Published Oct. 2, 2026at6:00am
I winced at the Manny Yekutiel story from the beginning. Maybe that was because I didn’t want to believe that the allegations against him were true.
After all, my own colleagues at The Standard, Joe Fitzgerald Rodriguez and Jonah Owen Lamb, were the ones who broke the dismaying story in June that Yekutiel, then a candidate for District 8 supervisor, had been accused of sexual assault. They did good, careful, methodical, and caring reporting that had an impact, to say the least.
Yekutiel, who denied that first accusation, ended his candidacy Thursday, hours after those same reporters detailed a second lurid account from a couple who also alleged that Yekutiel had groped them at a social event.
This time, Yekutiel neither confirmed nor denied the accusations, but he apologized for “any boundaries that I crossed” and withdrew from the race hours after losing the backing of his remaining supporters, most prominently Mayor Daniel Lurie.
My reticence to celebrate Yekutiel’s downfall is not because I lack empathy for his accusers. Anyone who feels violated deserves our compassion. Their aggrievement went unassuaged for years, and they came forward with considerable courage and little to gain. (The first accuser, Brad Joseph Chapin, had an affiliation with Yekutiel’s District 8 opponent and received considerable blowback for telling his story.)
The allegations clearly suggest that Yekutiel is a problematic vessel for the hopes and dreams of constituents he wanted to represent. His bowing out is likely for the best.
Still, I find myself saddened by the affair. The career of a promising civic leader is over, at least for now. Bad behavior I can neither relate to nor condone has brought him low.
But Manny — he is so well-liked and renowned that his first name usually suffices, so let’s switch to it — is someone who has dedicated much of his young adult life to doing good for others. His Civic Joy Fund, founded with Lurie in the mayor’s pre-politician days, literally brings joy to our community. It sponsors the sort of goofy, lovable activities that make San Francisco San Francisco: community cleanups, street parties, colorfully painted utility boxes, and more such productive zaniness.
Even Manny’s day job is a contribution to civility and dialogue. His cafe and event space on 16th and Valencia streets is devoted to building bridges by combining an old-fashioned salon with a modern public square — a place where citizens meet their leaders in a convivial setting. An evening at Manny’s left everyone feeling better informed and just a bit more engaged with the challenging city outside its doors, all the more so if the proprietor’s personal effervescence was part of the occasion.
Yekutiel’s Civic Joy Fund, founded with Daniel Lurie in the mayor’s pre-politician days, literally brings joy to the community.
There’s a lot I don’t know, and will never know, about the milieu in which Manny socialized. Has what is considered acceptable behavior among gay men in San Francisco shifted over the years? I don’t doubt it. Was Manny committed to making the city better, with both his charismatic convening capabilities and his far-out policy proposals? I don’t doubt that’s the case, too. He has embodied a vision for a better San Francisco, and his downfall dashes the dream of realizing it as an elected official.
Yet the people who’ve made allegations against Manny are clearly in pain. To them, Manny did not do enough to make amends. We all make mistakes. How we deal with them speaks to the people we are. Manny said Thursday he will take time to work on himself. I hope he does.
In a parallel universe, I see Manny owning up to his conduct, asking for forgiveness, promising to improve — and asking voters to elect him anyway. His argument might have been: I am not perfect, but I am remorseful. And I will be a damn good supervisor. It is an argument that could have worked, because people can be more than one thing simultaneously.
My mind wandered Thursday to the time of a much different political sex scandal, nearly three decades ago. I recently read the first column written by William Safire, the New York Times columnist whose biography I am writing, after the Bill Clinton–Monica Lewinsky scandal broke in 1998. “We should presume him innocent,” Safire wrote of Clinton, “not merely on high-minded judicial principle, but because it’s hard to conceive of this deft politician being so reckless as to carry on an 18-month affair with a White House intern a few years older than his daughter, and then to raise it to the level of Federal crime by suborning perjury.”
Clinton, of course, not only had sex with that woman; he lied about it. And the country learned that its leader could be a lecherous, power-abusing man and also a popular president commended for leading the country well. Clinton didn’t face voters again, having been reelected in 1996. But the 1998 midterm elections swung solidly for Democrats and were viewed as a vindication of Clinton. Like Donald Trump a generation later, he was impeached but not convicted. He enjoys a reputation today as a respected elder statesman.
Manny undoubtedly faces his own demons. He has spoken about being ostracized by his father for being gay. A Jew and a supporter of Israel, he has seen his Mission eatery repeatedly vandalized, with windows broken and antisemitic smears written on the walls.
None of that excuses the alleged groping of acquaintances who said they didn’t want to be touched.
It doesn’t stop me from being sad. For the downfall of someone who wanted to serve the public. For members of our community who are hurting. And for a city that desperately aches for leadership, and whose leaders too often let them down.