Ilhan Omar Under Fire as $9 Billion Minnesota Fraud Unravels

Paul Riverbank, 12/29/2025Minnesota reels from $9B fraud scandal, sparking political fallout and calls for renewed public trust.

First Assistant U.S. Attorney Joe Thompson, often careful with his words, did not mince them this time: “The magnitude cannot be overstated.” The breadth of the scheme was such that it pulled in participants from far outside Minnesota’s borders. Over ninety individuals, several with roots in the Somali community, have been charged. Yet, no one’s entirely sure if this is the full extent or just the tip of the iceberg.

You don’t have to look far for evidence of the fraud’s corrosive effect. Videos are circulating online—grainy smartphone footage showing the locked doors of daycare centers that, on paper, appeared to serve hundreds of children. In reality, they were often silent, their playgrounds deserted. Local journalist Nick Shirley decided to visit some of these mysterious sites. His findings, shared widely across social media, racked up tens of millions of views, sparking conversations in coffee shops, council meetings, and living rooms far beyond Minnesota. “How deep does this go?” became a common refrain.

The political fallout has been as swift as it’s been contentious. At the heart of the debate is Rep. Ilhan Omar, whose advocacy for pandemic-era food assistance had once been hailed as a lifeline. Critics now claim the bill she championed—the MEALS Act—laid the groundwork for these abuses. Omar, characteristically direct, rebuffed them: “It did help feed kids,” she told the press. If she regrets her vote, she doesn’t let on. But the questions linger.

Political analysts like Michael Rubin have not hesitated to frame the scandal in more global terms. “The corruption exposed in Minnesota mirrors what has plagued Somalia for decades,” said Rubin, adding that Somaliland—Somalia’s breakaway northern region—has managed to avoid such dysfunction. Some find his commentary provocative, accusing him of simplifying complex realities and unfairly linking Somali Minnesotans to crimes committed for profit. Yet, Rubin persists, drawing lines between Minnesota’s local crisis and East Africa’s tangled politics. “Why does the U.S. continue to support Somalia’s government while ignoring Somaliland’s relative stability?” he asked, not rhetorically.

That question became particularly pronounced after Israel took a historic step and recognized Somaliland, marking a shift in international attitudes. Somaliland’s leaders have quietly lobbied Washington for greater engagement, arguing that closer ties with the U.S. and Israel could help anchor a tense Horn of Africa. It’s a debate that now involves not only state officials but also political figures like Donald Trump, who, true to form, indicated he’d “study” the issue. “I study a lot of things and always make great decisions,” he said, with characteristic bravado.

Within Minnesota, the sense of unease is hard to escape. Governor Tim Walz has found himself under pressure to “do something”—although critics say his administration is downplaying the scale of the problem. Walz has expressed frustration with what he calls sensationalist reporting, but his critics believe that only greater transparency and accountability can restore public faith.

Oddly enough, the growing scandal has not dominated national headlines to the degree one might expect. Major outlets—the likes of CNN and MSNBC—have covered related stories sparingly. Local reporters and independent investigators fill the void, sometimes at personal risk, piecing together thousands of documents and navigating communities that feel unfairly targeted.

Minnesota’s unraveling isn’t unique. Just last month, an FBI search at a Secret Service agent’s residence unearthed further allegations of fraud and charity abuse. If there’s a lesson in all this, it’s that oversight failures can be found anywhere—the safeguards are only ever as strong as the people maintaining them.

In conversations with community leaders and everyday residents, you hear equal parts anger and exhaustion. “We just want someone to tell the truth about what happened—and to make sure it can’t happen again,” a St. Paul resident told me. For many, the details matter less than the imperative to rebuild trust. Public integrity, once lost, is always difficult to recover.

One experienced analyst told me over coffee, “If we judged strictly on behavior, recognizing Somaliland makes sense.” In the end, though, it’s not only about East African geopolitics or the intricacies of federal aid. It’s about the expectations citizens have for those who govern—and the consequences when those expectations are betrayed. As Minnesota continues to grapple with the fallout, its lessons echo far beyond its own borders.

Minnesota has long enjoyed a reputation for solid governance, but in recent months, the state has found itself reeling from revelations that have shaken public confidence to the core. What first emerged as a food program irregularity now appears to have metastasized into a sprawling, multi-layered fraud—one authorities are calling “industrial-scale” for lack of a better term. The sums in question are eye-watering: federal investigators estimate that more than $9 billion may have been siphoned away from a tangled web of safety-net programs—Medicaid, pandemic aid, daycare and housing benefits—all designed to help society’s most vulnerable.First Assistant U.S. Attorney Joe Thompson, often careful with his words, did not mince them this time: “The magnitude cannot be overstated.” The breadth of the scheme was such that it pulled in participants from far outside Minnesota’s borders. Over ninety individuals, several with roots in the Somali community, have been charged. Yet, no one’s entirely sure if this is the full extent or just the tip of the iceberg.You don’t have to look far for evidence of the fraud’s corrosive effect. Videos are circulating online—grainy smartphone footage showing the locked doors of daycare centers that, on paper, appeared to serve hundreds of children. In reality, they were often silent, their playgrounds deserted. Local journalist Nick Shirley decided to visit some of these mysterious sites. His findings, shared widely across social media, racked up tens of millions of views, sparking conversations in coffee shops, council meetings, and living rooms far beyond Minnesota. “How deep does this go?” became a common refrain.The political fallout has been as swift as it’s been contentious. At the heart of the debate is Rep. Ilhan Omar, whose advocacy for pandemic-era food assistance had once been hailed as a lifeline. Critics now claim the bill she championed—the MEALS Act—laid the groundwork for these abuses. Omar, characteristically direct, rebuffed them: “It did help feed kids,” she told the press. If she regrets her vote, she doesn’t let on. But the questions linger.Political analysts like Michael Rubin have not hesitated to frame the scandal in more global terms. “The corruption exposed in Minnesota mirrors what has plagued Somalia for decades,” said Rubin, adding that Somaliland—Somalia’s breakaway northern region—has managed to avoid such dysfunction. Some find his commentary provocative, accusing him of simplifying complex realities and unfairly linking Somali Minnesotans to crimes committed for profit. Yet, Rubin persists, drawing lines between Minnesota’s local crisis and East Africa’s tangled politics. “Why does the U.S. continue to support Somalia’s government while ignoring Somaliland’s relative stability?” he asked, not rhetorically.That question became particularly pronounced after Israel took a historic step and recognized Somaliland, marking a shift in international attitudes. Somaliland’s leaders have quietly lobbied Washington for greater engagement, arguing that closer ties with the U.S. and Israel could help anchor a tense Horn of Africa. It’s a debate that now involves not only state officials but also political figures like Donald Trump, who, true to form, indicated he’d “study” the issue. “I study a lot of things and always make great decisions,” he said, with characteristic bravado.Within Minnesota, the sense of unease is hard to escape. Governor Tim Walz has found himself under pressure to “do something”—although critics say his administration is downplaying the scale of the problem. Walz has expressed frustration with what he calls sensationalist reporting, but his critics believe that only greater transparency and accountability can restore public faith.Oddly enough, the growing scandal has not dominated national headlines to the degree one might expect. Major outlets—the likes of CNN and MSNBC—have covered related stories sparingly. Local reporters and independent investigators fill the void, sometimes at personal risk, piecing together thousands of documents and navigating communities that feel unfairly targeted.Minnesota’s unraveling isn’t unique. Just last month, an FBI search at a Secret Service agent’s residence unearthed further allegations of fraud and charity abuse. If there’s a lesson in all this, it’s that oversight failures can be found anywhere—the safeguards are only ever as strong as the people maintaining them.In conversations with community leaders and everyday residents, you hear equal parts anger and exhaustion. “We just want someone to tell the truth about what happened—and to make sure it can’t happen again,” a St. Paul resident told me. For many, the details matter less than the imperative to rebuild trust. Public integrity, once lost, is always difficult to recover.One experienced analyst told me over coffee, “If we judged strictly on behavior, recognizing Somaliland makes sense.” In the end, though, it’s not only about East African geopolitics or the intricacies of federal aid. It’s about the expectations citizens have for those who govern—and the consequences when those expectations are betrayed. As Minnesota continues to grapple with the fallout, its lessons echo far beyond its own borders.