What Did Donald Trump Do Today?
March 28, 2025 Recap
Donald Trump's executive order titled Addressing Risks from WilmerHale is an extraordinary and aggressive move that targets a specific law firm with overtly political and punitive intent. The tone of the order is highly combative, using language more reminiscent of a campaign speech than a formal government directive. Phrases such as “egregious conduct,” “abandoned the profession’s highest ideals,” and “partisan representations” are laced with personal grievance rather than objective legal reasoning. The decision to name specific individuals, including Robert Mueller and his colleagues, and to frame their legal careers as evidence of a politicized legal conspiracy marks an unprecedented use of presidential authority to retaliate against past critics.
From a legal and constitutional standpoint, the order raises serious concerns. It directs federal agencies to review and potentially revoke security clearances and government contracts based on the firm's past representation, pro bono work, and staff affiliations. This weaponization of executive power appears to trample on First Amendment protections of free association and expression and due process rights for individuals associated with WilmerHale. The order accuses the firm of supporting efforts to allow noncitizens to vote—an inflammatory claim presented without substantiation—and uses this to justify broad punitive measures far beyond standard legal scrutiny.
Institutionally, this order risks undermining the independence of the legal profession and sends a chilling message to law firms engaged in public interest or civil rights work. It threatens to discourage pro bono representation in politically sensitive cases and signals that firms perceived as opposing the administration may be subject to federal retribution. By involving federal agencies in the ideological vetting of contractors and employees, the order distorts the purpose of public contracting and hiring practices, substituting partisan loyalty for merit and lawfulness.
Politically, the order fits squarely into Trump's broader second-term agenda of punishing perceived enemies within the so-called “deep state” and reasserting control over legal and bureaucratic institutions. By reviving old grievances related to the Mueller investigation and framing them as ongoing threats to national security, the administration is attempting to reshape public memory and suppress institutional dissent. While it claims to safeguard national interests, the order itself exemplifies the kind of executive overreach and political weaponization it purports to combat. It sets a dangerous precedent for future administrations and further erodes the boundary between personal vendetta and public governance.
Donald Trump issued an executive order titled Restoring Truth and Sanity To American History, which represents a deeply politicized attempt to control the interpretation of American history and culture at the federal level. Framed as a defense against what it calls a “revisionist movement,” the order uses emotionally charged and ideologically loaded language to characterize recent developments in historical scholarship and museum curation as threats to national unity. By labeling academic discussions of race, gender, and historical injustice as “corrosive ideology” and “divisive narratives,” the administration positions itself not merely as an advocate for historical clarity but as the sole arbiter of patriotic truth. This framing disregards the role of scholarly debate and evolving understandings of history in favor of a rigid, celebratory narrative of American exceptionalism.
The order seeks to exert direct influence over the Smithsonian Institution and other federal sites by empowering the Vice President and Office of Management and Budget to enforce ideological standards through budgetary control. In doing so, it bypasses the traditional independence of these institutions. It introduces a chilling precedent: federal funding may be withheld from museums and cultural organizations if their exhibitions do not conform to a specific political worldview. The lack of clear criteria for what constitutes “improper ideology” leaves open the possibility of arbitrary censorship, particularly targeting exhibits that deal with race, systemic inequality, or non-traditional gender identities.
Ironically, while the order accuses others of rewriting history, it promotes a selective and sanitized version of the American past. It explicitly criticizes the Smithsonian for asserting that race is a social construct—a position widely accepted in the scientific and academic communities—demonstrating an alarming willingness to reject established scholarship for political expedience. The order also mandates that the American Women’s History Museum not recognize transgender women, embedding a culture war provision that aims to codify a narrow and exclusionary definition of gender. This represents not just interference in museum curation but an aggressive rollback of inclusive public policy.
Politically, the order appears to be a continuation of Trump’s earlier efforts, such as the short-lived 1776 Commission, to recast American history through a nationalist lens. Issued early in his second term, it signals a renewed commitment to waging cultural battles on federal grounds, using the machinery of government to impose a specific ideological narrative. Rather than fostering unity or critical engagement with America’s complex legacy, this executive order risks further dividing the nation by replacing historical inquiry with propaganda. In its effort to “restore truth,” it paradoxically undermines the very democratic principles—open dialogue, academic freedom, and intellectual honesty—that it purports to defend.
Donald Trump’s executive order titled Exclusions from Federal Labor-Management Relations Programs represents one of the most sweeping rollbacks of federal employee union rights in modern history under the broad justification of national security. Building on and greatly expanding Executive Order 12171 (first issued by President Jimmy Carter in 1979 to exempt intelligence agencies like the CIA and NSA), Trump’s new order excludes entire departments and agency subdivisions from collective bargaining protections provided under Chapter 71 of Title 5 of the U.S. Code. The scope of this order is unprecedented, encompassing not only traditional national security agencies like the Department of Defense and Homeland Security but also departments and offices with civilian and administrative functions such as the FDA, CDC, FEMA, Environmental Protection Agency, General Services Administration, and even the Federal Communications Commission and National Science Foundation. The order also targets offices within every executive department that handles information technology or cybersecurity and extends exclusions to foreign service offices like U.S. embassies, consulates, and USAID field missions.
The rationale given is that collective bargaining cannot be applied to these agencies “in a manner consistent with national security requirements and considerations.” However, this justification is remarkably vague and elastic. By applying this standard so broadly, the executive order effectively redefines national security to mean nearly any federal function, thus weakening the very legal boundaries meant to protect against executive overreach. The delegation of authority to cabinet secretaries—particularly in Defense, Veterans Affairs, and Transportation—to further exempt subdivisions from union protections gives political appointees broad discretion to strip workers of collective bargaining rights without congressional input or independent review. The order also mandates that upon expiration of any current collective bargaining agreements, agencies must terminate their participation in all ongoing grievance processes, arbitrations, and labor-related proceedings involving affected employees. This abrupt cutoff disregards procedural norms and arguably violates principles of due process and fair contract enforcement.
Moreover, the order sets in motion a mechanism for continuous expansion, requiring all agencies to report within 30 days any other subdivisions they believe should be similarly excluded from collective bargaining based on national security grounds. This makes the executive order a dynamic tool for administrative de-unionization rather than a narrowly tailored national security measure. By stripping workers of their ability to organize and negotiate, the administration signals a larger ideological effort to weaken the career civil service and prioritize executive authority and managerial flexibility over worker protections. It aligns with other Trump-era efforts to consolidate political control over the federal workforce, such as the attempted revival of “Schedule F,” which would allow the firing of career civil servants deemed disloyal to the administration.
While the order includes boilerplate language stating that it does not create legally enforceable rights, it is nevertheless likely to provoke legal challenges. Labor unions, civil service organizations, and good governance advocates may argue that the order violates established interpretations of federal labor law and exceeds the statutory authority granted to the president. At its core, this executive action marks a profound shift in the balance between national security and labor rights in the federal government—recasting broad swaths of civil service work as inherently security-sensitive and, therefore, exempt from basic labor protections. It is not only a major policy change but a bold assertion of executive power that sets a precedent with potentially far-reaching implications for the structure, independence, and morale of the federal workforce.
Donald Trump issued an executive order titled Making the District of Columbia Safe and Beautiful, a sweeping, top-down directive that blends patriotic symbolism with aggressive law enforcement policies. Framed around the idea that Washington, D.C., belongs to all Americans and should reflect national greatness, the order positions the capital not as a democratic community but as a stage for federal authority and pride. The rhetoric is rich in themes of order, beauty, and reverence for heritage, but this idealized vision of the capital comes at the expense of local autonomy, nuance, and compassion.
A central concern lies in the executive order’s significant federal overreach. While D.C. is not a state, it has its own elected officials and local law enforcement agencies. This order sidelines that structure by establishing a federally dominated “D.C. Safe and Beautiful Task Force,” populated largely by departments such as Homeland Security, the FBI, and multiple U.S. Attorney’s Offices. These agencies are empowered to direct immigration enforcement, influence concealed carry licensing, and shape prosecutorial policy—areas traditionally governed by local laws and values. The directive notably revives the 2020 Trump-era executive order that encouraged harsh crackdowns on protesters and vandalism, signaling a return to law-and-order posturing rooted in political ideology rather than public safety outcomes.
The public safety provisions within the order lean heavily on punitive approaches. The directive calls for increased federal policing presence across D.C.'s public spaces, strict enforcement of “nuisance” laws, and expanded use of pretrial detention for those deemed threats to safety. At the same time, it explicitly targets undocumented immigrants, encouraging aggressive deportation tactics and scrutiny of D.C.’s sanctuary-city policies. These efforts are framed as necessary for safety. Still, they raise constitutional questions regarding due process and federalism while offering little in terms of preventive strategies, community engagement, or investment in social services.
On the beautification front, the order mandates a broad cleanup and restoration campaign across the capital, including parks, monuments, and roadways. However, the language conflates cleanliness and safety with the removal of visible poverty. Homeless encampments on federal land are to be eliminated “to the maximum extent permitted by law,” yet there is no mention of transitional housing, support services, or long-term solutions. This suggests a cosmetic approach to urban problems, prioritizing visual order over human dignity. The order also invites private-sector involvement, which may generate superficial improvements without systemic change.
This executive order reads more like a political document than a functional governance tool. While it contains standard legal disclaimers that limit its enforceability, the symbolism is clear: it seeks to reassert federal authority, revive culture-war battles over immigration and protest, and reframe D.C. as a model of national power and pride. However, this vision ignores the real needs of D.C.’s residents, risks undermining democratic local governance, and treats complex issues—crime, homelessness, disorder—as opportunities for control rather than collaboration. The result is an executive order that is visually grand and rhetorically patriotic but substantively shallow and ideologically charged.
Donald Trump's swearing-in ceremony for Alina Habba as U.S. Attorney for New Jersey was a theatrical display of political loyalty, religious symbolism, and campaign messaging. Rather than emphasizing Habba’s qualifications as a federal prosecutor, Trump repeatedly framed her appointment as a reward for personal loyalty, describing her as a “warrior” who defended him against the “corrupt and grotesque weaponized justice system.” This undermines the expectation of prosecutorial independence and reinforces concerns that the Justice Department under Trump serves more as a tool of personal allegiance than a pillar of impartial law enforcement.
The ceremony began with a prayer by Paula White, laden with evangelical rhetoric and references to divine appointment. Trump introduced the prayer by saying that Habba had requested it, and White claimed that Habba had been “chosen before the foundations of the earth.” This blending of religious fervor with a federal legal swearing-in raises constitutional questions about the separation of church and state. It feeds into a narrative of Christian nationalism that increasingly characterizes Trump’s second administration.
Trump’s unexpected announcement of a settlement with the law firm Scadden, framed as a $100 million commitment to pro bono work, seemed designed more for political theater than transparency. He vaguely described it as a “settlement” but offered no explanation of what issue was being settled or why the announcement was being made during this particular ceremony. The lack of clarity and the performative delivery only heightened the sense that legal matters are used as props in Trump’s ongoing public spectacle.
Throughout the event, Trump name-dropped a litany of loyalists—Pam Bondi, Cash Patel, Susie Wiles, Sebastian Gorka—turning the ceremony into a roll call of his inner circle rather than a moment of civic duty. He repeatedly portrayed Habba and Bondi not as servants of the public but as enforcers of Trump’s will, saying of the two, “you don’t want them after you.” These remarks transformed the symbolism of justice into something more akin to political retribution, undermining the ideal that U.S. Attorneys prosecute without fear or favor.
Trump also returned to his usual inflammatory rhetoric on crime and immigration, claiming without evidence that violent crime in New Jersey rose by 60% under the previous administration and characterizing undocumented immigrants as “murderers” and “the worst criminals in the world.” His suggestion that courts were interfering with efforts to remove these individuals implied that due process and judicial oversight are barriers to his version of law and order—an alarming assertion for someone overseeing federal prosecutorial appointments.
Habba’s résumé was briefly touched upon—mentions of being a “Super Lawyers Rising Star” and a spot on the “Top 100 lawyers” list—but there was little in Trump’s remarks to suggest she had the prosecutorial experience or qualifications typically associated with running a U.S. Attorney’s office. Instead, he emphasized her TV appearances, legal defense of Trump personally, and willingness to “fight” on his behalf. Her speech echoed these themes, positioning her own journey as a personal success story enabled by Trump and promising to “clean up” New Jersey, a line that felt more like a campaign slogan than a legal vow.
The event concluded with a meandering Q&A that had nothing to do with Habba’s appointment. Trump fielded questions about retaliatory tariffs, Elise Stefanik’s congressional race, pardons, foreign military threats, and car loans—responding with his characteristic mix of grievance, self-congratulation, and unfocused rambling. The ceremony’s central message—that legal appointments in Trump’s administration are given to loyalists rather than professionals—was unmistakable. Alina Habba may now hold a powerful legal role, but her swearing-in served as a troubling reminder that under Trump, justice is often secondary to showmanship and personal allegiance.
Note: Alina Habba does not have prior prosecutorial experience. Her legal career has primarily involved civil litigation and defense work, with limited exposure to federal court proceedings.
Vice President JD Vance’s remarks during his visit to the U.S. base in Greenland offered a mix of informal interaction and missed opportunities. The overall impression was one of disorganization and lack of preparation. Vance opened with a series of off-the-cuff comments, urging troops not to stop eating on his account and repeatedly asking about the schedule—underscoring a lack of clarity about the visit’s agenda. Although he acknowledged the harsh conditions and the sacrifices of an unaccompanied tour, his delivery often felt more like bar banter than a vice presidential appearance, complete with quips about “lusty seals” and jokes about polar plunges. This excessively informal tone undercut the gravity of the visit, especially given the strategic importance of the Arctic region in U.S. national security discussions.
Substantively, the appearance was thin. Vance noted that the Trump administration views Arctic security as a growing priority and mentioned that he would be receiving a briefing from command. Still, he failed to offer any meaningful insight into what the base does or how it fits into broader defense or foreign policy goals. There was no discussion of the early warning systems in place, no references to cooperation with allies, nor any mention of the increasing Russian and Chinese interest in the region—despite Greenland's relevance to all of these issues. Instead, the visit felt like a photo op rather than a serious engagement with the complexities of U.S. Arctic strategy. His mention of prior Trump administration interest in Greenland, including the controversial idea of purchasing it, was glossed over with no context or policy framing, further diminishing the seriousness of the moment.
Visually and optically, the event was underwhelming. The event lacked message discipline, had no clear communication goals, and ultimately left viewers with no stronger understanding of the mission in Greenland or the administration’s vision for Arctic policy. In short, while the goodwill gesture of visiting troops was appreciated, the execution of the visit — in tone, content, and optics — fell far short of what should be expected from the second-highest office in the nation, especially on a strategically important stop like this.
JD Vance’s remarks to the press following his visit with U.S. troops in Greenland reflect an aggressive and nationalistic foreign policy posture that mirrors the broader Trump administration agenda. Framing Greenland as a linchpin of American national security, Vance warns of Chinese and Russian encroachment in the Arctic. He argues that the United States must take the lead in defending the region. While he insists that America respects the self-determination of the Greenlandic people, his repeated references to expanding U.S. military presence, investing in infrastructure, and possibly acquiring the territory suggest a strategy aimed at bringing Greenland under greater American influence—if not outright control. Vance’s language is careful to avoid directly endorsing the use of military force to acquire Greenland, but his invocation of Trump’s “we’ve got to have Greenland” rhetoric leaves strategic ambiguity in place, hinting at a future where U.S. control is normalized through soft power, security partnerships, or economic leverage.
A central theme in Vance’s remarks is his harsh critique of Denmark, which he accuses of neglecting its responsibilities to Greenland. He argues that Danish leadership has underinvested in the island’s security and failed to deter Chinese and Russian influence, forcing the U.S. to fill the gap. This confrontational stance is unusual given that Denmark is a NATO ally, and it contradicts longstanding traditions of cooperative Arctic defense. Vance’s comments could strain transatlantic relations, especially as they frame Denmark not as a partner but as a negligent power whose failings have justified America’s increased presence. This reframing of alliance dynamics reflects a broader Trump-era trend of treating alliances transactionally rather than strategically.
In defending the administration against domestic criticism—particularly the controversy surrounding a leaked internal chat about Yemen policy—Vance takes a combative tone with the media. He accuses American journalists of selective outrage, suggesting that their interest in the Signal leak is disingenuous compared to their relative silence after the deadly withdrawal from Afghanistan under the Biden administration. This whataboutism serves to deflect accountability rather than engage substantively with the issue. His framing reduces a real concern about internal communications and national security coordination to a partisan media fight, undermining transparency in favor of political loyalty.
Economically, Vance reiterates Trump’s long-standing trade narrative, defending retaliatory tariffs and claiming that countries like Canada have taken advantage of American generosity. He warns that global partners have used the U.S. as a “piggy bank” while promising that Trump’s policies will rebuild domestic manufacturing and protect middle-class jobs. The appeal to economic nationalism is potent with Trump’s base, but the speech glosses over the real-world consequences of trade wars—like price increases, strained alliances, and retaliatory measures that could hurt U.S. exporters.
Throughout the session, Vance’s tone swings between performative patriotism and antagonism toward allies, the press, and previous administrations. His repeated praise for American troops feels like a rhetorical shield to deflect criticism, framing every foreign policy move as being in service of those in uniform. While the speech attempts to present a coherent vision of American strength and Arctic leadership, it is riddled with contradictions—professing peace while advocating military buildup, promoting sovereignty while hinting at annexation, and criticizing allies while demanding their cooperation. Ultimately, Vance’s appearance in Greenland was less a diplomatic visit and more a statement of intent: the United States, under Trump, intends to dominate the Arctic—militarily, economically, and strategically—whether its allies are on board or not.
Two major law firms, Jenner & Block and WilmerHale, have filed lawsuits against the Trump administration, alleging that recent executive orders signed by President Trump unlawfully targeted them for their legal advocacy, political affiliations, and pro bono work. Jenner & Block’s lawsuit, filed in federal district court in Washington, D.C., claims the executive order violates the First Amendment’s protections of free speech and association, the Fifth Amendment’s due process clause by interfering with the firm’s ability to practice law, and the Sixth Amendment by undermining the attorney-client relationship and clients’ right to choose their legal representation. The firm, known for its robust pro bono program representing immigrants and LGBTQ clients, sees the executive order as retaliation, partly for its past employment of Andrew Weissmann, a former member of the Mueller investigation team and a critic of Trump. Jenner is seeking to have its case heard by Judge Beryl Howell, who previously blocked a similar executive order against the law firm Perkins Coie, despite efforts by the Justice Department to have her disqualified.
WilmerHale filed a separate lawsuit on similar grounds, asserting that Trump’s executive order is a retaliatory measure for the firm’s representation of Democratic political figures, including Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, as well as the Democratic National Committee. The firm also drew Trump’s ire for employing former special counsel Robert Mueller and other public servants linked to investigations of the former president. Just hours before WilmerHale went to court, the White House issued an executive order targeting the firm by revoking security clearances, restricting access to federal buildings, and instructing federal employees to avoid contact with its attorneys. In a statement, WilmerHale called the order a "plainly unlawful attack" on clients’ rights to legal representation and the foundational principles of the First Amendment. Represented by conservative legal heavyweight Paul Clement, the firm argues that the executive action breaches the separation of powers and constitutes an abuse of presidential authority to punish political adversaries. Meanwhile, while two other firms have reportedly sought settlements with the administration, Jenner & Block made it clear that it will not "capitulate to unconstitutional government coercion," emphasizing its long-standing commitment to upholding the rule of law.
The Trump Administration is appealing to the Supreme Court to reinstate his use of the Alien Enemies Act—a wartime-era law from 1798—to deport individuals the administration alleges are members of Tren de Aragua, a Venezuelan gang he has labeled a foreign terrorist organization. The appeal comes after U.S. District Judge James Boasberg halted further deportations, citing due process concerns and reports of wrongful identification.
The administration had already deported over 200 individuals to El Salvador, where they were placed in notorious anti-terrorism prisons. The Justice Department, led by acting Solicitor General Sarah Harris, argues the judiciary is infringing on the president’s constitutional authority to act in matters of national security.
Boasberg’s ruling was recently upheld by a divided D.C. Circuit Court, prompting the emergency appeal. One judge questioned Trump’s framing of the gang as an “invading force,” while another argued deportees should have filed claims in Texas. A third supported the administration. Trump has since called for Boasberg’s impeachment, leading Chief Justice John Roberts to issue a rare warning against retaliating against judges over legal rulings.
Harris defended the deportations and refused to confirm whether El Salvador had given human rights guarantees, citing diplomatic sensitivity.
A federal judge has blocked the Trump administration’s effort to dismantle the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB). This move had become an early target of Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). U.S. District Judge Amy Berman Jackson issued a sweeping order that prevents the administration from firing CFPB employees, destroying records, or terminating contracts. She also mandated the reinstatement of previously terminated staff and halted efforts to shut down the agency's operations. Jackson opened her 112-page opinion by quoting Musk’s “RIP CFPB” post on X, underscoring the imminent danger facing the agency. She warned that without intervention, the CFPB would be “dissolved and dismantled completely” within 30 days—long before the ongoing lawsuit would be resolved.
The National Treasury Employees Union and other groups filed the lawsuit against acting CFPB Director Russell Vought, who also serves as the director of the Office of Management and Budget. After assuming control, Vought ordered all agency supervision and examination activity to cease, shut down headquarters and began firing dozens of employees. Despite administration claims that it has no intention of eliminating the agency—pointing to the nomination of Jonathan McKernan as CFPB director—internal testimony and emails revealed plans to reduce the agency to just five employees and shift its functions elsewhere. Testimony from staff using pseudonyms detailed mass layoffs and continued planning meetings around eliminating much of the bureau’s workforce, even after the court’s temporary restraining order in February.
Judge Jackson found that the administration was in fact carrying out a coordinated and accelerated effort to shut the CFPB down entirely. She emphasized that only Congress has the authority to eliminate a statutory agency, not the executive branch acting alone. “While the President is free to propose legislation to Congress,” she wrote, “the defendants are not free to eliminate an agency created by statute on their own.” The judge’s order preserves the CFPB’s operations while litigation continues and reinforces the principle of separation of powers. The ruling also highlighted internal confusion following DOGE’s arrival in early February. CFPB COO Adam Martinez described a period of “chaos” and “confusion,” though he acknowledged that operations had improved somewhat by early March after legal guidance reinstated essential functions. The plaintiffs’ attorney, Deepak Gupta, praised the ruling, saying it safeguards both the Constitution and the CFPB’s role in protecting Americans’ financial security.
Wisconsin Attorney General Josh Kaul is suing Elon Musk in Dane County Circuit Court to block his plan to award $1 million checks to two individuals in Wisconsin just days before a key state Supreme Court election. Musk, a Trump ally who has contributed about $20 million to support conservative candidate Brad Schimel, originally announced the giveaways would be for voters, prompting accusations of potential election bribery.
After criticism from election experts and Democrats, Musk altered his plan—removing references to voting and instead tying the $1 million checks to individuals selected as spokespeople for his petition against "activist judges." Despite the revision, Kaul argues the move may still violate election bribery and state lottery laws and is seeking a restraining order to stop it.
The lawsuit follows a call for investigation from liberal advocacy groups, which also contacted Milwaukee County DA Kent Lovern. Schimel’s opponent, Susan Crawford, criticized Musk’s involvement as an attempt to buy influence. The case, originally assigned to Crawford (who is recusing), will now be overseen by Columbia County Judge W. Andrew Voight.
Source: Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
A federal appeals court has lifted a lower court's order that blocked Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) from making further cuts to the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID). The lawsuit—one of the first directly naming Musk—claimed his role was unconstitutional because he holds significant power without being elected or Senate-confirmed.
While the lower court agreed with that argument, the 4th Circuit Court of Appeals sided with the Trump administration, ruling that although Musk and DOGE influenced USAID’s dismantling, final decisions were made by actual government officials. Musk’s inflammatory social media posts (like saying he “fed USAID into the wood chipper”) were not seen as legal proof he issued official orders.
The court said Musk appeared to be acting as an adviser implementing Trump’s anti-bureaucracy policies, and unconventional roles are not inherently unconstitutional. The case will continue, but for now, DOGE is not barred from operating within USAID.
The appeals court reversed U.S. District Judge Theodore Chuang’s prior order that found DOGE’s actions likely unconstitutional and had required partial restoration of agency access for affected employees.
Donald Trump granted a full and unconditional pardon to Trevor Milton, the founder and former executive chairman of Nikola Corporation, a start-up once valued in the billions for its hydrogen-powered truck ambitions. The pardon wipes clean Milton’s 2022 conviction on federal charges of fraud related to misleading investors about the company’s technology and capabilities.
Milton had been convicted in October 2022 on one count of securities fraud and two counts of wire fraud, though he was acquitted on a separate securities fraud charge. He was sentenced in 2023 to four years in prison. The charges stemmed from his false public claims that Nikola had developed revolutionary battery and hydrogen technologies when, in reality, the company purchased batteries rather than developing its own. A highly publicized incident involved a Nikola truck that appeared to drive on its own power in a promotional video—but was actually rolling downhill.
A White House official confirmed Milton’s pardon, and Milton himself posted a video on X (formerly Twitter) reacting emotionally to the news. “I am free,” he said. “The prosecutors can no longer hurt me... It is done. It's over.” In the video, he praised Trump as “an amazing man.” He said the president personally called him to deliver the news, telling him the prosecution had been an “injustice” driven by politically motivated officials.
Milton contributed millions of dollars to nearly 100 state Republican parties and various Republican candidates and political committees.
Among those contributions was $920,000 to the Trump 47 Committee—a joint fundraising entity supporting the Republican National Committee, Donald Trump’s presidential campaign, and affiliated state parties. Milton also gave to the presidential campaign of Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who now serves as Secretary of Health and Human Services.
According to a filing with the Federal Election Commission, Sen. Ted Cruz of Texas returned a $3,300 donation from Milton.
Milton was represented by Brad Bondi, the brother of Pam Bondi, Trump’s former impeachment defense lawyer and Florida Attorney General. Brad Bondi did not comment publicly on the pardon.
Trump, when asked about the decision, told reporters the pardon had been “highly recommended by many people,” and said he did not know Milton personally, but believed he had been “taken advantage of” and treated unfairly by prosecutors in the Southern District of New York. Trump further claimed that Milton had been targeted for being a Trump supporter, and described the prosecutors involved as a "vicious group of people."
The pardon comes as Nikola Corporation itself is in steep decline. Once a rising star in the electric vehicle industry, Nikola partnered with General Motors to produce electric pickup trucks. However, GM later pulled back from the deal after allegations of fraud surfaced. Last month, Nikola filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection and is currently seeking to sell off its remaining assets.
Sources: USA Today, Morningstar
Donald Trump commuted the nearly 10-year prison sentence of Carlos Watson, co-founder of Ozy Media, just before Watson was scheduled to report to prison. Watson had been convicted in a high-profile financial conspiracy case involving investor fraud. Prosecutors accused him of deceiving investors through repeated lies, which led to the collapse of Ozy Media. The commutation reflects Trump’s ongoing use of presidential powers to intervene in cases he views as examples of injustice.
