Imagine a scenario where the highest office in America isn't just turning a blind eye to white-collar criminals—it's actively rewarding them, potentially fueling terrorism, economic chaos, and global instability. Thanks to Donald Trump's influence, 2025 has shaped up to be a banner year for those who operate in the shadows of finance, leaving everyday people to wonder about the true cost of such leniency.
But here's where it gets controversial: When groups like Islamic State needed to launder and hide their funds, they reportedly turned to the biggest cryptocurrency exchange on the planet—Binance. As U.S. prosecutors revealed in 2023 (via a FinCEN enforcement action document), not only Islamic State, but also al-Qaida, Palestinian Islamic Jihad, and Hamas utilized the platform to funnel money that supported their operations, including the devastating 7 October attack on Israel. Binance itself wasn't directly charged with funding these terrorists, but authorities found it knowingly facilitated the transfer of money, allowing these extremist groups to dodge detection and hinder law enforcement efforts.
At the heart of this saga is Binance's founder and CEO, Changpeng Zhao. Once hailed as the 'king of crypto' (as detailed in a 2024 Wall Street Journal podcast), Zhao's empire crumbled by 2024 when he pleaded guilty to money laundering and served time in prison. Meanwhile, Binance forked over a staggering $4.3 billion in penalties for its part in enabling terrorist finances. This case stood as a rare win for regulators tackling the crypto giants, offering some solace to those affected by the violence tied to these financial networks—families of U.S. victims from the 7 October attack, for instance, who filed a class-action lawsuit against Binance in November 2025, claiming the company actively courted terrorist groups.
And this is the part most people miss: In late October, Donald Trump made headlines by pardoning Zhao (as reported by NBC News). White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt portrayed the move as a fix for what she dubbed the Biden administration's 'war on cryptocurrency,' arguing that Zhao's actions harmed no specific individuals.
This echoes a tired argument that white-collar crime is somehow 'victimless' (a notion debunked by organizations like the Uncut Coalition in their work on corruption's impacts). But it's a flawed idea. Terrorist networks don't thrive in isolation; they rely on sophisticated financial schemers who build covert money pipelines. The casualties from explosions, gun violence, and mass atrocities are often collateral victims of the bankers, executives, and financiers who enable such destruction.
Zhao's pardon sends a strong message about who benefits most from a Trump presidency. As concerns over climate disasters, economic turmoil, and rising authoritarianism fade from the spotlight, white-collar offenders—like Zhao and even Trump himself—are seizing a political high point unprecedented in recent history.
For this elite circle of con artists and tax dodgers, the last year has been a tidal wave of triumphs: dropped prosecutions that seemed inevitable, presidential pardons for the worst offenses, and the gradual dismantling of agencies meant to keep them in check. Trump's right to decry a crime surge in America, but as journalist Jacob Silverman noted in his 2025 book 'Gilded Rage,' the real 'crime wave' is white-collar in nature.
But why would the Trump team prioritize shielding criminals whose deeds could undermine the entire U.S. economic framework? It's a question that sparks heated debate.
The pardon as a political tool
Trump's go-to method for assisting white-collar culprits is straightforward: the pardon. Unlike past presidents who used this sparingly, often near term's end, Trump deploys it liberally—even when it contradicts his own policy goals.
Consider his stance on fighting drug traffickers. Trump has loudly pledged to curb the flow of narcotics and fentanyl from South America, even eyeing conflict with Venezuela despite its lesser role in direct cocaine shipments to the U.S. Yet, he pardoned Juan Orlando Hernández, the former Honduran president.
Hernández doesn't fit the typical white-collar profile as a head of state, but examine his crimes and the power he wielded. In 2024, a U.S. jury convicted him of conspiring to smuggle about 400 tons of cocaine into the United States. As the U.S. attorney general stated, Hernández was 'at the center of one of the largest and most violent drug-trafficking conspiracies in the world,' intertwining his finances with cartels and turning Honduras into a major narcotics gateway, making it one of the globe's most perilous places.
His conviction and 45-year sentence represented a major victory against such networks—a more effective blow than any Venezuela confrontation—and highlighted how white-collar crime isn't victimless. It builds narco-states, normalizes violence, and destabilizes societies.
Then, mirroring Zhao's case, it unraveled. In early December, Trump deemed Hernández 'treated very harshly and unfairly' (per NPR) and set him free. Hernández lobbied Trump's supporters and conservative media, positioning himself as a Trump ally on immigration and security, blaming Biden-era revenge. It succeeded—and wasn't the last instance.
One after another, white-collar offenders have paraded to the White House, pledging allegiance to Trump, only to see their sentences vanish.
There's Charles Scott, a Virginia entrepreneur jailed this year for stock manipulation and investor fraud at a lighting firm—pardoned by Trump. Reality TV personalities Julie and Todd Chrisley faced tax evasion charges and three-year terms, but Trump granted clemency. David Gentile, a former private equity executive, was convicted last year of defrauding investors to the tune of $1.6 billion, earning seven years behind bars. Days into his sentence, Trump commuted it (as covered by Politico), letting him go free.
The Gentile case is particularly infuriating. He and his partner swindled over 10,000 victims—ordinary folks like parents and grandparents who lost everything. 'I’m totally disgusted, because it wasn’t only myself,' one victim told CNN. 'It was my elder mother in her nineties and my sister as well… We all got defrauded.'
Trump's pardons extended beyond finance into politics, eroding public accountability and turning civic spaces into arenas of graft.
He pardoned Alexander Sittenfeld, a Cincinnati council member convicted of bribery and extortion; John Rowland, a former Connecticut governor entangled in corruption; and Jeremy Hutchinson, an Arkansas legislator from a powerful family who took over $150,000 in bribes and got a four-year sentence wiped clean.
Just this month, Trump pardoned Henry Cuellar, a Texas congressman and the first U.S. lawmaker accused of being a foreign agent, allegedly involved in bribery schemes from Mexico to Azerbaijan. Cuellar reportedly acted as an Azeri operative under a regime notorious for jailing dissidents and critics. This was during ethnic cleansing against Armenians, which Freedom House called 'war crimes and crimes against humanity.'
Yet, none of that mattered—Cuellar was forgiven, stayed in Congress, and could become a Trump ally. The signal to politicians: loyalty buys protection. To foreign despots: America is back in the bribery business.
Weakening oversight against corporate wrongdoers
Pardons are just one weapon in Trump's arsenal for letting white-collar criminals off the hook. They're for the convicted; easier still is halting investigations into potential misconduct before charges.
Public Citizen, a consumer advocacy group, tracks enforcement actions—prosecutions or probes—against corporations that Trump's team has blocked. Of 480 targeted firms, about a third have been interfered with. As Public Citizen puts it, 'President Trump talks tough on crime, but his administration is gutting enforcement against corporate lawbreakers.'
The list is extensive. Boeing faced felony charges for fraud after fatal crashes from negligence, linked to hundreds of deaths. They agreed to plead guilty and pay nearly $700 million, but after a $1 million donation to Trump's inauguration, the deal fell apart. The case was dismissed. Victims' lawyers called it 'unprecedented' and 'wrong for the deadliest corporate crime in U.S. history.' A judge recently criticized the lack of accountability for public safety.
Other cases vaporized: unregistered brokers in unregulated securities, drug price-fixing by pharma firms, factories endangering health—all often after donations or deals benefiting Trump or his circle.
No sector illustrates this better than crypto. Probes against Crypto.com and Coinbase were quietly ended. Binance and Zhao were central to this cycle.
Before Zhao's pardon, Binance assisted Trump's personal crypto venture, World Liberty Financial, in developing a stablecoin—a digital currency pegged to stable assets like the dollar, for example, to maintain value. A UAE-controlled firm then used it for a $2 billion investment in Binance, followed by UAE access to advanced U.S. chips, despite security concerns.
This netted potentially millions for the Trumps, freeing Zhao and sparking fears that unregulated crypto could trigger America's next economic downturn. Crypto firms have become Trump's top corporate backers—raising eyebrows about whether this is a recipe for disaster.
Signaling to global criminals: America's doors are open
On the surface, Trump's laxity toward financial crime is profitable. But it's deeper than personal gain. Why aid those risking broad economic collapse?
Part grievance: Trump sees himself as a Biden target via overzealous financial probes and 'weaponized' justice.
Part power consolidation: Supporting figures like Hernández secures allies for future ambitions, like challenging term limits. Freed individuals and shielded corporations would back him against any reversal.
Part ideology: Echoing Republican efforts to shrink the 'administrative state.' Independence at the SEC and FTC has eroded; the CFPB is defunded and questioned; the EPA rolls back pollution limits and chemical rules like formaldehyde restrictions. The DOJ serves Trump's whims, attacking foes and favoring friends.
Broader fallout: The Foreign Corrupt Practices Act, which curbs U.S. firms bribing foreign officials and propping up dictators, is sidelined. A new registry for anonymous companies—aimed at stopping dirty money flows—is scrapped. Autocrats, oligarchs, drug lords, and arms traders now view the U.S. as a safe haven for illicit funds, aiding global tyranny.
This not only heightens environmental harm and corporate failures but could reignite recessions like 2008, fueled by deregulation and unchecked fraud.
Authoritarian regimes don't arise out of thin air; they're bankrolled by such deals. The outcome? A system where crime pays, enforcement is optional, and loyalty is king.
This setup doesn't just excuse wrongdoing—it encourages it. Why bother following rules if they're ignored? It's a downward spiral of corporate crime, destined to explode in ecological crises, financial meltdowns, or domestic terror. Whatever form it takes, it'll prove white-collar crime isn't victimless—we'll all suffer.
What are your thoughts on this? Is pardoning white-collar criminals a necessary correction or a dangerous precedent? Does this administration's approach risk more harm than good? Share your agreement, disagreement, or alternative views in the comments—let's discuss!
