This op-ed contains material that may be considered offensive, controversial, or triggering to some readers. This includes, but is not limited to, themes of violence, discrimination, sexual content, and strong language. The content reflects the testimony of a victim and text messages sent to her.
Reader discretion is advised. If you are sensitive to such topics, you may wish to consider this before proceeding.
Silent Support: Why Does Los Angeles Keep Elevating Men Who Hurt Black Women?
There was a time when hiring someone with a record of three arrests for rape, public assaults, threats against women, and a fresh restraining order for harassment would have been unthinkable. I attribute Donald Trump’s impact on our culture as a turning point in this erosion of standards. His rise to power—and the unapologetic tolerance of his own alleged assaults, vulgar comments, and openly misogynistic behavior—signaled to the country that personal accountability was no longer a requirement for public figures
So, color me completely unsurprised when I heard that Los Angeles Councilmember Kevin de León–who it seems will say and do just about anything to get re-elected– decided Najee Ali was the perfect addition to his re-election campaign team. After all, nothing says “clean slate” and “I’m a changed man” quite like hiring a guy with a fresh restraining order, video of him physically attacking his wife, and a track record of publicly threatening women.
Najee Text Messages to Victim
The victim recounted to the court that Ali “put his hands around my throat, pressing down on it very hard,” an act she described as frightening and unexpected. When Judge Laura Cohen inquired if she had consented to the act, she responded emphatically, “No, I’ve never done that. I didn’t find it pleasurable.”
Ali acknowledged the incident in court but claimed it was consensual, asserting, “She enjoyed it… It was something that continued at her request.”
Despite Ali’s defense, Judge Cohen found the victim’s account credible, noting the abusive nature of his alleged actions. “Based on the evidence… I’m going to issue a one-year restraining order,” the judge concluded, ordering Ali to cease all contact with the victim and to maintain a 100-yard distance from her residence and workplace.
The restraining order, which expired May 4, 2024, included a prohibition against Ali disseminating private photos of the victim, a measure Judge Cohen emphasized under California’s abuse definition. Why? Because he had threatened to do so.
The restraining order was right on brand for Ali, who has had many issued against him before and has a well-known reputation and a documented history of harassing and attacking women in the community–including his own wife. These incidents include public outbursts, threats, and even allegations of physical assault—actions that would send most people’s reputations into a nosedive. Yet, somehow, Ali’s behavior is conveniently overlooked by elected officials, community leaders, and the news media, who continue to prop him up as a “leader” without acknowledging the damage he’s caused.
Najee Ali Attacking His Wife
Najee Ali Women in the Community
Let’s face it—his victims are almost always Black women, and we rank depressingly low on the priority list when it comes to getting justice or even basic empathy. The very same leaders who preach about uplifting marginalized voices and protecting the vulnerable seem to go conveniently quiet when the harm is done to Black women, as if our pain is easier to ignore or simply doesn’t fit the narrative they want to promote. It’s infuriatingly predictable: Black women are expected to show up, speak out, and support the causes, yet when we need protection or justice, we’re met with silence.
Ali’s pattern of abuse doesn’t seem to dent his standing with these so-called “allies”—in fact, it almost seems to embolden him, knowing he can act without repercussions. The message this sends to his victims and Black women everywhere is painfully clear: the voices of Black women are expendable when they clash with political agendas. And until leaders start practicing the values they preach and stop turning a blind eye to misogynists in their ranks, the cycle will continue, leaving women, especially Black women, with a bitter reminder that our safety and dignity are negotiable at best.
We owe it to our community, particularly to women, to demand higher standards from those who claim to stand for justice. Public officials who continue to engage Ali as a “leader” and media outlets that keep giving him airtime are, in effect, endorsing his actions. This complicity sends a dangerous message: that some men, under the guise of activism, are exempt from basic accountability.
Kevin is free to hire whoever he wants for his campaign. But as voters, we’re just as free to decide not to support him.
I will admit that I’m exhausted from being the one who always has to call out Najee Ali’s behavior. It’s like I’m left out front, sounding the alarm while others quietly agree in the shadows, unwilling to step up. I often hear that it said my issue is personal with Najee Ali. Shouldn’t it be personal for anyone who takes the abuse of women seriously?
Meanwhile, because he’s always Johnny-on-the-Spot, the media keeps giving Ali airtime, presenting him as if he’s a true representative of Black voices. Any other “leader” who had Najee Ali’s history of abuse of women would not be looked to as a source for comment. But the abuse of Black women takes a back seat every time in Los Angeles where Najee Ali is concerned.
It’s time for people to stop nodding in private and start standing up in public. Enough with the silent agreements and quiet acknowledgments—it’s time for elected officials, community leaders, community members, and the media to stop giving Najee Ali a pass. We need the pain of Black women to be taken as seriously as we take other forms of discrimination, like antisemitism or anti-Asian hate. When someone spews hatred or exhibits a pattern of abusive behavior, we see swift condemnations and collective calls for accountability, but when it’s Black women at the receiving end of harm, the response is disturbingly muted.
The double standard is blatant and unacceptable. If we’re truly committed to justice and equity, then that commitment should extend to Black women, too. We deserve to know that our voices, our pain, and our safety matter—not just as talking points, but as causes worth fighting for publicly and without hesitation. We can no longer allow people like Ali to hide behind the privilege of being “community figures” or “activists” while they perpetuate harm. It’s time to hold him—and anyone else who thinks they can get away with it—accountable, just as we would with any other public figure who fails to uphold basic standards of respect and decency.
