LOS ANGELES — I still think about Muhammad Ali all the time.
Not just when I pass by his star on the wall at the Dolby Theatre, the only one in Hollywood that was never meant to be stepped on. Not just when I see that familiar photo of him standing over Sonny Liston, frozen in time like a mythological god.
I think about him in moments like this.
When the world feels unsettled. When headlines out of Iran hit a little closer to home. When family texts come in more frequently, when the distance between Los Angeles and Tehran somehow feels shorter and heavier at the same time while watching the news.
And especially today with Nowruz, the Persian New Year.
Every year, as we say Nowruz Mobarak (Happy New Year) and gather around the Haft-Seen, I find myself thinking about Ali, not just as the greatest boxer of all time, but as something more enduring. Something bigger than sports, bigger than America, bigger than any single moment.
He was ours.
Not in the way Louisville claimed him. Not in the way America celebrated him. But in the way millions across the Muslim world — from Iran to Pakistan to Egypt — saw a piece of themselves in him.
Recently, I spoke with his wife, Lonnie Ali, and we talked about Iran, the Middle East and the way Ali was embraced there.
“Well, I have to tell you, Muhammad is celebrated, almost revered in the Middle East,” she told me. “I don't know where you can go where he isn't, to be honest with you. … In the Middle East, they claim him as their own, and rightfully so. They should.”
That always felt true to me growing up.
Ali wasn’t just America’s champion. He was ours too.
His name alone — Muhammad Ali — made him feel like family. My father’s name is Ali. My uncle’s name is Muhammad. In homes and shops across Iran and the Middle East, his photo hung on the walls like he was one of our own.
“In Iran, Muhammad is more than revered,” Lonnie told me. “You can say whatever you want to say about Iran, but Muhammad was one of the few people who could go in there and they treated him like a prophet. They honestly did. He had Parkinson's disease and he traveled to Iran without me and would come back looking better than when he went. That's the only place I can say that about, honestly. They took such good care of him and treated him so well. I think people in the Middle East appreciate him not only for his religious beliefs and what he stood for but for his convictions.”
But what stood out most in my conversation with Lonnie wasn’t just how loved he was; it was what guided him.
“Faith ruled Muhammad. It was the center of who he was,” she told me. “Everything grew from faith with Muhammad, and his faith was strong and unshakable. He had a faith in God that he knew that he was here for a reason.”
That faith shaped everything. How he saw the world, how he treated people and how he used his platform.
“He felt whatever influence he had; he needed to use it for good,” Lonnie said. “He was very pro-peace… he would hope that his words would find a home.”
And they did.
Not because he forced them on anyone, but because of how he lived.
“When he came to meet somebody, he didn’t come with an agenda,” she said. “He came with an open heart… Wherever he landed, he was home. Those were his brothers and sisters.”
That idea feels especially powerful during Nowruz, a time centered on renewal, hope and the belief that better days are ahead.
Ali lived that belief.
And Lonnie is making sure that part of his legacy, the part rooted in compassion, doesn’t fade.
As the United States honored Ali with a Forever Stamp on what would have been his 84th birthday, the Muhammad Ali Center announced a major expansion of the Muhammad Ali Index, a research-and-action platform designed to measure and strengthen compassion in everyday life. What began as a 12-city pilot in the United States is growing to 20 cities in 2026, with Sharjah, United Arab Emirates, becoming its first global partner through a multi-year collaboration with the American University of Sharjah.
Together, those efforts send a clear message: Muhammad Ali’s compassion isn’t just remembered — it’s being carried forward.
“Muhammad believed that how we treat one another matters, especially when it’s hard,” Lonnie said. “Compassion wasn’t something he spoke about in theory; it was how he lived… Through the Muhammad Ali Index, we’re carrying his legacy forward in a way that helps people live compassion, not just admire it, in their daily lives.”
That message feels even more urgent now.
At a time when conversations about Iran and the Middle East are often reduced to politics and conflict, Ali’s life offers a different lens. One rooted in faith, dignity and humanity.
Faith wasn’t just something he spoke about. It was something you felt around him.
“It’s what carried him through life. It’s what centered him,” Lonnie told me. “He never questioned any challenge… because he knew it was for a reason.”
Maybe that’s why I still think about him so often.
Because in moments like this, during Nowruz and during uncertain times, Ali remains a reminder of something simple but profound.
That faith can ground you. That peace is worth striving for. And that one person, standing firmly in who they are, can make the world feel a little smaller, and a lot more human.
The world needed Muhammad Ali when he was alive.
It feels like we need him even more now.