The deal Assange made with the U.S. government to end its extradition quest and thereby secure his release can be viewed in one of two ways. On its face, the deal required that Assange "confess" to a felony which he did not commit, accepting a sentence of prison time already served.

The second way of understanding what Assange did is that he confessed to the "crime" of journalism, while acknowledging that the U.S. government construed him to have violated one of its laws, the Espionage Act of 1917. (Scott Horton interviews Kevin Gosztola, author of Guilty of Journalism (2023), and they discuss the second interpretation here.) Assange made the following statement during his appearance before Judge Ramona Manglova at the U.S. district court in Saipan, the capital of the Northern Mariana Islands, located in the western Pacific Ocean:

"Working as a journalist I encouraged my source to provide information that was said to be classified in order to publish that information. I believe that the First Amendment protected that activity but I accept that as written it's a violation of the Espionage Act statute."

Assange's attorney Barry Pollack further clarified that Assange believed "that the conduct of issue should be protected by the First Amendment but understands that no court has held that there is a First Amendment defence to the Espionage Act, he understands that his conduct violates the terms of the Espionage Act, and is pleading guilty on that basis."

The judge accepted Assange's admission of guilt for one felony charge (under section 793 of the Espionage Act), "conspiracy to obtain and disclose national defense information." He was then sentenced to time served, and pronounced a free man. Supporters of Assange and Wikileaks all over the world rejoiced at the surprising development, having mostly resigned themselves to the depressing likelihood that Assange would be made into a martyr for future generations to pay tribute to on holidays established in his name, with tourists snapping photos of effigy statues in city squares, and future politicians issuing lengthy speeches in which they would lament the obvious miscarriage of justice. Instead, Assange walked out of Belmarsh prison onto an airplane which transported him to the court where his protracted dispute with the U.S. government was concluded, after which he flew to Canberra, Australia, to reunite with his family and resume his life.

From a human perspective, one can only be cheered by the news, which reignited what had become among some a nearly extinguished hope for the future. Exemplifying this reaction, Assange's compatriot Caitlin Johnstone titled her June 26, 2024, piece: "Hell, Maybe ANYTHING is Possible." Many of us following the case had been convinced, after years of the U.S. government's active pursuit and persecution of the most effective antiwar activist and publisher in the twenty-first century, that Assange would probably come to ruin one way or another while awaiting extradition or after having been buried in a federal prison to rot away in the United States. With a long list of notable figures who died under mysterious circumstances while in custody by or at the request of the U.S. government, it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that Assange would become a martyr, eventually written into the annals of history, but in the meantime dismissed by officials as a victim of suicide, or something along those lines.