In one last act of political theater, outgoing President Joe Biden issued a series of preemptive pardons on his final day in office, ensuring his departure would be as polarizing as his presidency. The move, which shielded several family members and political allies from potential legal scrutiny, was framed by the White House as a defensive measure against what Biden called “baseless and politically motivated investigations.” Announced just minutes before Donald Trump took the oath of office, the timing was as eyebrow-raising as the pardons themselves.
Among those pardoned were Biden’s brother James, his sister Valerie, and their respective spouses, along with another sibling, Francis. The administration insisted these acts of clemency did not imply guilt, portraying them instead as a necessary safeguard against partisan witch hunts. However, critics weren’t buying it, questioning the optics of a president pardoning his own family members on his way out the door. For many, it appeared to be a convenient shield against future scrutiny rather than a principled stand for justice.
But the familial pardons were just the tip of the iceberg. Biden extended his clemency to several high-profile figures, including Dr. Anthony Fauci, Gen. Mark Milley, and lawmakers involved in the January 6 investigations. The list also included Gerald Lundergan, a former Democratic Party chairman, and Ernest Cromartie, a former councilman. As if to cement his legacy as a lightning rod for controversy, Biden commuted the life sentence of Leonard Peltier, a convicted killer of two FBI agents whose case has long divided public opinion. For critics, this lineup of pardons painted a vivid picture of a president playing favorites, doling out clemency like party favors for his allies.
Of course, the most contentious pardon was saved for his son, Hunter Biden, whose legal troubles have been a political liability for years. Convicted on gun charges and pleading guilty to tax-related crimes, Hunter became the focal point of Republican attacks and Democratic unease. Biden’s decision to grant his son clemency in December, weeks before the broader pardon spree, was as unsurprising as it was divisive. For supporters, it was a father’s act of compassion; for detractors, it was a blatant abuse of power, shielding Hunter from accountability and reinforcing suspicions of corruption within the Biden family.
In his parting remarks, Biden defended the flurry of pardons as a stand against overreach, lamenting the damage partisan investigations can inflict on reputations and finances, even when no guilt is established. Yet the timing and scale of his final clemency spree did little to quell criticism. Supporters hailed it as a bold stand against injustice, while critics saw it as the ultimate display of elite privilege—a president using his final hours to protect his own. As Trump’s administration takes the reins, the legacy of Biden’s last-minute pardons will likely remain as hotly debated as his presidency itself.
