For years, Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg seemed to embody two opposing corners of the tech universe. Musk rocketed between electric cars, rockets, and ambitious AI warnings, while Zuckerberg methodically expanded a social platform into something resembling a complete digital ecosystem under the Meta umbrella. They did not often see eye to eye. Musk mocked Facebook’s privacy track record. Zuckerberg dismissed Musk’s AI doomsday alarms as exaggerations. At one point, there was talk of them settling a dispute through an actual physical fight in a cage. It felt like silly billionaire drama, a sideshow to the more serious business of shaping the future of global communication and advanced technology.
Then something odd happened. Recent events have placed them, however uneasily, on the same side regarding one very specific question: Should OpenAI, originally established as a nonprofit dedicated to broad human benefit, be allowed to turn into a for-profit business? It is a question that cuts through the usual noise of corporate maneuvering. Suddenly, Zuckerberg and Musk share a concern that OpenAI might be rewriting the unwritten rules of how to build and fund potentially transformative AI.
What did OpenAI do to upset these two tech leaders?
OpenAI started out by presenting itself as a beacon of altruism in AI research. Back in 2015, it promised to develop artificial intelligence in a way that would favor humanity rather than a select group of shareholders. That vision helped it gain trust, talent, and millions in philanthropic funding. The public narrative was clear: This was not just another Silicon Valley startup chasing the next big payday. It was a group of brilliant researchers and entrepreneurs trying to ensure that AI would not become a narrow tool for profit or power grabs.
Fast-forward several years. OpenAI, facing enormous costs associated with training advanced language models and other frontier technologies, began announcing plans to adopt a hybrid approach. It would still have a nonprofit parent organization, but also create a profit-bearing subsidiary with a capped-return structure. This was explained as a practical necessity. Without massive investment, the group argued, it could never compete with giants like Google or Meta in building the huge computational infrastructures and research pipelines needed for genuine breakthroughs. In other words, the mission stayed the same in theory, but the legal and financial structure would shift to attract billions from private investors. Among these investors was Microsoft, which poured capital into OpenAI, seeing it as a chance to reclaim a leadership role in AI after trailing Google for years.
Critics cried foul. This was not what OpenAI had promised. It had raised funds and goodwill as a nonprofit, benefiting from tax breaks and reputational boosts that come from presenting a mission grounded in the public interest. Now, it seemed, it wanted to have it both ways. Some began to worry that if OpenAI succeeded, it would set a precedent. Future startups could pull the same trick: pose as nonprofits to gather donations and public support, then flip into profit-making machines once their technology matured. This scenario troubled other players in the tech industry, especially those who had played by the old rules and never enjoyed nonprofit tax advantages.
Meta sends letter to California Attorney General to block OpenAI’s move to be for-profit
Enter Mark Zuckerberg’s Meta. Recently, Meta sent a letter to California’s Attorney General, Rob Bonta, urging him to block OpenAI’s move into a for-profit entity. The letter did not mince words. Meta argued that allowing OpenAI to profit from assets built under the nonprofit banner would be unfair and deceptive. It suggested that this could destabilize the entire startup environment, encouraging crafty entrepreneurs to start as nonprofits, gain tax-free funds, then shift into lucrative businesses once they had something valuable to sell. According to Meta, this would erode trust and reshape how philanthropic capital flows into tech research.
Zuckerberg’s intervention is striking. Meta, after all, is a company that has faced its own share of skepticism and criticism. Its original identity as Facebook centered on connecting people, but it later expanded into areas like AI research. It has poured enormous sums into building the computing infrastructure and talent pipeline needed to compete in advanced AI. By calling out OpenAI’s for-profit pivot, Meta may be seeking to level the playing field. It may also be trying to position itself as a champion of the rulebook that everyone else assumed was in place. If startups can just claim a nonprofit mantle, raise money, then switch, what does that do to trust?
What’s Musk’s stance here?
Musk’s stance is no less interesting. He co-founded OpenAI as a nonprofit and later left the organization in 2018. He has since spoken out repeatedly that OpenAI has strayed from its mission. He even took legal steps to try to block the transition to a for-profit model, describing it as a kind of monopoly-building effort with Microsoft. Musk frames himself as trying to preserve the original moral vision that guided OpenAI’s founding. Critics might note that Musk’s own AI company, xAI, stands to benefit if OpenAI faces legal hurdles and delays. Still, Musk has always been vocal about the dangers of concentrated AI power. So maybe, in his view, this is about principle as much as it is about competition.
Seeing both Musk and Zuckerberg, these two influential yet frequently opposed tech leaders, supporting efforts to stop OpenAI’s plan, is unusual. It has turned a legal and regulatory scuffle into a major industry-wide debate about ethics, trust, and the unwritten rules of the game. Everyone is watching how the California Attorney General will respond. This decision could send a powerful message. If the attorney general denies OpenAI’s request, it might say to the industry: You cannot simply rewrite your mission when the money gets big. Founding commitments matter. On the other hand, if the attorney general allows it, we might see a wave of companies adopting the same tactic. Start as nonprofits, grow under a halo of public good, then flip the switch when investors are ready to pay top dollar. Would anyone believe in a nonprofit tech promise after that?
At the heart of this dispute lies a question that resonates far beyond the details of incorporation and funding rounds. How can society ensure that entities charged with creating transformative AI remain faithful to their stated missions? If these promises can be set aside the moment big money arrives, what good are they?
What happens if California’s attorney general blocks OpenAI’s move?
If California’s attorney general intervenes and denies OpenAI’s request to transition, it might send a message that founding commitments matter. Such a decision could prevent others from employing a similar model. On the other hand, if the state allows OpenAI’s plan, that might signal a laissez-faire environment. Maybe future startups will emulate OpenAI’s approach, presenting themselves as nonprofits early on to access tax benefits and philanthropic capital, then flipping into for-profit status once their technology matures. Would anyone trust initial mission statements after that?
This is a crucial moment for the AI industry’s credibility. Public trust in technology giants has taken a beating over the years. Data scandals, misinformation, and privacy violations have left people wary. AI’s potential influence goes beyond chatbots and funny image generators. It touches employment, healthcare, education, and the shape of entire economies. It could affect how we communicate, how we decide what is true, and who controls the flow of information. If private companies grow wealthy from a foundation built on public goodwill, only to pivot into something else once they sense profit, the public might push back. Consumers, advocacy groups, and perhaps regulators might become more skeptical. Could we see new laws, more oversight, or a backlash against companies that fail to hold true to their founding ideals?
The attorney general’s decision, and any legal rulings that follow, will influence how AI research unfolds in the next decade. Investors are watching closely, because this will tell them what strategies are fair game. Rival labs, including Google’s DeepMind and Meta’s own AI groups, are paying attention. Smaller startups wonder if they should stick to consistent missions or try a more flexible approach. Engineers and researchers might think twice before signing on with organizations that could shift to profit-driven models later. They may ask themselves: Do I want my work to enrich a few shareholders, or do I trust this company’s moral pledges?
Not as simple as it seems
There is complexity here. OpenAI remains a leader in AI, producing remarkable results in language processing and other areas. Slowing it down or tying it up in legal uncertainty might allow other players to leap ahead. Is that positive or negative? One might argue that without accountability, what is the point of allowing a mission-based entity to turn corporate? Another might say that some compromise is necessary to secure the massive funds needed to push AI forward at the fastest pace. Balancing trust and progress is not simple.
Zuckerberg’s letter to the attorney general puts it bluntly. If OpenAI’s restructuring is permitted, the entire Silicon Valley ecosystem could be shaken.