhetoric.

It is enforcement.

And right now, we are paying for its absence.