When Angelenos chose Nithya Raman as their next mayor, Karen Bass wasn’t the only establishment pillar that was resoundingly rebuked.
Here in the country’s Latino capital, the metropolis that delivered California its first Latino U.S. senator and pioneered the type of winning political machine that Latinos across the country replicated for decades, almost all the city’s Latino power brokers — politicians, nonprofit leaders, union activists, celebrities — bet big on longtime ally Bass, only to now find themselves on the outside looking in.
All that might and hype delivered worse than nada for Bass, who finished first in the June primary thanks in part to Latino support, winning 35 Latino-majority neighborhoods compared with just seven for Raman. The reverse happened in last week’s general election, with Raman winning many of the city’s key Latino neighborhoods — South L.A. to the Eastside, Pico-Union to Wilmington — according to a Times analysis of precinct data.
It was a fitting dénouement to Mayor Bass’ one term in office, and the capstone of a terrible four-year run for L.A.’s Latino political establishment, beginning with the leak of a profane, racist conversation that disgraced four top politicos.
Bass should have run as far away as possible from our caudillos y caudillas. But she just couldn’t quit them. Take an Oct. 24 lunchtime rally at Plaza Del Valle in Panorama City, the nexus for the fabled San Fernando Valley Latino political machine.
Volunteers handed out “Latinos Con Bass” signs to customers and store owners. An all-star roster of elected officials — City Councilmembers Monica Rodriguez and Imelda Padilla, Assemblymember Celeste Rodriguez (no relation to Monica) and Rep. Luz Rivas — gathered in a community room to make the case that Bass was the best choice.
“You have tías and cousins and primos that call you, ‘Who should I vote for? What do I do? How do I fill out the ballot?’” Rivas told a crowd of about 60, most of whom were not Latino. “You need to remind them Mayor Karen Bass is the right leader.”
“This is where we win elections,” Rodriguez asserted, describing the mayor — whom she bitterly opposed until fellow Councilmember Raman entered the race — as a “Valley girl” and the election as “our moment.”
The enthusiasm level struggled to exceed that of a line at the DMV. Half an hour later and a few miles east in Sylmar, a very different scene was unfolding.
DJ Danny Guerrero blasted quinceañera classics like “Vivir mi Vida” and “Come On Let’s Go” by Pacoima native Ritchie Valens as Raman’s team hosted a canvasada — free tacos for everyone to fuel an afternoon of canvassing. L.A. Unified school board member Kelly Gonez was the only elected official at the Carpenters Local 818 training center. The others were union members, Latino hipsters or kids too young to vote.
“Her passion to protect our community — that compassion resonated with me,” said Guerrero, a 21-year-old Cal State Northridge political science major who helps undocumented college students at his school’s Dream Center. “I advocate for that in my life, and I see Nithya doing that. She meets us where we’re at.”
Guerrero cheered as Raman kicked off her remarks with an “¡Hola, Sylmar!,” pronouncing the “y” like an “i” the way a Spanish speaker would. The candidate shouted out Latino Valley icons like Lenchita’s, Tia Chucha’s Centro Cultural and even Plaza Del Valle. But she received the biggest cheers when she said, “La communidad latina merece más.”
Latinos deserve more.
In the end, Raman captured most of the precincts in Padilla’s and Rodriguez’s districts even after the two council members whacked away at her through the election like brats hogging the piñata stick at a birthday party.
Without institutional support, Raman focused on a new generation of Latino leaders who are not part of the traditional political machines.
“Maybe they [Latino establishment leaders] felt obligated to back her,” Rocío Rivas said of Bass. The L.A. Unified school board member and democratic socialist endorsed Raman and attended her election night party at the Greek Theatre, where a crowd of hundreds chanted, “Sí se puede.”
“Or maybe they’re not as connected to the community as they once were,” Rivas added.
The trouble for the establishment started in 2022 when three City Council members and a powerful union leader became pariahs after starring in the audio leak scandal. That same year, democratic socialist upstarts Hugo Soto-Martínez and Eunisses Hernandez won City Council seats, despite a lack of support from Chicanosauruses who mocked their chances.
In January 2024, former City Councilmember Jose Huizar — once a rising star with aspirations for higher office — was sentenced to 13 years in prison after pleading guilty to corruption charges. In the fall of that year, Eastside Assembly and City Council seats held by Latinos for decades went to Filipina Americans Jessica Caloza and Ysabel Jurado. Meanwhile, former Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa’s campaign for governor sputtered out with just 1% of the vote.
In the race to succeed Nury Martinez, who resigned from the City Council after the audio leak, Padilla won with backing from the Valley Latino political machine.
Marco Santana lost to Padilla in the primary. despite an endorsement from Raman, and supported Raman’s mayoral campaign.
“The mayor ran on a very institutional playbook of getting a bunch of Latino politicians together so they could tell Latinos how to vote,” said Santana, 36. “That doesn’t work anymore. Latinos want deeds.”
Instead, outdated ideas were all Bass had.
It started with her choice of chief campaign strategist: Julie Chavez Rodriguez, who was campaign manager for President Biden’s disastrous 2024 reelection bid and then Kamala Harris’ failed attempt to pick up the pieces. I quickly tuned out the one time Chavez Rodriguez described her vision for Latino outreach, which would have been revolutionary in L.A. two generations ago.
While Bass’ campaign mounted a vigorous media outreach effort in English and Spanish, her own attempts to court Latino voters kept backfiring. The crowd at the annual City Hall Mexican Independence Day celebration booed when Padilla, in a green outfit that matched Bass’, hailed the mayor as “good.”
At Homegirl Cafe in Chinatown the morning before the election, customers largely ignored Bass while swarming gubernatorial candidate Xavier Becerra. She stood next to Becerra at the restaurant, only to have him later clarify to reporters that he wasn’t endorsing anyone in the mayor’s race.
Michael Trujillo is a longtime political consultant who served as an unpaid advisor to a pro-Bass independent expenditure committee and has participated in the rise and struggles of the Eastside and San Fernando Valley machines.
“It’s going to take a long time” for L.A.’s Latino political establishment “to be reconstructed, and that’s ironic when you have Latinos in charge in Sacramento now,” he said. But he predicted that Raman would bear her former opponents no ill will, because “they’re going to give her a fair shot” — because what else can they do?
The Raman era will undoubtedly boost a new generation of Latino leaders. But establishments don’t fade away so easily — and insurgents don’t automatically shun them.
On Saturday, Raman attended a news conference to condemn the arrests of two people by federal immigration agents during an anti-ICE protest outside Adventist Health White Memorial Center. The mayor-elect shook the hands of state Sen. Maria Elena Durazo, SEIU California President David Huerta and Angelica Salas, executive director of the Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights of Los Angeles, all of whom endorsed Bass and recorded social media videos in support of the incumbent.
When it was Raman’s turn to speak, she led the crowd in chants of “ICE out of Boyle Heights” and praised Huerta, Durazo and Salas. Raman concluded by promising Angelenos in Spanish that she would “defend” immigrants.
And then L.A.’s Latino political establishment did the only thing they could: They applauded.