Bravo, democracy, up with the underdog

The Column: 06.30.25

I skipped the New York City primary last week because I assumed Cuomo had it in the bag with $30 million and a famous last name but no, the 33-year-old Muslim democratic socialist and his thousands of volunteers and his bold ideas and big smile captured the flag and everyone had to sit down and think again. This is the beauty of democracy, it’s an art and not a science, and sometimes it speaks clearly.

The cost of living is turning the city into a retirement home for the well-to-do with forests of skinny skyscrapers for billionaires and the folks who teach the kids and care for the sick and clean the streets and cook the meals can’t afford to live here and Zohran Mamdani promised rent controls, free child care, free buses, government-run groceries, and affordable housing, and to pay for it all by taxing the rich. Not taxing their pants off but taxing their jewelry and designer underwear.

Uncle Don called him a 100% communist lunatic but if giving some breaks to the working class is crazy then FDR was a lunatic too and with all the tax breaks Don is giving his wealthy friends in his Big Beautiful Bill, they can well afford to give their doorman and cleaning lady free child care and a hand with the rent.

Cities need to attract young dreamers of all stripes to keep the culture fresh and hopping, and living in the city is a crucial part of a dreamer’s education. Bob Dylan left Minnesota in 1961 and found a place in Greenwich Village, made friends, found cafés to play in, at a time when Andy Warhol was there, Paul Simon, S.J. Perelman, Edward Hopper, Paul Newman, Sam Shepard, Paul Goodman, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Joan Baez, writers actors, artists, new movements in theater and music — as Lanford Wilson said, “It’s a place where you can afford to fail. You can try things that you don’t know will work. If they don’t, you might find out why.”

John Hammond, a producer at Columbia Records, came downtown and heard Dylan and young Bob was off to the races. If he’d gone to live in a cabin in the woods, he likely never would’ve become the industrious genius he became, showing young artists that you can follow your own path and do very well for yourself if you keep your bad habits under control and if you love to work.

Now the average rent for a Village apartment is $5,600/month and there are more stockbrokers than songwriters. If there is an American bohemia these days, I don’t think it’s in New York City, which is too bad.

Anyway, I take Mamdani’s victory as a clear message to my generation — including Don and Mitch and Lindsey and Bernie — to go sit in the corner and suck on a lemon drop. Our time is up. Buy a comfortable pair of shoes and take a walk in the park and feed the pigeons. Take a nap. Clean out your closet and dispose of your unread books. Cut back on carbs. Hang out around twentysomethings and pretend to be dozing and listen to them.

Someone needs to tell you this, Don: you are on the wrong side of history. America was great back when you were filing your bankruptcies and it’s still great despite you and your gang of suck-ups and street hustlers and plastic siding salesmen. The Marines were great until you turned them into the L.A. School Patrol and the I.C.E. guys had worthwhile things to do before you sent them after the women cleaning motel rooms and men washing pots and pans.

You might like to put the country under military occupation, ban the Times, make Truth Social required reading, but it won’t work. Americans enjoy upset victories, the long shot coming from behind to beat the favorite. You made the government your own fiefdom and eliminated the words diversity and inclusivity from the language and the word equity can only mean “ownership value,” not “fairness.” You made the Justice Department your own and ignored the law, but you’re an old man and you’ve overstayed your welcome.

You were interesting for a while, a gambler in government who wasn’t afraid to be dumb in public, who embraced conflict of interest lovingly, but you’ve become just one more irritating noise, a neighbor with a leaf blower. Eight years of you is six too many. Zip it up, man. Go sit on your thumb. A 40-year-old woman president, the country would come alive.

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