The long, controversial, and deeply divisive political career of Peter Mandelson has finally reached its ignominious end. His sacking as ambassador to the United States, forced by the renewed scrutiny of his sordid association with the convicted sex offender and financier Jeffrey Epstein, is not a tragedy. It is a belated and necessary act of housekeeping. It is the final, logical conclusion of a life in politics dedicated not to public service but to the cultivation of power, privilege, and the company of the obscenely wealthy.
Mandelson’s now-infamous declaration that he was “intensely relaxed about people getting filthy rich” was never an economic policy. It was a personal creed, a mission statement for a man who always seemed more comfortable in the drawing rooms of oligarchs and moguls than in the streets of his own Hartlepool constituency. The hurried, tacked-on caveat—“as long as they pay their taxes”—was the pure, unadulterated instinct of the spin doctor he always was, a man forever calculating the headline before living the principle.
This latest scandal is not an anomaly; it is a pattern repeating itself for a third, and hopefully final, time. A man who had to be forced out of the Cabinet not once, but twice—first over a shady, undeclared loan from a Labour millionaire, and then for brazenly intervening in a passport application for a wealthy businessman—has proven himself to be ethically bankrupt. His judgement is, and always has been, catastrophically compromised by his attraction to power and money.
His appointment by Sir Keir Starmer was a catastrophic error of judgement and a slap in the face to those who believed Labour had moved on from the cronyism of the New Labour era. It was a transparent act of rewarding a backroom fixer, a signal that the old guard of Blairite intrigue still held sway. Starmer, in a desperate attempt to project global competence, reached for a man whose very name is a byword for scandal. He has now been badly burned by that decision.
Mandelson’s tenure in Washington was a perfect encapsulation of his career: a blend of slick, superficial triumphs and deeply troubling associations. Yes, he may have schmoozed effectively and secured a trade deal. He may have theatrically produced a letter from the king like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat—a cheap stunt from the ‘Prince of Darkness’ playbook. But all the while, the shadow of his friendship with Epstein, a man whose crimes are among the most heinous imaginable, hung over him and, by extension, the country he was meant to represent.
This is the crux of the matter. It is not guilt by association; it is a profound failure of character and judgement. What kind of man chooses to cultivate a relationship with a known sex offender? What kind of ambassador’s judgement is so flawed that he cannot see the moral abyss such an association represents? For Mandelson, it seems, the allure of Epstein’s wealth and connections—his yacht, his jet, his famous friends—blinded him to the grotesque reality of the man. This is not a minor indiscretion; it is a fundamental disqualification from public life.
His career is a masterclass in failing upwards, a series of spectacular falls cushioned by the loyalty of powerful friends and an utter lack of shame. From the “guacamole” moment that perfectly illustrated his detachment from the people he professed to serve to holidays on Russian oligarchs’ yachts and free cruises from Italian moguls who benefited from his EU decisions, Mandelson never saw a conflict of interest he couldn’t justify.
His political legacy is one of division, spin, and a corrosive cynicism that poisoned public trust. He was the architect of a politics that valued presentation over principle and connection over conscience.
Now, aged 71 and with his third and final resignation secured, there must be no comeback. No sinecure. No quiet advisory role. The Epstein scandal must be the full stop on a career that should have ended long ago. He must be kicked out of politics for good, his peerage rendering him a permanent reminder in the House of Lords not of achievement, but of a political class that too often confuses access with integrity and wealth with worth.
The lesson of Peter Mandelson is a simple one: a man who is intensely relaxed about people getting filthy rich will eventually find himself in the dirtiest of company. His sacking is not a cause for regret; it is a cause for relief. Good riddance.
