This isn’t a story of a fallout or misunderstanding.
There was no relationship, no friendship, not even a conversation of substance.
Madeline Lee followed me on Facebook. That was the extent of our contact. Everything that followed came from her.
Uninvited. Unreciprocated. Unhinged.
What began as a passive follow turned into obsessive surveillance, false allegations, and a restraining order built on lies.
She added every person close to me that she could find, including my childhood friends, my husband, even his college friends.
She gave my phone number out to strangers and told them I was dangerous.
She told a Maricopa judge that she had people harass and send me death because I deserve it.
She gave Ramsey County Second Judicial District a fake address pulled from Google. Her friends at the courthouse pushed the order through: unserved, unsigned and legally void. I was never served. I never knew the order existed until long after it had been stamped and filed.
And by then, it was already online: circulating in group chats, weaponized in public, framed as “proof” to support a defamation campaign she orchestrated herself.
Madeline Lee isn’t just a liar. She’s a pattern. She’s run this play before, under nearly a dozen aliases including but not limited to: Madeline Machla Lee, Leelee Cocodrie, Lee Crocos, Pojo Kutty, Pojo Rahab, Pojo Kutty HaZonah, Sakhav Pojo, Sakhavu HaZonah Pojo.
Each name comes with a new backstory, a new platform, a new wave of damage. She claims to be a survivor, an educator, an advocate, but in practice, she uses that language as cover for control.
She doesn’t report harm. She manufactures it. Then she monetizes it by begging for mutual aid to pay for her legal mistakes.
She lied to the court to get a restraining order. She lied online to justify it. And when the facts started catching up, she deleted posts, edited timelines, and leaned harder into the role of the persecuted activist. Meanwhile, I faced threats, coordinated harassment, digital stalking, and real-world fallout: all for ignoring a stranger who didn’t like being ignored.
She claims to speak Tamil, Hindi, Japanese, and Malayalam. That’s not diversity, it’s strategy. She seeks out men who speak them too, inserts herself into cultural and linguistic spaces, and spins a narrative tailored to each audience. Then she wipes the slate and starts again. But this time, the evidence didn’t disappear. Her words. Her usernames. Her history. It’s all intact.
This isn’t petty. It’s precise. It’s provable. It’s about a person who uses identity politics as a mask, weaponizes institutions for personal vendettas, and knows exactly how to spin sympathy into silence. She picked the wrong target. She left a trail. And now the record speaks for itself.