Updates on the Latest High-Profile Tesla Crash

A few weeks ago I wrote about the latest high-profile crash involving Tesla’s level 2 automation system, in which a car drove into a two-story brick house on a quiet residential street in Katy, Texas, killing a woman who was standing in her living room. Some developments since then merit an update.

Both the NTSB and the NHTSA have opened investigations into the incident. The NTSB has preliminarily confirmed Tesla’s initial reaction to the event: the driver had “overridden” the automation system by pressing the accelerator, in this case to 100%, causing the car to accelerate to a speed of 73 miles per hour before it hit the house.

The driver, meanwhile, has been charged with manslaughter. To my knowledge, this is only the second time a driver has been criminally prosecuted for a crash resulting from misuse of an automated driving system. In the previous case, the driver was using Autopilot when he ran a red light, killing two people.

The above facts will likely cause many to conclude that this crash was not Tesla’s fault. A bit more context complicates the picture. First, it is worth noting the similarities to Benavides, last summer’s blockbuster verdict against Tesla. In that case, the driver also “overrode” Autopilot by putting his foot on the accelerator. As the evidence showed at trial, accelerating with Autopilot engaged does not completely disable the system; rather, it overrides “traffic aware cruise control” (the system that adjusts the car’s speed in response to traffic in the lane ahead) but not “autosteer,” automatic emergency braking, or forward collision warning. I am not certain how Tesla’s latest system, which it calls “Full Self Driving (Supervised)” responds in these situations, but to say that the automation system has been “overridden” by a foot on the accelerator is probably at least somewhat misleading.

My sense is that the involvement of criminal law is a welcome development here. Crashes like these implicate complex questions of responsibility. To what extent do we expect drivers to understand the nuances of the automation systems they use and take responsibility for maintaining vigilance on the roads? To what extent do we expect manufacturers to design their systems to mitigate the effects of known human imperfections, which products liability law would call “foreseeable misuse”? The driver in Benavides, George McGee, who killed a young woman and caused permanent injuries to her boyfriend, got little more than a slap on the wrist (he was fined $1,000 and settled a tort suit for an undisclosed sum).

It will be interesting to watch how criminal and tort law develop in this area.

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Yet Another Fatal “Autopilot” Crash

The latest fatal crash involving Tesla’s level 2 automation system is particularly chilling. The victim, Martha Avila, was standing inside her house on a quiet back street when a Tesla Model 3, reportedly with “an automated driving assistance system” engaged, ran off the road and into the two-story brick home, killing her. Local police and the NHTSA have opened investigations.

The driver, Michael Butler, was not intoxicated. Doorbell camera footage shows the car running off the road so fast as to be barely visible. Tesla has not responded to requests for comment from the media, but its vice president of AI and software, Ashok Elluswamy, posted on X that the car was going 73 miles per hour and that the driver “manually overrode self-driving by pressing the accelerator all the way to 100%.”

One of my scholarly projects for the summer is an article about the first fatal autonomous driving case to result in a jury trial, Benavides v. Tesla. That crash, which I blogged about last summer, killed a young woman and severely injured her boyfriend, resulting in a verdict holding Tesla 33% responsible and imposing $42 million in compensatory damages and $200 million in punitive damages.

There are some striking similarities between the two incidents. In both cases, the driver had his foot on the accelerator, causing the car to travel far in excess of the speed limit. Both incidents occurred on surface streets. The Benavides crash, which occurred in 2019, involved an older level 2 system that Tesla controversially called “Autopilot.” (Following the jury verdict, Tesla settled a series of other pending cases and retired the name.) Autopilot was not supposed to be used on surface streets, and one of the plaintiff’s theories of defect was that, given the number of fatal crashes that had already occurred, it shouldn’t have been possible for users to activate Autopilot in an area it wasn’t designed for. Today, Tesla’s level 2 system is known as “Full Self Driving (Supervised),” a name that is arguably less sensationally inappropriate given its capabilities. “FSD,” as it is commonly known, now has a much broader operational design domain, and can be used on all kind of roads, including the quiet residential street on which Martha Avila lived.

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Judge Sykes in the Curriculum—Torts

The summer 2026 issue of the Marquette Lawyer magazine has a number of entries concerning the Hon. Diane S. Sykes, L’84, including a set of one-page essays by seven different faculty on how their Marquette Law School courses draw on her writings as a judge of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit since 2004 or as a justice of the Wisconsin Supreme Court between 1999 and 2004. This is the first of the seven essays. The illustration of the faculty member, taken from the magazine and appearing here with the blog post, is by John Jay Cabuay.

Professor Alex LemannMy first-year torts class reaches something of a climax when we read Palsgraf v. Long Island Railroad Co., the landmark 1928 New York Court of Appeals decision. Palsgraf is one of those old chestnuts that are simply irresistible to law professors. It combines engrossing facts, beautiful writing, and philosophical richness. I would probably assign it even if it didn’t have canonical status and thus represent part of the esoteric lingua franca by which first-year law students are inducted into the cult of lawyers.

But Palsgraf can feel, after almost a century of life, somewhat remote. For students in Wisconsin in 2026, who often find the case to be the single most confusing thing they read all semester, a reasonable objection might be “what’s the point?”

The good news for me as a teacher of tort law is that Wisconsin has its own Palsgraf, a 2003 state Supreme Court opinion called Alvarado v. Sersch, which I assign every year immediately after the perhaps somewhat hoary original. Like Palsgraf, Alvarado deals with the question of how far negligence liability ought to extend in situations where the connection between breach and injury feels attenuated.

In Alvarado, the plaintiff was cleaning a student apartment in Madison, at the end of an 11-hour shift during the hectic mid-August turnover period, when she found what she thought was a candle that had been overlooked by the property manager during his inspection of the apartment. The candle turned out to be a firework, and when Alvarado lit the fuse to preserve the pilot light of a stove she intended to clean, it exploded, blowing off most of her right hand.

Both the majority opinion, by Justice Ann Walsh Bradley, and Justice Diane Sykes’s dissent in Alvarado engage with Palsgraf and the role it ought to play in 21st-century Wisconsin tort law. Part of the benefit of assigning the case is simply to show students that Wisconsin—most unusually—follows Judge William Andrews’s dissent in Palsgraf, meaning that limitations on negligence liability in Wisconsin are based on an assessment of public policy rather than subtle philosophical elucidations of the concepts of duty and breach, as Judge Benjamin Cardozo set forth for the Palsgraf majority.

But another benefit of Alvarado as pedagogy is having students closely examine the point of departure between majority and dissent and push themselves to be precise in understanding the arguments that might have proved decisive. From this perspective, Justice Sykes’s opinion is a gem, all that a dissent should be: it is shorter than the majority, it eschews scoring easy rhetorical points for the sake of rhetoric alone, and it raises valid concerns about the real-world impact of the majority’s position. I feel confident that, like Palsgraf, Wisconsin law students will still be reading Justice Sykes’s Alvarado dissent a century after it was written.

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