You don't have statements on the law. At least not in this court.
In a modest Oakland federal courthouse ill-suited for spectacle, Elon Musk took the witness stand against Sam Altman and OpenAI, claiming he was misled into donating $38 million to a nonprofit mission that quietly became a for-profit empire. The trial, unfolding in May 2026, is less a simple breach-of-promise suit than a public reckoning with who controls the future of artificial intelligence — and whether the men steering it can be trusted. Two of the most powerful figures in technology sat within feet of each other as a judge reminded them, and the watching world, that no one is above the discipline of a well-run courtroom.
- Musk alleges he was deceived into funding OpenAI's nonprofit mission, and now seeks billions in damages plus Altman's removal from the for-profit operation — a claim that strikes at the legitimacy of one of the world's most influential AI companies.
- The small Oakland courthouse was overwhelmed from day one — robot-costumed protesters, media swarms, and a line for ten unreserved seats that formed before sunrise, turning a legal proceeding into something closer to a cultural flashpoint.
- On the witness stand, Musk struggled to contain himself, sparring with opposing counsel, referencing 'The Terminator,' and being repeatedly cut off by the judge for veering into tangents instead of answering yes or no.
- Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers enforced iron discipline — precise start times, strict time limits, and blunt corrections — making clear that billionaire status conferred no special latitude in her courtroom.
- With jurors who had already expressed skepticism toward Musk and AI alike, both sides understood the trial had grown into something beyond a contract dispute: a public referendum on whether either man deserves the trust the world has placed in them.
The morning Elon Musk arrived at the Oakland federal courthouse, police vehicles already ringed the block and the sidewalks buzzed with the particular energy that follows the world's richest man. He had come to testify against Sam Altman and OpenAI, alleging he was deceived into donating $38 million to the company's nonprofit arm — money given, he claims, on the promise that OpenAI would develop artificial intelligence for humanity's benefit, not private profit. He now wants billions in damages and Altman's removal from the for-profit side of the operation.
The courthouse, a modest federal building in downtown Oakland, was not designed for this kind of moment. Protesters in robot costumes and chains filled the grounds. Cardboard cutouts of Musk appeared in the crowd. The main courtroom held only ten unreserved seats, and no matter how early one arrived — before seven, coffee in hand — securing one was nearly impossible. Lines formed at dawn and snaked through the courtyard, while the court coordinator spent her days policing line-cutters with the same energy the lawyers spent on witnesses.
Both men showed up in person, which itself felt significant. Altman attended every day since jury selection, moving through the building in jewel-toned suits at a pace that left his legal team scrambling. Musk arrived Tuesday with a larger entourage, took the stand that afternoon, and remained there through Thursday. His testimony wandered from his South African childhood to student loans before reaching the substance of the case. Under cross-examination, he struggled with yes-or-no questions, argued with opposing counsel William Savitt, and drew laughter from the gallery when questions about Shivon Zilis visibly flustered him.
Presiding Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers ran the proceedings with absolute precision — eight-thirty starts, two o'clock cutoffs, no exceptions. She told Musk repeatedly to answer the question, barred him from AI doomsday hypotheticals, and corrected him when he objected to a question as leading. When he noted he had technically taken Law 101, she replied simply: "You don't have statements on the law — at least not in this court."
The judge herself acknowledged what everyone in the room already sensed. When Musk's attorneys raised concerns about jurors who had expressed negative views of him, Rogers was direct: "The reality is that people don't like him." The trial had become something larger than a dispute over donations and broken promises — a question of whether either man, or the institutions they built, had earned the public's trust.
The morning Elon Musk arrived at the Oakland federal courthouse to testify, the block was already swarming with police vehicles and the kind of chaos that follows the world's richest man into a room. A cyclist asked what was happening as we waited for the light to change just before seven in the morning on a Tuesday in May. The answer was complicated: the Tesla CEO had come to make his case against Sam Altman and OpenAI, claiming he had been deceived into donating thirty-eight million dollars to the company's nonprofit arm under the promise it would develop artificial intelligence for humanity's benefit. Now he wanted billions in damages and Altman's removal from the for-profit side of the operation.
The courthouse itself, a modest federal building in downtown Oakland, was not built for this kind of spectacle. From the first day, the grounds filled with protesters in robot costumes, some wearing chains around their necks, others carrying life-sized cardboard cutouts of Musk. It felt like Halloween had arrived in April. The small facility had only ten unreserved seats in the main courtroom, and no matter how early I arrived—before seven in the morning, laptop charged, coffee in hand—I could never secure one. By eight o'clock, the line would snake through the courtyard. By eight-fifteen, after airport-style security screening, there was no chance of making the eight-thirty start time. The court coordinator spent each day calling out line cutters and sending them to the back, a task that seemed to consume as much energy as the trial itself.
What struck me most was that both billionaires showed up in person. Altman appeared every day since jury selection on Monday, dressed in jewel-toned blue suits and brown Oxford shoes, moving through the courthouse at a pace that left his lawyers scrambling to keep up. Musk skipped jury selection but arrived Tuesday morning with a noticeably larger entourage, wearing black and Chelsea boots, occasionally snacking during recesses. He took the witness stand that afternoon and remained there through Thursday. His testimony began with his origin story—South Africa, a stint as a lumberjack, a hundred thousand dollars in student loans coming out of college—before moving into the substance of the case. During cross-examination, he struggled with yes-or-no questions, preferring lengthy explanations, and could not resist arguing with OpenAI's attorney, William Savitt. The room laughed when questions about Shivon Zilis, the mother of some of his children and his former chief of staff, flustered him. His repeated references to "The Terminator" drew chuckles as well.
Presiding Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers ran the courtroom with the precision of someone who had no patience for billionaire theatrics. She made clear from day one that the jury's time was sacred, that proceedings would begin at exactly eight-thirty and end at two o'clock sharp. By the second day, she demanded that lawyers specify exactly how much time they needed with each witness and how long their closing arguments would take. During Musk's cross-examination, she told him repeatedly to "just answer the question" when he went on tangents. She forbade him from discussing hypothetical AI doomsday scenarios. When he interrupted Savitt's final question to call it "leading," she reminded him that he was not a lawyer. "I did take Law 101, technically," Musk replied. "You don't have statements on the law," Rogers said, "at least not in this court." The judge's authority was absolute, and she wielded it without hesitation.
Both sides clearly understood the stakes. Some jurors had expressed negative views of Musk and artificial intelligence during selection, and both the plaintiff and defendant were eager to make an impression. Rogers acknowledged this directly when Musk's attorneys complained about comments made during jury selection. "Look, the reality is that people don't like him," she said of the Tesla CEO. The trial had become something larger than a legal dispute between two men—it was a referendum on whether the public could trust either of them, and whether the small Oakland courthouse could contain the weight of that question.
Citações Notáveis
The reality is that people don't like him— Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers, regarding Musk
You don't have statements on the law. At least not in this court.— Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers, to Musk
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did both of them actually show up? Musk especially—doesn't that seem like a risk?
It signals something to the jury. If you're asking for billions and claiming you were wronged, you have to be willing to look the jury in the eye. Sending lawyers to do it for you reads as cowardice or indifference. Both men understood that.
The judge seems to have been the real story here.
She was. Rogers understood that Musk's instinct is to dominate any room he enters, to explain, to argue, to reframe. She simply wouldn't allow it. That's harder than it sounds—most judges defer to powerful people. She didn't.
What did the protesters actually want?
Some were against AI development itself. Others were against Musk. The costumes and cutouts were theater, but the underlying anxiety was real—people worried about what these two men were building and who should control it.
Did the jury seem to care about his life story—the lumberjack, the student loans?
It's hard to say. The jury selection had already revealed skepticism toward him. That origin story might have been meant to humanize him, but it's difficult to make the world's richest man seem relatable, no matter what you say about his past.
What happens next?
The trial continues. Altman will testify. Witnesses will be called. The jury will eventually have to decide whether Musk was genuinely deceived or whether he's rewriting history to justify his exit from OpenAI.