Wednesday, April 29, 2026
He went to report crime to an upstate NY sheriff. Instead, ICE arrested him
(This as dumb as it gets. The Sheriff is co discouraging people to report violent crime incidents. We know policing doesn’t not tend to attract very intelligent people, see the case of Johnson vs the City of New London Connecticut but this is totally counterproductive.)
“He went to report crime to an upstate NY sheriff. Instead, ICE arrested him
.
Courtesy of Julio Ipina Hernandez
Julio Ipina Hernandez texted a detective from the Putnam County sheriff’s office in December saying he wanted to report alleged drug and sex crimes.
But when Ipina Hernandez went to meet with the detective on Jan. 6, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers were waiting for him, and arrested him on the spot because he lacked legal immigration status. He ended up spending nearly two months in ICE detention.
S. Michael Musa-Obregon, Ipina Hernandez’s attorney, claimed in a petition to a federal judge that the sheriff’s office coordinated with federal authorities in a “ruse” to lure the 34-year-old Guatemalan immigrant into ICE custody. Musa-Obregon wrote in court documents: “The police investigator never intended to take a complaint and instead weaponized [Ipina Hernandez’s] cooperation to engineer his arrest.”
Sgt. Michael DiVeglio, a spokesperson for the Putnam County sheriff’s office, denied any impropriety in the detective’s handling of Ipina Hernandez’s case. DiVeglio said, “There definitely wasn’t a ruse that was fabricated by our investigator. He was acting well within the scope of his employment and the investigation.” A spokesperson for the U.S. Department of Homeland Security, which oversees ICE, confirmed Ipina Hernandez’s arrest by ICE but declined to provide more information.
Immigrant advocates say Ipina Hernandez’s ordeal illustrates their long-standing concern that collaboration between local law enforcement and federal authorities on immigration enforcement does community harm: It deters immigrants without legal status from reporting crime, out of fear that stepping forward could lead to their own detention.
Ipina Hernandez told Gothamist in an interview, “I definitely do not trust the police – that they will do the right thing.”
A federal judge in February ordered Ipina Hernandez’s release, saying he was not subject to mandatory detention, as the federal government claimed. Judge Vernon Broderick wrote in a Feb. 22 opinion: “‘There is nothing to suggest that DHS exercised any discretion at all in detaining” Ipina Hernandez.
The case arises as state lawmakers and Gov. Kathy Hochul debate proposals to limit cooperation between local law enforcement and federal immigration officials statewide. The effort is driven partly by the Trump administration’s immigration crackdown, which has spurred nationwide protests and thousands of legal challenges like Ipina Hernandez’s.
New York City generally prohibits city officials from cooperating with federal immigration officers, unless provided with a judicial warrant. State officials, including state police, are also generally barred from sharing information with ICE unless legally required to do so. State lawmakers are looking to extend similar protections to local law enforcement agencies across the state.
Hochul recently unveiled a proposal that would prevent local police from sharing information about an individual with ICE unless that person has been convicted of a crime, or there’s probable cause to believe they committed a crime. Immigration advocates are instead pushing for the more sweeping New York for All Act, which would generally ban cooperation and communication between state and local police and ICE, unless there is a judicial warrant.
The measure also requires, among other things, that when immigration officers ask to interview someone in police custody, the person is advised they aren’t required to cooperate, and that they have the right to have an attorney present during the interview.
“That’s why we need New York for All to be passed in this moment — because it would prohibit this type of collusion from ever happening, or even giving people the thought it would happen,” said Murad Awawdeh, president and CEO of the statewide nonprofit New York Immigration Coalition, about Ipina Hernandez’s case.
The meeting and an arrest
Ipina Hernandez, who has lived in the United States for over two decades, has mainly worked as a Spanish translator in the last decade in Westchester County and Vermont, according to court documents. He started a company, called White Flamingo LLC, through which he accompanies immigrants to doctor appointments and lawyer offices, and helps them obtain workers compensation benefits, apply for drivers’ licenses, and get Social Security benefits, according to the records.
Ipina Hernandez told Gothamist in an interview that, during his work, he had witnessed evidence of drug and sex trafficking at a horse farm in Danbury, Connecticut, in 2020 — an operation that he said extended into Dutchess, Westchester and Putnam counties in New York. He said he worried at the time about reporting the information to the police because of potential retaliation and his lack of legal immigration status.
Ipina Hernandez said he later decided to step forward after doing research online and learning that criminal informants can receive special visas or green cards for cooperating with police. He said he reached out to the New York State Police about the alleged crimes in 2024, and they set up a meeting with Homeland Security Investigations officers but no one followed up. DHS officials declined to comment, and state police did not immediately respond to a request for comment.
In December, though, Ipina Hernandez reached out to Kevin Radovich, a detective his brother was communicating with about a separate matter, according to text messages obtained by Gothamist through a Freedom of Information request to the sheriff’s office and separately from Ipina Hernandez.
Over text, Ipina Hernandez made it clear: He was hoping to become an informant and get some kind of immigration benefit in return. Radovich, a member of a Homeland Security Investigations task force for child pornography, told Ipina Hernandez he could “make some calls on that,” but he said he didn’t have direct information on immigration issues, as, he texted, “local police are not allowed to be involved in immigration in New York.”
Ipina Hernandez and Radovich set up a time to meet at a nearby Home Depot parking lot, when the detective would also be meeting with Ipina Hernandez's brother, according to the text message. Ipina Hernandez said he thought they would discuss the next steps for becoming an informant.
But he told Gothamist that Radovich had notified DHS agents about their meeting without his knowledge. According to DiVeglio, the sheriff’s office spokesperson, the detective reached out to DHS because he knew Ipina Hernandez had reached out to them previously, and that Ipina Hernandez knew DHS officers would be at the meeting.
When Ipina Hernandez arrived at the Home Depot parking lot, he said the detective was already there. He got in the passenger seat, and spoke with Radovich. Minutes later, ICE officers opened the passenger door and asked him to step out of the vehicle. As Ipina Hernandez, a father of three, exited the car, he said he began to cry. He said he was thinking about his children and what would happen if he was detained or deported.
After his arrest, he was transported to Orange County Correctional Facility, and later the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn.
In court proceedings, federal attorney Charles Salim Jacob confirmed what Ipina Hernandez had suspected — his “arrest stemmed from information provided by a local sheriff’s department to ICE.”
Salim Jacob added: “There is no factual dispute that the respondent [Ipina Hernandez] believed he was meeting with the sheriff’s office to report criminal activity at the time of the encounter.”
No criminal convictions, per attorney
When asked about the arrest, a DHS spokesperson in a statement cited criminal charges in Ipina Hernandez’s past. In court documents, his attorney, Musa-Obregon, said that Ipina Hernandez has no criminal convictions.
Musa-Obregon acknowledged there were other lesser charges, but said they had been expunged and placed under seal. Ipina Hernandez also has pending nonviolent misdemeanor charges stemming from an interaction with an officer after being pulled over for a minor traffic violation in March 2025, Musa-Obregon wrote in court documents. He was charged with obstructing governmental administration, resisting arrest, disorderly conduct, and changing lanes unsafely, according to law enforcement records.
In that case, Musa-Obregon wrote, a local court in Putnam County set his bail in the case at zero, deciding that he was not a flight risk or dangerous. The lawyer said he never missed a court date in the case until he was arrested by ICE and he continues to contest those charges.
Putnam County’s anti-sanctuary stance
The Putnam county executive, Republican Kevin Byrne, has made it clear that he encourages collaboration with ICE, though the Putnam County sheriff’s office doesn’t have any formal agreements with the agency, according to DiVeglio, the sheriff’s office spokesperson.
When the Trump administration last year placed Putnam County on its list of so-called “sanctuary” jurisdictions, Byrne recoiled at the label. While there’s no official definition of what constitutes a sanctuary city or state, generally sanctuary policies limit the extent to which a local or state government will cooperate and share information with ICE.
“Let’s set the record straight: Putnam County is not a sanctuary county and never will be on my watch as county executive,” he told The Highlands Current, a nonprofit newspaper covering the Hudson Valley.
Still, the Putnam County Sheriff’s Office manual acknowledges a need to allay the fears of crime victims and witnesses without legal immigration status.
The manual says, “to encourage crime reporting and cooperation in the investigation of criminal activity, all individuals, regardless of their immigration status, must feel secure that contacting or being addressed by members of law enforcement will not automatically lead to immigration inquiry and/ or deportation.”
The manual bars sheriff’s deputies from detaining people for civil violations of federal immigration laws; however, deputies are allowed to detain people for criminal immigration offenses and transfer them into federal immigration custody.
Immigration authorities are moving forward with the legal process to deport Ipina Hernandez, despite his release from federal custody, his lawyer said. He was denied asylum in immigration court earlier this year, a decision he is appealing, according to his attorney.
While he was detained, Ipina Hernandez said he missed car and credit card payments, and added on debt. He lost translation and interpretation clients. His 7-year-old son has special needs — learning disabilities as well as trouble walking and speaking — and had difficulty eating and sleeping due to anxiety while his father was in detention, Ipina Hernandez said. Now, Ipina Hernandez says he has similar difficulties.
“I have a very hard time sleeping, thinking of all the credit card debts — and how I’m going to continue making payments. My property tax. Mortgage,” Ipina Hernandez said. “If I have to go to Guatemala, I don’t know what would happen to my kids. It’s very stressful for me.”
Tuesday, April 28, 2026
He Was Supposed to Die in Prison, but the Prosecutor Felt Guilty
He Was Supposed to Die in Prison, but the Prosecutor Felt Guilty
“Jessie Askew Jr. was sentenced to life without parole for a clumsy armed robbery with an unloaded gun. The man who sent him away was determined to bring him back home.
By Joshua Sharpe
Joshua Sharpe began following Jessie Askew Jr. and Kelly Burke’s story in 2021. He reported from Houston County, Ga.
On Friday morning in Middle Georgia, Jessie Askew Jr. was escorted into court, chained at the wrists and ankles one last time.
Mr. Askew, 52, had been in a Georgia state prison since 1998, sentenced to life without parole for his part in an armed robbery in which no shots were fired and no one was hurt. He had been fighting ever since to get the courts to reconsider the punishment, arguing that it was excessive and unfairly imposed.
The chains clinked as Mr. Askew shuffled past his supporters, trying to obey a deputy’s unexplained order not to look into the crowd. The pews in Courtroom 1 overflowed with about 50 of Mr. Askew’s supporters — numerous relatives, a juror who convicted him and even victims of his crime who wanted him free.
Seated with them was the man who put Mr. Askew away to begin with — Kelly Burke, 67, the former district attorney for Houston County. A new prosecutor at the time, Mr. Burke was determined to be seen as tough on crime and pushed for life without parole, only to later realize that he had been tragically unfair. He said he considered it the biggest regret of his career.
Mr. Burke, who had been working since 2005 to get the sentence reduced, was prepared to testify again on Mr. Askew’s behalf.
Mr. Askew, a grandfather with flecks of gray in his beard, sat between his lawyers, hoping to finally overcome the worst mistake he ever made. This was his chance. The current district attorney had agreed to a reduced sentence. If Judge G.E. Adams signed off, Mr. Askew would walk free.
Judge Adams entered, greeting the hushed courtroom.
“For the record, we have the State of Georgia v. Jessie Askew Jr.,” he said. “I was presented a consent order, but before looking at signing it, I wanted to have a hearing to address a couple of things.”
Mr. Askew steadied his breath.
Mr. Askew was 23, broke and a new father in September 1997 when he and his cousin burst into Morrison’s Fresh Cooking, where Mr. Askew once worked. Wearing masks and carrying unloaded shotguns, they stole $5,000 but were quickly arrested because Mr. Askew’s former co-workers had recognized his cousin’s shirt, one Mr. Askew often wore to work.
Mr. Burke was 38 and the newly elected district attorney in Houston County, home of Robins Air Force Base. Though he had no experience as a prosecutor, he swept into office promising to toughen up a system that many believed had gone soft. Angered by the trauma Mr. Askew had caused to the victims, Mr. Burke decided to make an example of him.
He capitalized on a Georgia law, new at the time, that allowed prosecutors to secure life without parole for defendants convicted of their fourth felony if the crime was a serious offense, such as armed robbery. It didn’t make a difference to Mr. Burke that Mr. Askew’s previous felonies — forging a check, breaking into an unstaffed park concession stand and busting a car window — were nonviolent and relatively petty.
After a jury convicted Mr. Askew, Mr. Burke announced that he was seeking life without parole. Mr. Askew and his family were stunned. There had been a misunderstanding between Mr. Burke and Mr. Askew’s lawyer about what the prosecutor planned to do if Mr. Askew didn’t accept a plea deal. Mr. Burke insisted on life without parole even after the veteran trial judge privately urged him to reconsider, saying it was unfair. Mr. Askew’s co-defendant had received only a 10-year sentence.
Under the law, the judge had no choice but to impose the life sentence if the request met the criteria.
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“Mr. Askew will never breathe another breath of free air,” Mr. Burke told a reporter that day.
In the next few years, Mr. Burke prosecuted multiple people for murder. Because their cases didn’t meet the guidelines of the new law, they got a chance at parole even though they had killed people. He now felt he had been unfair to Mr. Askew — a rare admission for a prosecutor — and had to do something about it. The appropriate sentence, he believed, was 15 years, not life.
“I’ve tried ever since to help any way I can, because I was just too hard on him,” Mr. Burke said in an interview.
Mr. Burke searched for errors in the trial record that could be used to overturn Mr. Askew’s conviction, hoping he and Mr. Askew’s lawyer could negotiate a less punitive plea deal. But he found no actionable mistakes and got no help from the parole board. In 2009, Mr. Burke sent word to Mr. Askew that he regretted pushing for the harsh sentence but couldn’t figure out how to fix it. Mr. Askew, who had become a mentor to younger prisoners during his decade in prison, was grateful for Mr. Burke’s efforts but remained incarcerated.
Mr. Burke retired from the district attorney’s office in 2010 and spoke with the man who replaced him, asking him to take up Mr. Askew’s cause. The new district attorney declined. So did the next one. In 2017, Mr. Burke was diagnosed with spinal cancer. It ravaged his body, leaving him thin, weak and unable to swallow. Excess saliva built up in his mouth, making it difficult to speak. He said he prayed that he would live to see his wrong righted.
Frustrated with his lawyers, Mr. Askew decided to represent himself. In 2021, he filed a habeas corpus petition challenging the legality of his incarceration, and included a sworn affidavit from Mr. Burke taking “full responsibility” for his “illegal” sentence. That led to an April 2023 hearing at which Mr. Askew had the surreal experience of questioning, under oath, the prosecutor who had forced a judge to condemn him for life.
Mr. Burke testified that he had pushed for the harsh sentence in part because he had been upset that Mr. Askew insisted on going to trial despite damning evidence.
“I’ve been in hospice twice,” Mr. Burke said. “And I’m convinced that the reason I’m back is to make sure this court is aware of my feelings about the sentence of Mr. Askew,” he added, pausing because of the excess saliva. “My biggest regret in my 40 years being an attorney is that Mr. Askew got treated the way he did because of my actions.”
Chris Carr, Georgia’s attorney general, opposed Mr. Askew’s petition, arguing that he should have presented Mr. Burke’s testimony sooner. Two days before Thanksgiving in 2024, Judge Howard C. Kaufold Jr. of Telfair County ruled in favor of the state. Mr. Askew would stay in prison.
Last year, an article about Mr. Askew in The New York Times prompted the Southern Center for Human Rights, a nonprofit based in Atlanta, to represent him pro bono.
Lawyers for the organization approached District Attorney Eric Z. Edwards with a proposal outlining the case for Mr. Askew to go free. (The law didn’t yet allow for this sort of agreement when Mr. Burke was district attorney.) Mr. Edwards agreed, telling The Macon Telegraph in an interview that he was swayed by Mr. Burke’s regrets, the lack of injuries in the crime and prison overcrowding.
Mr. Askew said he felt lightheaded but peaceful when he heard the news, as if a weight was leaving his body.
“When I called and told my parents, it was the sweetest thing and the best feeling in the world,” Mr. Askew said in an email.
On Friday, Mr. Askew sat quietly in an orange prison jumpsuit as the judge began the hearing.
Judge Adams wanted to know how the victims of the 1997 robbery felt about Mr. Askew’s possible release. Mr. Edwards, the current district attorney, said his office hadn’t heard back from most of them. One man who responded “barely even remembered” the details of the robbery and did not oppose Mr. Askew’s release, Mr. Edwards told the court. Two other victims were in court supporting Mr. Askew.
No one in the room was opposed.
Mr. Askew’s lawyer, Michael Admirand, presented letters from 12 Telfair State Prison workers, praising Mr. Askew, who worked as a medical orderly.
Mr. Admirand also pointed to Mr. Burke, noting his efforts on Mr. Askew’s behalf. Mr. Burke, whose cancer was in remission while the damage to his body remained, sat in a motorized chair in the back. Also present was Scott Holcomb, a state representative who had been collaborating with Mr. Burke to pass a so-called second look law that would create an easier legal path for reviewing disproportionate sentences. As it was, the current district attorney had to agree to a resentencing.
Mr. Admirand introduced Deitra Robinson, who was working at Morrison’s during the armed robbery. Mr. Askew and his co-defendant herded her and the other workers into a cooler at the time of the robbery.
“I was devastated and shocked when I learned that Jessie was sentenced to life without parole,” Ms. Robinson said. “I can only imagine the nightmare that this has been for Jessie’s family.”
Jessica Davis, Mr. Askew’s sister, was next. She was part of the staff working at Morrison’s the night of the robbery. Mr. Askew said he had known that she was going to be there but foolishly thought that because the guns weren’t loaded, the robbery wouldn’t cause lasting damage.
Ms. Davis said the crime had caused distance between her and her brother, and stress in the family, but their bond was now strong. “I believe this incident does not define him,” she said. “I have seen remorse, growth and a desire to do better.”
Mr. Askew, who learned in prison self-improvement courses about trauma’s effect on people, said in an interview that he deeply regretted hurting his little sister. Now, tears swelled in his eyes.
Mr. Edwards told the court that he typically would have fought a request to reduce a prisoner’s sentence in such a case. What stood out, the district attorney said, was Mr. Burke’s advocacy for Mr. Askew and insistence that he had treated him unfairly.
“His opinion carried a lot of weight with me,” Mr. Edwards said.
Judge Adams commended Mr. Askew for working hard in prison and for having a courtroom full of supporters. The room was hushed, waiting to hear his decision.
Mr. Askew stared ahead at the judge, bracing.
Judge Adams said he would resentence Mr. Askew to the requested 25 years.
Mr. Askew, who had served 28 years, nodded his head forward and back, forward and back. Tears flowed down his face. He would walk free as soon as he was processed out of the system.
In the gallery, people let out sighs. Mr. Askew’s parents, Molly and Jessie Askew Sr., beamed, and Molly started to cry.
A deputy took Mr. Askew by the arm and said it was time to go back to his holding cell. Passing his supporters, Mr. Askew, smiling through tears, lifted his chained hand to wave hello. The crowd cheered and applauded as he returned to the jail for the last time.
In the courthouse lobby, Mr. Burke lamented all the years Mr. Askew lost while he tried to find a way to help right the wrong. But he said he felt “awesome” that Mr. Askew could finally be with his family. He also said that he was thankful that the family forgave him and always treated him kindly, even when it would have been easy to lash out.
A few hours later, Mr. Askew emerged from the jail next to the courthouse, arm in arm with his sister. He lifted his other arm in triumph. He went straight for his mother, embracing her tightly.
“Love you,” he said softly into her ear, with his eyes closed. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Looking toward the parking lot, Mr. Askew saw his daughter, who was eight months old when he was arrested. He had given her a name that he prayed would bring hope to her life before everything went wrong in his: Justyce. Finally, the father hugged his daughter out in the sunlight.
At a nearby LongHorn Steakhouse, Mr. Askew sat among 16 relatives, who took up many tables. For his first meal as a free man, he ordered a rib-eye with grilled Mexican-inspired sweet-corn on the cob and a loaded baked potato.
Mr. Askew told The Times that he looked forward to helping his aging parents, loving on his family and sharing his story of faith, redemption and forgiveness. He planned to build the clothing and apparel line he had conceived in prison, Original Gentleman. He said he hoped to help Mr. Holcomb pass the Second Chance Act in Georgia. He said he knew a lot of deserving men the law could help.
A convoy of relatives headed toward Mr. Askew’s parents’ home, where he planned to live. They have a red brick ranch-style with fluffy spring ferns hanging on either side of the front door. Mr. Askew seemed at home at a house he’d only seen in the background of video calls from prison.
In the front yard, he took a couple of his little great-nephews in his arms.
“What’s up nephew, it’s your Uncle Pete,” Mr. Askew, who goes by Pete in the family, said to one boy. “You think you can outrun me?”
Yes, the boy nodded.
With his much longer legs, Mr. Askew won the race but didn’t gloat. His 7-year-old great-nephew, Daylan, lingered afterward. He asked his Uncle Pete why he had been in prison.
“I did something crazy,” Mr. Askew said softly, leaning down. But he said he would make sure that Daylan and the other kids would never end up in such a situation.“
US tells embassies to deny visas to applicants who say they fear return to home country | Trump administration | The Guardian
US tells embassies to deny visas to applicants who say they fear return to home country
"Directive claims that new process is due to ‘the high number of aliens claiming asylum’ in the US
Applicants seeking a temporary visa to the United States must now tell a consular officer that they have not experienced harm and do not fear returning to their home country, according to new guidance issued from the state department. If they answer yes or decline to respond to either question, the chance they will be denied will skyrocket.
The Guardian obtained a state department cable which instructs officers at every US embassy and consulate globally to amend their process and ask applicants to affirm they do not fear mistreatment if they return home as a prerequisite for the interview to continue.
The two new questions are: “Have you experienced harm or mistreatment in your country of nationality or last habitual residence?” and “Do you fear harm or mistreatment in returning to your country of nationality?”
The directive claims that the new process is designed to cut down on what the department claims are people misrepresenting themselves during the visa process.
“The high number of aliens claiming asylum in the United States indicates that many aliens misrepresent this intention to consular officers in the visa application process and at US ports of entry,” the directive reads, “and that information collected from visa applicants under current guidance is inadequate to identify those applicants who fear harm or mistreatment in returning to their home country.”
The cable was first reported by the Washington Post. It comes after a federal appeals court ruled that Donald Trump’s invocation of an “invasion” at the southern border to curtail asylum seekers was unlawful, a decision that effectively reopens the United States to migrants fleeing persecution abroad.
The state department issued nearly 11m non-immigrant visas in fiscal year 2024, and the latest data for 2025 is still being processed. The category covers everyone from people on vacation and university students to H-1B tech workers, seasonal farmhands and business executives.
Under both US law and the 1951 Refugee Convention, the right to seek asylum is not conditional on how someone enters the country or what they told a visa officer.
But Tuesday’s policy creates a screening mechanism that would filter out victims of persecution, including domestic abuse survivors, journalists who have received death threats or members of a persecuted religious minority, before they ever reach US soil, regardless of whether their stated purpose of travel is legitimate.
There is also a risk of perjury. An applicant who correctly fears return but answers “no” to obtain a visa has made a material misrepresentation to a federal officer, which is a crime that carries a permanent bar from the United States.
The directive cites executive order 14161, signed by Trump on his first day in office in January 2025. The order directed federal agencies to enhance immigration screening and vetting to prevent entry of individuals deemed potential security threats.
A review it mandated led to a White House proclamation in June 2025 suspending entry entirely for nationals of 12 countries and imposing partial restrictions on seven more.
The US issued a separate directive in March of last year ordering consular offices to expand screening of student visa applicants – including social media vetting – to bar those they deem of engaging in “terrorist activity”, which many took to mean supporting Palestine.
The cable also cross-references classified operational guidance held on internal state department systems, meaning the full scope of the new policy remains unknown outside the department.
The state department did not immediately respond to a request for comment."
What Elon Musk’s Clash With Sam Altman of OpenAI Is Really About - The New York Times
Et Tu, Brute? What Elon Musk’s Clash With Sam Altman Is Really About.
"Mr. Musk’s lawsuit against Mr. Altman and OpenAI makes the case that all-encompassing greed is Silicon Valley’s defining feature.
One of the most controversial and overexposed men in the world is suing another man, who is equally unsympathetic and equally inescapable. Both are insanely rich.
It is so tempting to look away.
Elon Musk’s lawsuit against Sam Altman involves onetime colleagues and buddies who became peevish enemies. Now they would like to take each other down. Happens all the time. These guys just have more lawyers.
Ignoring this conflict would be a mistake, however. The rancorous dispute between Mr. Musk and Mr. Altman, which went to trial this week with opening statements in an Oakland, Calif., federal courtroom on Tuesday, goes to the heart of Silicon Valley, a place that has always cloaked itself in virtue.
Mr. Altman and Mr. Musk started working on what was supposed to be a different sort of tech lab in 2015. OpenAI was a Manhattan Project for artificial intelligence, a nonprofit venture that would act as a shield against rapacious behavior by less benevolent outfits. The goal was to “shift the dialog toward being about humanity winning rather than any particular group or company,” according to a document in the case.
Mr. Musk, the chief executive of Tesla, provided the initial funding. Mr. Altman was OpenAI’s leader and spokesman. But Mr. Musk says their interests quickly diverged when it became clear just how much money was up for grabs. OpenAI converted to a for-profit company last year. “A textbook tale of altruism versus greed,” Mr. Musk asserted in his suit’s opening salvo.
The fact that the person calling himself an altruist here is likely to become the world’s first trillionaire doesn’t necessarily make it untrue. In his lawsuit, filed in 2024, Mr. Musk said Mr. Altman, OpenAI president Greg Brockman and others “unjustly enriched” themselves in the development of OpenAI “to the tune of billions of dollars.”
OpenAI, whose value is approaching $1 trillion, had the inevitable response: No, you’rethe one who is greedy. The company argued that Mr. Musk walked away when he could not take over the entire enterprise.
“This case has always been about Elon generating more power and more money for what he wants,” OpenAI said in a statement.
One of the few things the moguls agree on is that their feud evokes the works of a certain Elizabethan playwright. Mr. Musk, 54, said in his suit that Mr. Altman’s “perfidy and deceit are of Shakespearean proportions.” Mr. Altman, 41, mused in a blog post this month that “there has been so much Shakespearean drama between the companies in our field.”
If there is a Shakespeare play that could sum up this soured friendship, it’s “Julius Caesar.” Brutus wants to stop Caesar from gaining too much power, or so he says. Caesar is quite surprised that he’s being assassinated by a supposed friend. “Et tu, Brute?” he cries. Brutus ends the play as dead as Caesar but is mourned as “the noblest Roman of them all.”
Mr. Musk should be so lucky to draw such praise.
‘For the Good of the World’
In the middle of the last decade, Mr. Altman was a Silicon Valley insider running the top start-up incubator, Y Combinator. Ambitious and persuasive, he didn’t want just to fund companies. He was on a mission to save humanity, which — unknown to the masses — was at great risk.
“I think A.I. will probably, most likely, lead to the end of the world,” Mr. Altman said in 2015. It was a fear he would often express. Why not, he asked, create a bulwark against the other A.I. companies “for the good of the world”?
Mr. Altman drew in Mr. Musk, who was even more worried about where A.I. was heading. “We are summoning the demon,” Mr. Musk once said.
Immediately, there was a problem. People everywhere work on nonprofit ventures for modest salaries. They sacrifice for their ideals. Mr. Altman knew that would not fly in Silicon Valley. The engineers and scientists would “get start-up-like compensation if it works,” he promised.
The nonprofit was dead almost before it began. OpenAI is owned by its employees and investors, including Microsoft, Amazon, Nvidia and SoftBank, as well as the OpenAI Foundation. (Mr. Altman has no direct equity in OpenAI but has other investments that make him comfortably a billionaire.) OpenAI is planning to sell shares to the public in one of the richest stock offerings in history.
Silicon Valley is the great wellspring of wealth in modern America. Nine of the 10 richest Americans are tech entrepreneurs, with Warren Buffett the only exception. People might be offended by OpenAI’s turnabout, but few could say they were shocked.
Except the richest man in the world, whose own A.I. venture, xAI, is now part of one of his other companies, SpaceX. SpaceX will soon sell shares to the public as a decidedly for-profit operation.
No Happy Ending
Tech companies are subject to relatively few constraints these days. Congress is generally passive. Federal regulators have been hobbled. The Trump administration is stocked with venture capitalists and others receptive to tech and its money, as is President Trump.
What’s left for tech opponents are civil suits. Social media companies face an onslaught of cases. One of the first, in Los Angeles last month, found that Meta and YouTube were to blame for anxiety and depression in a young woman who was a heavy user.
“Trials are all we have right now, and things are better because of them,” said Max Tegmark, a co-founder of the Future of Life Institute, a nonprofit trying to reduce catastrophic technology risks. “Trials provide information that is not otherwise accessible.”
The exhibits in the Musk/Altman trial are an example of material that presumably would never have seen the light otherwise. That includes emails between the two leaders as they tried getting OpenAI off the ground.
“Do you have any objection to me proactively increasing everyone’s comp by 100-200k per year?" Mr. Altman wrote to Mr. Musk in 2015. “I think they’re all motivated by the mission here but it would be a good signal to everyone we are going to take care of them over time.”
The Future of Life Institute gives OpenAI an overall grade of C plus for safety while xAI got a D. “A.I. is less regulated in America than sandwiches,” said Mr. Tegmark, who is also a physics professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. “You can’t open a sandwich shop without having your kitchen inspected. But you can release an A.I. girlfriend for 11-year-olds and that’s fine.” A defeat for OpenAI might begin to change that, he said.
Some A.I. watchdogs said they would like to see OpenAI brought to justice the way Meta and YouTube were. But they would prefer almost any plaintiff to Mr. Musk.
“I don’t have long-term faith in a system where we’re legislating through private litigation,” said Sacha Haworth, executive director of the Tech Oversight Project, a Washington-based advocacy group. “I don’t want to rely on a billionaire with a grievance.”
If Mr. Musk wins, she pointed out, it would weaken or even destroy OpenAI, “opening up a large share of the market that an Elon Musk company can then gobble up.”
And if OpenAI gets the suit dismissed? “It would send a signal that it’s OK to launch as a nonthreatening nonprofit working for the public’s benefit and then cynically change to a for-profit without any accountability,” she said.
Ms. Haworth’s conclusion: “There’s no happy ending here.”
(The New York Times sued OpenAI and Microsoft in 2023 for copyright infringement of news content related to A.I. systems. The two companies have denied those claims.)
Some critics are worried that, in the worst scenario for OpenAI, its charitable arm would shutter. That, they said, would wipe out a very large foundation that could have helped people. Mr. Musk says he will give any damages he receives to the foundation.
Others take a more benign view.
“The law doesn’t rely on you being a good person to act in the public interest,” said Shaoul Sussman, a former official with the Federal Trade Commission. “A lot of the dirty laundry of OpenAI is going to come out.”
In a different environment, Mr. Musk’s pursuit of OpenAI might have been brief, ending with a tip to regulators. But he is not keen on government oversight, which during the Biden administration produced investigations and enforcement actions into his companies.
Instead, Mr. Musk’s case against OpenAI uses a legal doctrine called ultra vires, which means “beyond the powers.” It holds that a corporation is restricted to activities defined in its charter. This approach was widely used in the early 19th century when the federal government was small and weak and only a competitor could rein in your company.
Most corporations now have wide-ranging charters that allow them to pursue multiple goals. But there is one exception: nonprofits.
“This is the first high-profile case that I know of being pursued under these statutes for 100 years,” Mr. Sussman said.
In a trial expected to last several weeks, the very old laws will meet the very new technology. As Shakespeare said, what’s past is prologue.
David Streitfeld writes about technology and the people who make it and how it affects the world around them. He is based in San Francisco."
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