As we await full disclosure of the prosecutorial bungling that led to the January 4 slaying of Monica Thomas-Harris in Los Angeles by her estranged husband, we have this to mull: the deep—and largely ignored-- tensions between law-and-order approach to domestic violence and the African American community.

I did not know Monica Thomas-Harris and her family is reluctant to discuss the circumstances that led to her death. But with the help of court records and news accounts, I can imagine her struggling to balance her safety and the safety of her children with larger concerns about the mistreatment of blacks within the criminal justice system.

Monica Thomas married Curtis Bernard “Keno” Harris in June of 2001. News reports indicate that the wedding occurred while Harris was incarcerated on narcotics charges--he’d also spent time in prison for unlawful weapons possession – his nuptial circumstances a grim reminder that prison has become the de facto third place for many black men (although blacks account for only 12 percent of the U.S. population, 44 percent of all prisoners in the United States are black, the vast majority of them male, according to the Department of Justice, Bureau of Justice Statistics).

The couple had a son together and raised him with Thomas-Harris’ daughter from an earlier relationship. But the marriage quickly soured, and in October of 2003 they separated. In 2005, after Curtis Harris attempted to break into his estranged wife’s home, she got a restraining order issued against him. In December of that year she filed for divorce.

What happened in the following months is unclear. News accounts describe Monica Thomas-Harris as a churchgoer. Perhaps she sought help there. Perhaps she encountered community denial. “Suggestions that battered victims ‘pray about” the violence …or accept God’s testing are examples of spritualizing intimate partner violence,” according to a study conducted in 2002 by the Institute on Domestic Violence in the African American Community, which also cites the “internalization of negative racial images” as a factor in violence both inside and outside the home.

In November of 2007, after Thomas-Harris had moved to a new home and the restraining order had lapsed, Curtis Harris tracked her down. He forcibly took her to a motel room, where he handcuffed and raped her before she escaped.

Thomas-Harris did not report her abduction and assault.

Maybe she was reluctant to send the father of her child back to prison.

Maybe she shared the resentment expressed by participants of the 2002 study, who called domestic violence a “ ‘white feminist’ issue where the needs of European Americans were (and are) elevated above those of African Americans, and women’s issues eclipsed those of men.”

Perhaps she recalled the story of Nicole Brown Simpson, the biggest domestic violence case in modern history. Simpson’s death – as well as her bruises and black eyes -- provided media fodder for months, leaving some blacks resentful of the attention paid to this white woman’s death while hundreds of deaths of black women by their African American partners went unnoticed.

Maybe she was afraid.

The next day, while Monica Thomas-Harris was at her job at a pet food manufacturing plant in Industry, Curtis Harris came after her. He forced her into his car, bound her with duct tape and threatened her with a stun gun.

This time she decided to turn him in. Monica Thomas-Harris reported both incidents to the police. Curtis Harris was jailed and sentenced to 16 months in prison.

Then the unthinkable happened.

A few days before Christmas, against the recommendation of his probation officer, who deemed him “unsuitable for release,” a judge agreed to let Harris, 34, out for a month to ensure his mortgage was paid and that his aging mother who lived with him was cared for.

It is standard practice for the courts to notify victims of domestic abuse before their batterer is released.

No one told Thomas-Harris, 37, that he was free.

When she did find out, most likely through a mutual acquaintance, she called Harris’ attorney. He never called her back. Then she went to the courthouse, in a state described by witnesses as physical distress. She reportedly talked with prosecutors about whether she needed a safety plan and should stay at a shelter.

The specific content of that conversation has not been revealed. Thomas-Harris returned to her home, her children and her community.

An entry posted by “family” on Jill Leovy’s Los Angeles Times LA County homicide blog after Thomas-Harris’ death offers some insight into the complicated response she may have encountered: “Curtis was my cousin and he was a mellow and loving person.[break] I do not agree with the way he handled the situation. This has torn our family apart. [break] The judge should not have let Curtis out of jail. Not because he was a kidnapping monster, only because he would have served those few months for the gun charge and got out. Maybe then he would have calmed down about the way he got there in the first place and been able to make a better decision.”

On the Thursday after New Year’s, Thomas-Harris left her Upland home and headed for work. A co-worker told reporters that she had called in to say that she had overslept. She never showed up.

When Monica Thomas-Harris’ 15-year-old daughter called her at about 5 p.m., the teen heard Harris yelling in the background. Thomas-Harris reassured her daughter, telling the child that she was fine before the line went dead. All subsequent calls went straight to voicemail.

Two days later, some two weeks after Harris’ release, he and Thomas-Harris were found in a motel room in Whittier, shot to death in an apparent murder-suicide.

Monica Thomas-Harris made the brave and difficult choice to report her abuser but the system that was supposed to protect her failed.

The outrage at the court’s handling of the case is clearly justified.

But rather than the end of the matter, that should be the starting point.

Monica Thomas-Harris will never become a household name. Unlike Donda West, the mother of hip-hop artist Kanye West whose death after plastic surgery has bounced along in the media for months, Thomas-Harris’ story doesn’t have the celebrity “legs” to surmount the considerable barriers of race and class.

But anger and grief over her death could be channeled into action, into the creation of an anti-domestic violence coalition by and for African Americans. For those who decry the balkanization such a body suggests, proponents need only say “Monica Thomas-Harris” and get back to work.