When I was a college student in the late 1960s in Boston, I went to a teach-in at the Brattle Theater in Cambridge to hear Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky talk about the context of the Vietnam War—the history of the United States backing French colonialism in Vietnam, and, after the defeat of the French in 1954, how the U.S. subverted the national elections that would have unified the country, resulting, finally, in eight atrocity-filled years of U.S. war in Vietnam, 1963-1975. Then the terrible toxic legacy of Agent Orange.

As a student with the potential of being drafted to fight in that war, I wanted to know as much as possible about what was going on and what I should do—join in or resist. Both frightening choices. Zinn, a professor at Boston University, and Chomsky, at MIT, were considered left-leaning experts on U.S. foreign policy and imperialism. This teach-in was my first exposure to the real history of U.S. involvement in Vietnam and helped me, after another year of studying the situation, decide to refuse to fight in Vietnam.

And for years afterward Zinn and Chomsky were reliable guides when I needed to separate truth from propaganda while assessing U.S. behavior in the world. Both of them modeled the long struggle in this country for civil rights, against militarism, for economic equality, against nuclear weapons, for environmental sanity, and for telling our true history. They taught how unjust power worked and how it could be confronted. (By the way, Zinn and Chomsky were right about the U.S. lies and corruption supporting the Vietnam War—in which over 58,000 Americans died, as well as 3 to 4 million Vietnamese, Laotians and Cambodians. The U.S. government has never encouraged any accountability for its war crimes.)

When I began painting the Americans Who Tell the Truth portraits in 2002, Zinn and Chomsky’s portraits were among the first ten—right up there with Frederick Douglass, Sojourner Truth,  and Mother Jones. They were contemporary icons of courageous truth telling, and although constantly maligned by mainstream politicians and media, they were steadfastly undeterred by criticism. Zinn died in 2010; Chomsky is alive at 97 but has suffered a major stroke.

Noam Chomsky’s ideas have shaped moral, political, and economic thinking around the globe. He’s been referred to as the world’s greatest public intellectual. He fearlessly exposed the deceit and brutality of power, the exploitations of capitalism, and how the corporate media use propaganda to shape and control how citizens think.

It came as a shock to me and millions of others to discover that the Jeffrey Epstein files contained numerous mentions of Chomsky, disclosing that Chomsky had traveled on Epstein’s private jet, stayed in his New York and Paris apartments, accepted financial help, and had enjoyed his insights and glitzy company. Epstein embodied the ideas, the morals, and the behaviors that Chomsky spent his life condemning. And yet Chomsky continued the friendship even after Epstein had been indicted for sex trafficking and pedophilia. There’s nothing in the files to suggest that Chomsky was involved in Epstein’s sexual crimes. But it would have been impossible for him not to have known. It seems that Epstein used his wit, intelligence, money and charm to surround himself with prominent people—to, in effect, greenwash himself, hoping, I guess, that enough power and prominence would protect him from the law. That, unfortunately, is not an altogether unreasonable supposition.

Epstein asked Chomsky for advice about how to deal with negative press. Because of his political views, Chomsky had extensive experience parrying bad press. Epstein wanted to know if he should counter or ignore it. Of course, Epstein’s media antagonists were not attacking his political views; they were exposing his long history of sex trafficking, raping and prostituting girls. Chomsky, it seems, had to have known this and yet maintained the friendship, suggesting to Epstein that he ignore the press.

Epstein was a criminal reprobate. What does that make Chomsky? Probably not an enabler exactly, but certainly a coddler. Is that a distinction without a difference? The enabler actively makes continuing criminal behavior possible; the coddler looks the other way. Or was Chomsky incredibly naive, and we don’t know enough about the relationship?

A similar case might be that of George Mitchell, the famous judge, then senator, then international peacemaker from Maine. He was often mentioned as a possible presidential candidate, nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize and greatly admired for his quiet rectitude.  (He was often suggested, too, as a good candidate for an AWTT portrait.) Turns out George was also in cahoots with Epstein, but worse than Chomsky, enjoying the trafficked girls. MItchell, 93 years old now, denies this, but numerous institutions and scholarships named for him are jettisoning their affiliation. Chomsky/Epstein may be less flagrant than Mitchell/Epstein, but still . . . .

If I had painted MItchell, I would remove him from circulation unless his denials were proven to be true.

Numerous times during the life of the Americans Who Tell the Truth portrait project, people have pointed out to me the discrepancy between various portrait subjects’ admirable, courageous public acts and their occasional hypocrisy and character flaws. Shouldn’t I remove the portraits of people whose lives are, often seriously, blemished? Martin Luther King, Jr. had affairs, Susan B. Anthony was a racist.  I say that no one is perfect, that the good reasons I painted them for are far more important and lasting than their flaws. 

And, importantly, we all have flaws. In spite of flaws they, and we, can act for justice. If we are ever to have a just society, a beloved community, it will be created by fallible people. When, though, flaws transgress into criminality, the decisions about inclusion have to be made.

Jeffrey Epstein was the opposite of a truth teller. He was a creator of injustice—not a flawed person who did some courageous good but a person whose acts were so reprehensible that no good could offset and redeem them.  He was the rotten apple that infected the entire barrel.  He was a corrupt, moral monster of a man, a black hole sucking willing prominent people (mostly men) into an enormous honey trap of sex and money. Chris Hedges, a great moral voice against war, against government and corporate corruption, and a long-time friend of Chomsky, said this about Chomsky’s involvement with Epstein:

“Noam, of all people, knows the predatory nature of the ruling class and the cruelty of capitalists, where the vulnerable, especially girls and women, are commodified as objects to be used and exploited. He was not fooled by Epstein. He was seduced. His association with Epstein is a terrible and, to many, unforgivable stain. It irreparably tarnishes his legacy. If there is a lesson here, it is this. The ruling class offers nothing without expecting something in return. The closer you get to these vampires the more you become enslaved. Our role is not to socialize with them. It is to destroy them.”

It would be a mistake to negate the rigor and truth of Chomsky’s intellectual and political work because of his association with Epstein. To do so would be to erase Chomsky’s insights into the power and corruption of the forces that shape our lives, and how to combat them. Chomsky’s legacy, though, is tarnished. There’s no tarnish remover for that. A courageous and brilliant man was also foolish and weak. He chose friendship with a conniving predator over protection of his hapless victims.  

And yet, who are we punishing if we say, “Don’t read Chomsky; he was a friend of Epstein’s!” The answer is ourselves. When I was a student struggling with what to do about the Vietnam War, Chomsky’s counsel helped me make one of the most consequential choices of my life. I am grateful for that. To remove his portrait from the AWTT collection would not be saying, though, don’t read him. It would say his character is seriously compromised, so much so that in support of Epstein’s victims, we’re removing him from this community. 

To keep his portrait in AWTT would not be saying we forgive him. We don’t have that moral authority. It would be saying that we think his ideas are the truth. 

I’d like to hear your thoughts about this ethical dilemma. As with many ethical things, viewpoints are various, and the more we consider, the wiser we are. I’m reminded of Claudette Colvin saying, “ I knew then and I know now that, when it comes to justice, there is no easy way to get it. You can’t sugarcoat it. You have to take a stand and say, ‘This is not right.’ And I did.”

We want to do what’s “right.” What is it?

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