The United States versus Donald Trump would go on every day for years
In the fragile days before a presidential transition, a man who had once stood at the center of American law enforcement offered a quiet counsel: that justice, pursued too loudly, can become its own distraction. James Comey, speaking in January 2021, urged President-elect Biden to weigh the cost of prosecuting Donald Trump — not because accountability was unimportant, but because the spectacle of a trial might serve the accused more than the nation. In a moment when the Capitol still bore the marks of insurrection and five people lay dead, Comey asked whether the country's healing might require a different kind of reckoning.
- With Trump days from leaving office, the question of criminal accountability hung over Washington like an unresolved verdict — and Comey stepped forward to argue the cost of pursuing it might outweigh the gain.
- A trial of a former president, Comey warned, would consume three to four years of national attention, handing Trump a stage and robbing Biden of the political oxygen needed to govern.
- Five people had died in the January 6 Capitol riot, lawmakers had fled for safety, and the House had just impeached Trump a second time — yet Comey suggested impeachment, not prosecution, was the more viable path to accountability.
- He floated a counterintuitive alternative: a pardon, which under a 1915 Supreme Court precedent implies an admission of guilt, offering accountability without the theater of a criminal trial.
- Comey warned against forgiving Trump's former allies who resigned after the riot, urging Americans to 'keep the receipts' and resist the rebranding of complicity as conscience.
- Reflecting on his own compromises as FBI director — including his promise of 'honest loyalty' to Trump — Comey offered himself as a cautionary example of how institutional pressures bend even principled actors.
In mid-January 2021, just days before the transfer of power, former FBI director James Comey offered an unsolicited but pointed piece of advice to the incoming president: do not make Donald Trump the centerpiece of your administration by putting him on trial. The political cost, Comey argued, would be too steep — a criminal prosecution would dominate the national conversation for years, giving Trump exactly the platform and attention he craved, while leaving Biden little room to address the country's deeper wounds.
Comey's preferred alternative was surprising: a pardon. Drawing on a 1915 Supreme Court precedent, he noted that accepting a pardon constitutes an implicit admission of guilt — a form of accountability that carries real weight without requiring a courtroom. Biden had publicly ruled out pardoning Trump and pledged to leave prosecutorial decisions to the Justice Department, a stance Comey called prudent, even as he quietly hoped for reconsideration.
The legal exposure Trump faced upon leaving office was substantial — investigations into his finances, his role in the Capitol attack, and a recorded call pressuring Georgia's secretary of state to manufacture votes. The Justice Department's longstanding prohibition on indicting a sitting president would expire the moment his term ended. Meanwhile, the House had voted to impeach him a second time, charging him with incitement of insurrection following a riot that killed five people, including a police officer.
Comey said he had not been surprised by the violence itself — Trump's years of inflammatory rhetoric had made it foreseeable — but he was stunned that the rioters had actually breached the Capitol. He called for a 9/11-style commission to understand the failure and determine what new safeguards might be needed.
He was equally skeptical of the wave of resignations from Trump's inner circle in the riot's aftermath. Officials who had enabled years of norm-breaking were now repositioning themselves as people of conscience, and Comey urged the public not to accept the rebranding. 'Keep the receipts,' he said. He acknowledged his own compromises — including his promise of 'honest loyalty' to Trump early in the administration — as a reminder that institutional pressure bends even those who believe themselves principled. The admission was part of a broader argument in his new book: that American institutions had been quietly eroded, and that rebuilding trust would require honesty about how the damage was done.
James Comey sat down with a journalist in mid-January 2021 with a warning for the incoming president. The former FBI director, who had led the bureau through the early Trump years before being fired in 2017, believed Joe Biden should think very carefully before pursuing criminal cases against Donald Trump once he left office. The political cost, Comey argued, would be too high—and there were other ways to ensure accountability.
Comey's reasoning was straightforward: a criminal trial of a former president would consume the nation's attention for years. "The United States versus Donald Trump would go on every day in the nation's capital for the next three or four years," he said. That spectacle would hand Trump exactly what he wanted—a platform, cameras, an audience. It would make it nearly impossible for Biden to do the work of healing the country's fractured political landscape. Better, Comey suggested, to let Trump fade from the center of power rather than keep him there through endless litigation.
There was another option, Comey believed: a pardon. It sounded counterintuitive, but he pointed to a 1915 Supreme Court precedent. A pardon, if accepted, constitutes an admission of guilt. It carries weight. It's a form of accountability that doesn't require a trial. Biden had said during the campaign that he wouldn't pardon Trump and would leave any prosecutions to the Justice Department. Comey called that approach "prudent," but he was clearly hoping the president-elect would reconsider.
The stakes were real. Trump faced multiple legal exposures after leaving office: investigations into his taxes and finances, questions about his role in the January 6 Capitol attack, and a recorded call to Georgia's secretary of state in which he asked the official to "find 11,780 votes." The Justice Department had a longstanding rule against indicting a sitting president, but that protection would evaporate the moment Trump's term ended on January 20. There was also the question of impeachment. The House had just voted to impeach Trump for a second time, charging him with incitement of insurrection in connection with the riot that had left five people dead, including a police officer.
Comey said he was sickened by what happened on Capitol Hill. He hadn't been surprised by the violence itself—Trump's rhetoric throughout his presidency had made that foreseeable. What did surprise him was that the rioters had actually breached the building. He called for a 9/11-style commission to understand how it happened and whether new authorities or guidelines were needed. But first, he said, gather the facts.
He was also skeptical of the sudden moral clarity from Trump's former allies. Several cabinet members and aides had resigned in the days after the riot, positioning themselves as principled objectors. Comey urged the public to "keep the receipts"—to remember what these people had done and enabled, to not let them repackage themselves as heroes. "Don't buy the re-chroming, the repositioning, the reframing," he said. He admitted he himself had bent tactically while FBI director, including when he promised "honest loyalty" to Trump to avoid a confrontation over an investigation into Michael Flynn. The memory of those compromises, he suggested, should inform how Americans evaluated the choices of others.
Comey was promoting a new book, "Saving Justice: Truth, Transparency, and Trust," which examined his tenure at the FBI and the erosion of faith in American institutions over the previous four years. He had been a controversial figure—criticized by Clinton supporters for reopening the email investigation days before the 2016 election, and by Trump for leaking details of their conversations to the press. An inspector general found he had improperly leaked information, though the Justice Department declined to prosecute. He still felt, as he had told a Senate committee in 2017, somewhat "mildly nauseous" about the impact his decisions may have had on the election. But he stood by his record. History, he believed, would vindicate him.
Citas Notables
The United States versus Donald Trump would go on every day in the nation's capital for the next three or four years.— James Comey
Don't buy the re-chroming, the repositioning, the reframing—remember. It'll help us avoid putting people like that in positions of authority again.— James Comey, on Trump allies' late resignations
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
You're arguing against prosecuting Trump, but doesn't that let him escape accountability?
No—I'm arguing for a different form of accountability. A pardon, if he accepts it, is legally an admission of guilt. It's not a get-out-of-jail card. It's a public record of wrongdoing.
But why would Biden pardon someone he campaigned against?
Because the alternative is three or four years of Trump dominating the news cycle from a courtroom. Biden came in to heal the country. A trial keeps the wound open.
What about the people who died on January 6? Don't they deserve justice through the courts?
They do. But there are other ways to pursue that—investigations into the planning, the security failures, the people who organized it. A commission, not a presidential trial.
You mentioned "keeping the receipts" on Trump's allies. What did you mean?
Remember what they did. Don't let them rebrand themselves as heroes because they quit in the final week. That memory is how we avoid putting people like that back in power.
You bent tactically yourself—promised loyalty to Trump to avoid conflict. How do you square that with criticizing others?
I'm not claiming moral superiority. I'm saying we all made compromises. The question is whether we learned from them.