In the center of Los Angeles, where hip-hop rhythms fill the streets and neighborhood loyalty is deep-seated, Eugene “Big U” Henley has long been a bigger-than-life presence. A legendary associate of the deceased rapper Nipsey Hussle and operator of an anti-gang nonprofit, Henley was a testament to redemption—a man who translated street cred into community organizing.
But today, a massive federal case has painted him in a less flattering light, accusing him of operating a criminal syndicate known as the “Big U Enterprise.” With a 43-count indictment that charges him with everything from extortion to murder, Henley’s tale has taken a surreal turn: he is allegedly counting on former President Donald Trump, to whom he refers to dismissively as “the orange man,” to get him off the hook.
As Henley sits in a federal detention center, denied bail and awaiting trial, his case is sending shockwaves through the hip-hop world and beyond. It’s a saga of power, betrayal, and ambition, with threads connecting the streets of South Central to the NFL and even the White House. Here’s how it all unfolded—and what it means for a man who claims he’s being targeted for trying to do good.
Henley also positioned himself as a community leader. Through his nonprofit, Developing Options, he worked to steer youth away from gangs, securing city grants and public praise. His son, Daiyan Henley, a linebacker for the Los Angeles Chargers, added a layer of all-American pride to the family name. To many, Big U was proof that a man could rise above his past.
But federal prosecutors tell a different story. They allege Henley never left the streets behind, instead using his charisma and connections to build a criminal network that operated like a mafia, with the Rollin’ 60s as its muscle.
The indictment paints Henley as a kingpin who exploited his reputation to intimidate and manipulate. One chilling example: prosecutors say he orchestrated Williams’ murder to send a message, using his influence to silence dissent. Audio and video recordings, cited in court, allegedly capture Henley directing extortion schemes, adding weight to the government’s case.
If the charges weren’t headline-grabbing enough, Henley’s alleged strategy to dodge them has raised eyebrows. While in custody, he reportedly boasted that he could “manipulate the President of the United States” to intervene, referring to former President Donald Trump as “the orange man.” According to U.S. Attorney Bilal A. Essayli, Henley believed he could leverage politically connected associates—some of whom may have been his extortion victims—to persuade Trump to drop the charges.
The claim isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds. In 2020, Trump pardoned rapper Lil Wayne on gun possession charges, a move seen as a nod to his hip-hop fanbase. Henley, it seems, hoped to tap into similar dynamics, banking on Trump’s penchant for high-profile gestures. But prosecutors see it differently, arguing Henley’s comments show a dangerous willingness to obstruct justice.
The “orange man” remark, delivered with a mix of bravado and derision, has become a focal point of the case, underscoring the bizarre intersection of street politics, celebrity culture, and political power. Whether Henley genuinely believed Trump would step in—or was simply posturing—remains unclear. What is clear is that the claim didn’t help his case.
On April 22, 2025, U.S. Magistrate Judge A. Joel Richlin gave a setback to Henley’s quest for freedom. Citing public safety and flight risk, the judge ordered him to be held in custody leading to his later this year scheduled trial.
“There is no condition or set of conditions that would reasonably ensure the presence at later proceedings by Mr. Henley or community safety,”
Richlin stated, referring to Henley’s alleged violent and witness intimidation past.
Prosecutors painted a damning picture. They noted that Henley turned off his phones and fled his home before his arrest, suggesting he’d do the same if released. They also highlighted his role in the Williams murder and a pattern of threatening witnesses, backed by incriminating recordings.
“This is a man who believes he’s untouchable,”
one prosecutor argued.
Henley’s attorney, Arturo Hernandez, pushed back, proposing home confinement with electronic monitoring and offering millions in family property as collateral. Hernandez portrayed Henley as a reformed figure, emphasizing his nonprofit work and community ties. But the judge wasn’t swayed, citing the “weight of evidence” and Henley’s alleged attempts to obstruct justice.
Henley hasn’t stayed silent. In a social media video posted before his detention, he denied the charges, framing himself as a victim of systemic bias.
“I ain’t been nothing but a help to our community,”
he said.
“This the price of being Black and trying to help somebody.”
The video resonated with supporters who see Henley as a misunderstood figure targeted for his influence.
On social media platforms like X, opinions are split. Some users hail Henley as a hero who uplifted South Central; others call him a hypocrite who betrayed his own mission.
“Big U was supposed to be about stopping gang violence, not running it,”
one post read. Another countered,
“The feds always go after Black leaders who make a difference.”
The case also raises questions about the blurred lines between street credibility and criminality in hip-hop. Henley’s story echoes other high-profile RICO cases, like those against Young Thug and Diddy, where fame and allegations of organized crime collide. For many, it’s a reminder of the tightrope public figures walk in communities scarred by systemic inequality.
As Henley’s trial looms, the stakes couldn’t be higher. A conviction on the RICO charges could land him in prison for decades, effectively ending his influence in Los Angeles and beyond. The allegations of embezzlement from Developing Options also threaten to tarnish his legacy as a community advocate, raising questions about accountability in nonprofit work.
The Trump angle, while sensational, is unlikely to bear fruit. Legal experts say the former president has no authority to intervene in an ongoing federal case, and Henley’s boasts may only deepen the court’s skepticism. Still, the claim highlights the enduring allure of political connections in high-stakes legal battles.
