Judge’s Shocking Reversal in Medicaid Scandal Ignites Political Firestorm

Paul Riverbank, 12/2/2025A judge overturns a $7.2 million Medicaid fraud conviction, sparking outrage and political uproar.

Those millions—the sort you don't count by hand, but by spreadsheet—bought not just home care or physical therapy sessions, but Coach bags, Canada Goose jackets, Michael Kors, Nike, and, for better measure, a few luxury cars. Prosecutors told it this way: Abdifatah Yusuf and his wife, Lul Ahmed, were at the heart of a $7.2 million fraud, with Yusuf shifting more than a million into his personal checking account and tearing out hundreds of thousands in cash withdrawals.

For the jury, it all sounded plain. They sat through testimony, examined digital ledgers, and after four hours—a time frame most would associate with a lingering lunch rather than the fate of two people—came back with a string of guilty verdicts for Yusuf. “It was beyond a reasonable doubt,” juror Ben Walfoort told reporters, as if there couldn’t be a simpler puzzle to solve.

Then came the twist. Judge Sarah West, who was ushered into her position by former Governor Mark Dayton, wiped the slate clean. The convictions vacated, the explanations legalistic—fundamentally unsettling. Her written opinion tilted toward procedural caution: she claimed circumstantial evidence can't be a noose unless every other plausible explanation is ruled out. Yet even West sounded wary, noting the “troubling manner” in which fraud could flourish under her jurisdiction’s nose.

The aftershock was immediate and bipartisan. Representative Kristin Robbins sounded almost out of breath when she told local press she wanted “to strengthen state law” so such cases didn’t slip through a legal crack. One could hear the disbelief not only in her voice, but in kitchen conversations and office break rooms across Minnesota.

On the other side, Yusuf’s legal team offered a composed rebuke. Ian Birrell, his attorney, said with lawyerly finality that the judge’s ruling squared with the justice system’s deepest beliefs: fairness, proof, the chance to be wronged and then redeemed. “The Court’s decision to enter judgments of acquittal on all charges reflects the fundamental principle that justice requires both fairness and proof,” Birrell told news outlets.

Of course, the state wasn’t about to leave the last word with the defense. Attorney General Keith Ellison, whose own political future may hinge on moments just like this, promised an immediate appeal. His tone was less measured; he called it “shameful and disgraceful”—those millions meant for “our neighbors” but gone to “fraudsters like Abdifatah Yusuf.” In the background, the classic unrest of a state priding itself on “Minnesota Nice” simmered over.

What's more, this wasn’t even the first time public funds vanished with an almost cinematic sense of excess. The “Feeding Our Future” scandal lingers—hundreds of millions, allegedly meant for pandemic meals for hungry children, instead underwriting luxury homes and cars, even high-end foreign property. In summing up the sweep, a federal prosecutor, Joseph Thompson, landed on a phrase that stuck: “We're losing our way of life in Minnesota in a very real way.”

This latest case—Yusuf’s—stands out for more than just the size of the numbers. It's unusual, almost unheard of, for a judge to toss a jury's unanimous finding. The AG’s willingness to appeal is just as rare. The result could redraw the lines—what counts as “enough” evidence when public money's been siphoned away? When does smoke point to fire, and when can it simply cloud the room?

All the while, politicians and national voices circled. Former President Donald Trump decried the state as “a hub of fraudulent money laundering activity” and zeroed in on Governor Tim Walz, blaming a loss of “billions of Dollars.” Critics used the debacle to point fingers at the Somali American community, sometimes weaving wild threads about Al-Shabaab and ill-gotten funds—rhetoric that, for many locals, bore as much heat as light.

Meanwhile, ordinary Minnesotans are left with unanswerable questions and the uneasy feeling that their famous trust in community is being tested. A jury saw what looked to them like open-and-shut theft; a judge saw reason to doubt. State leadership promises reform, yet the parade of headlines shows more cracks than patchwork. For now, the outcome is up in the air—not just for Yusuf and Ahmed, but for the institutions meant to protect the sick and the poor. Here, in the thick of a Minnesota summer, the only thing certain is that the story isn’t finished.

Minnesota doesn't usually court the national limelight, but these days, its courtrooms tell stories the rest of America can't ignore. At the center of one such drama: a mailbox in a quiet neighborhood, the unassuming address typed on business paperwork for a home healthcare agency called Promise Health. It was, by state account, almost all there was—a business that barely existed outside that mailbox, but managed to funnel millions through the Medicaid program.Those millions—the sort you don't count by hand, but by spreadsheet—bought not just home care or physical therapy sessions, but Coach bags, Canada Goose jackets, Michael Kors, Nike, and, for better measure, a few luxury cars. Prosecutors told it this way: Abdifatah Yusuf and his wife, Lul Ahmed, were at the heart of a $7.2 million fraud, with Yusuf shifting more than a million into his personal checking account and tearing out hundreds of thousands in cash withdrawals.For the jury, it all sounded plain. They sat through testimony, examined digital ledgers, and after four hours—a time frame most would associate with a lingering lunch rather than the fate of two people—came back with a string of guilty verdicts for Yusuf. “It was beyond a reasonable doubt,” juror Ben Walfoort told reporters, as if there couldn’t be a simpler puzzle to solve.Then came the twist. Judge Sarah West, who was ushered into her position by former Governor Mark Dayton, wiped the slate clean. The convictions vacated, the explanations legalistic—fundamentally unsettling. Her written opinion tilted toward procedural caution: she claimed circumstantial evidence can't be a noose unless every other plausible explanation is ruled out. Yet even West sounded wary, noting the “troubling manner” in which fraud could flourish under her jurisdiction’s nose.The aftershock was immediate and bipartisan. Representative Kristin Robbins sounded almost out of breath when she told local press she wanted “to strengthen state law” so such cases didn’t slip through a legal crack. One could hear the disbelief not only in her voice, but in kitchen conversations and office break rooms across Minnesota.On the other side, Yusuf’s legal team offered a composed rebuke. Ian Birrell, his attorney, said with lawyerly finality that the judge’s ruling squared with the justice system’s deepest beliefs: fairness, proof, the chance to be wronged and then redeemed. “The Court’s decision to enter judgments of acquittal on all charges reflects the fundamental principle that justice requires both fairness and proof,” Birrell told news outlets.Of course, the state wasn’t about to leave the last word with the defense. Attorney General Keith Ellison, whose own political future may hinge on moments just like this, promised an immediate appeal. His tone was less measured; he called it “shameful and disgraceful”—those millions meant for “our neighbors” but gone to “fraudsters like Abdifatah Yusuf.” In the background, the classic unrest of a state priding itself on “Minnesota Nice” simmered over.What's more, this wasn’t even the first time public funds vanished with an almost cinematic sense of excess. The “Feeding Our Future” scandal lingers—hundreds of millions, allegedly meant for pandemic meals for hungry children, instead underwriting luxury homes and cars, even high-end foreign property. In summing up the sweep, a federal prosecutor, Joseph Thompson, landed on a phrase that stuck: “We're losing our way of life in Minnesota in a very real way.”This latest case—Yusuf’s—stands out for more than just the size of the numbers. It's unusual, almost unheard of, for a judge to toss a jury's unanimous finding. The AG’s willingness to appeal is just as rare. The result could redraw the lines—what counts as “enough” evidence when public money's been siphoned away? When does smoke point to fire, and when can it simply cloud the room?All the while, politicians and national voices circled. Former President Donald Trump decried the state as “a hub of fraudulent money laundering activity” and zeroed in on Governor Tim Walz, blaming a loss of “billions of Dollars.” Critics used the debacle to point fingers at the Somali American community, sometimes weaving wild threads about Al-Shabaab and ill-gotten funds—rhetoric that, for many locals, bore as much heat as light.Meanwhile, ordinary Minnesotans are left with unanswerable questions and the uneasy feeling that their famous trust in community is being tested. A jury saw what looked to them like open-and-shut theft; a judge saw reason to doubt. State leadership promises reform, yet the parade of headlines shows more cracks than patchwork. For now, the outcome is up in the air—not just for Yusuf and Ahmed, but for the institutions meant to protect the sick and the poor. Here, in the thick of a Minnesota summer, the only thing certain is that the story isn’t finished.