“I Am Traumatized. I Am Not Stupid.” Epstein Survivor Haley Robson Delivers Stark Message to Trump — As House Clears Path to Release Files

The steps of the U.S. Capitol felt cold, solemn, resonating with a weight that only those who’ve lived through silence can understand. There, in front of cameras and a growing crowd of reporters and survivors, Haley Robson — one of the women who say they were abused by Jeffrey Epstein — looked straight into the lens and delivered a message to the President of the United States: “I am traumatized. I am not stupid.” Her voice was measured. Her pain unmistakable. The words — raw and unfiltered — landed in a room that, until that moment, had been waiting. But Robson wasn’t alone. Around her stood fellow survivors, united by the same demand: that those hidden in the dark now face daylight.

Robson addressed not only the president but a political party, a system, and a society that she says let down children. “As a Republican,” she said, “this is non-political. But for you to go against your own party and to be ostracised, there’s no place for political violence. No place for intimidation. And I can say firsthand, stepping out against Epstein and his crimes against children, we have all experienced that ourselves.” The tone was clear: this is not about red or blue. It is about the children. The victims. The survivors.

She then made a bold proposition to Marjorie Taylor Greene: read the names of those affected by Epstein’s network on the House floor — no security, no spectacle, a show of solidarity. “If you decide to read those names … I will stand beside you. I will hold your hand. I will hold your coat in solidarity with you,” Robson said. And she added that Preetpal Jailpal had agreed to join the effort. She repeated: “This is a human issue. This is about children. There is no place in society for exploitation, sexual crimes, or exploitation of women … We’re not having it.”

Her message concluded with a pointed turn toward power: “To the President of the United States … while I do understand your position has changed on the Epstein files, and I’m grateful that you have pledged to sign this bill, I can’t help but be skeptical of what the agenda is.” Her words echoed something more profound than doubt: they spoke of awareness. “I am traumatized. I am not stupid,” was more than a statement of pain — it was a reminder that survivors are watching, remembering.

At the same time, the halls of Congress were moving. On Tuesday, the Epstein Files Transparency Act passed the House with a 427-1 vote, in a startling display of bipartisan consensus that would have been unthinkable just months earlier. The Senate followed, and the bill now moves to the President’s desk for signature. The legislation mandates the release of all unclassified investigative files related to Epstein’s prosecution, the activities of his network including Ghislaine Maxwell, flight logs, communications, and individuals named or referenced, including government officials.

For Robson and the survivors standing behind her, this vote was more than symbolic. It was an overdue acknowledgment that the system might finally respond. The files they want to see are not just documents but fragments of their lives, preserved in bureaucracy and shadows until now. The difference this time: lawmakers listened, and the survivors were ready.

Robson’s speech underscored the personal cost of delay. She referenced the “lockdowns, the halt of these procedures that were supposed to have happened 50 days ago,” the sense of being kept waiting, unseen. She questioned the motives: “The Adelita Grajalva, who waited to get sworn in… then gets upset when your own party goes against you because what is being done is wrong.” Her voice held urgency. She confronted the heavy ideal of “land of the free,” pointing out that inside the Capitol, she still did not feel free.

The crowd heard a call: “Choose the chaos. Choose the survivors. Choose the children. Protect the children. All children.” In the same breath she called out the president, acknowledged his pledge, and called for vigilance: “I can’t help but be skeptical of what the agenda is.” The tone was both grateful and wary. She recognised change, but demanded honesty.

Political actors responded. The bipartisan vote was foreshadowed by mounting pressure from both survivors and lawmakers. The bill itself was introduced months ago under the joint efforts of Representatives Ro Khanna and Thomas Massie. After a discharge petition forced the issue, the House finally voted, and even initial opponents of disclosure reversed course. Speaker Mike Johnson endorsed the effort despite earlier resistance, and President Donald Trump, who had opposed the release, pledged to sign the law.

But not everyone aligned. Representative Clay Higgins of Louisiana cast the only “no” vote, citing concerns for innocent individuals named in the files and claiming the legislation threatened criminal-justice procedure. His dissent highlighted the tension between transparency and protection of privacy — a fault line within the broader push for disclosure.

From the survivors’ perspective, those tensions mattered less than the core message they were delivering: the files are overdue. Robson’s recollection – “I am traumatized. I am not stupid.” – became a refrain, a proclamation of survival and refusal to remain silent. The public message was clear: this is no longer a private fight. It is public accountability.

Behind headlines and votes lies the human face of the scandal. Robson held nothing back as she recounted the emotional cost of waiting, watching systems delay, bureaucracies stall. She appealed directly to power: “I am traumatized. I am not stupid.” She appealed to Republicans, to Democrats — to every member of Congress: “Step up and choose the survivors.”

What happens now remains uncertain. The bill’s passage doesn’t guarantee immediate release of all materials. Redactions, ongoing investigations and classification concerns may delay full disclosure. The Justice Department still holds the files and could push back. But for now, the momentum has shifted. The survivors, who once waited in shadows, now stand at the front.

When the final pen is put to the bill and the first file is unsealed, the question will not be about politics — Robson made that clear. It will be about truth, about history, about those who were betrayed and those who must answer. And somewhere deep in her voice, behind the words “I am traumatized. I am not stupid,” lies both a warning and a hope: the long silence is ending.

The lanes of power are opening, the files are moving from secrecy toward public view, and the survivors are watching. Not quietly anymore.