Can Mike Bloomberg Buy the American Legal System?

A group of Wisconsin dairy farmers may be all that stands between the rule of law and billionaire-branded attorneys general.

Is America’s legal system for sale? That’s the question posed by a little-noted but highly consequential lawsuit in Wisconsin. If you’re a billionaire like Mike Bloomberg, with an army of high-priced lawyers on retainer and a funding network that has insinuated itself into every crevice of the American Left, the answer up until now has been a resounding yes.

With hardly a peep from the American press or good governance watchdogs, Bloomberg has installed litigators into state attorneys general offices across the country, literally paying their salaries and spurring lawsuits to promote his pet environmental causes, all without oversight from voters or lawmakers.

The details of this unethical scheme have just come to light in Wisconsin thanks to a groundbreaking lawsuit by dairy farmers, exposing how this would-be cabal wields government power for its own ends.

At the center of this controversy is a 2021 agreement between Wisconsin’s Department of Justice and New York University’s State Energy & Environmental Impact Center. Through this deal, a legal fellow employed and funded by NYU—through donors like Bloomberg—is embedded in the DOJ as a Special Assistant Attorney General. This fellow handles climate, environmental justice, and clean energy matters, advising state agencies, litigating cases, and representing Wisconsin in court, including enforcement actions.

The catch? Her salary, benefits, and expenses come straight from NYU and its donors, bypassing the state’s legislative appropriations and civil-service hiring processes. The DOJ is even contractually obligated to steer environmental enforcement work her way, aligning it with the center’s priorities.

The plaintiffs—a coalition including the Wisconsin Dairy Alliance, Venture Dairy Cooperative, and a former DOJ attorney—aren’t taking this lying down. They argue that the attorney general has no statutory authority to install privately funded attorneys in such roles, effectively outsourcing core prosecutorial powers to outside interests. By accepting this funding directly, the DOJ has sidestepped rules on gifts and grants, which require legislative oversight. This setup, they claim, violates separation of powers, as prosecution is an essential executive function that can’t be handed off to non-state actors.

Moreover, it raises serious due process and equal protection issues: the fellow isn’t a neutral state employee hired through standard channels, potentially creating conflicts of interest and a “pay-to-play” system where wealthy donors get insider influence. As taxpayers and regulated stakeholders in the dairy industry, the plaintiffs say they’re harmed by even the indirect use of public funds for the fellow’s travel, bar dues, and court fees.

So far, the courts are listening. In August 2025, a Calumet County circuit court judge rejected the state’s motion to dismiss, ruling that the plaintiffs have standing and a plausible case. The judge acknowledged their protected interest in challenging improper taxpayer expenditures and noted their opposition to both the fellow’s hiring structure and her expected enforcement activities, which could directly impact dairy operations. With dismissal off the table, the case advances to a full examination of these claims.

This isn’t just a niche legal spat—it’s a symptom of a larger erosion in democratic accountability. Across at least ten states, similar programs allow ideologically driven nonprofits to plant their attorneys inside public offices, flipping the traditional model where the state hires and oversees outside counsel. The Firebreak has previously documented multiple cases—in Oregon, Michigan and Hawaii—of private lawyers wielding state power to push their climate crusade through the courts.

Here, the nonprofit selects and pays the lawyer, who then operates as an in-house enforcer aligned with donor-influenced ideological goals, like aggressive climate litigation. This shifts allegiance away from the public and toward funders, undermining transparency and turning prosecutorial power—a tool that can ruin livelihoods through fines and lawsuits—into something outsiders can buy.

The unjust implications are chilling. If deep-pocketed groups can secure privileged access to shape state enforcement, everyday citizens and businesses without such backing are left at a disadvantage, navigating a tilted playing field. It’s a subtle yet far-reaching hijacking of governance, where public authority becomes a facade for private agendas, all while evading legislative budgets and ethical safeguards.

Looking ahead, the case will probe deeper questions: Can states delegate prosecutorial duties this way without violating due process, separation of powers, or equal protection? Discovery could unearth internal emails, agreements, and donor details revealing the extent of outside influence. A ruling here might ripple nationwide, prompting scrutiny of similar fellowships and sparking legislative reforms. Public pressure could mount, forcing a reckoning on how much control non-governmental actors should have in enforcement agencies.

In the end, this lawsuit isn’t merely about dairy regulations—it’s a stand for keeping the state truly public. By challenging this tactic, the plaintiffs are drawing a line against a creeping privatization of justice, where ideological warriors don the prosecutor’s robe without accountability. If the farmers succeed, it could restore a fundamental principle of constitutional governance: that state power belongs to the people, not the highest bidder.