It started as a night of celebration. Across Queens and Brooklyn, families were glued to their TVs, watching Zohran Mamdani—the first Muslim ever elected mayor of New York City—deliver his victory speech.
The cheers were loud, the samosas were hot, and the WhatsApp groups were on fire with messages like “Alhamdulillah! Finally, one of us!” For a brief moment, Muslim New Yorkers felt a rare sense of unity and pride, believing they had finally found someone who understood their struggles and shared their values.
But forty-eight hours later, those same WhatsApp groups were filled with question marks and panic. “Bro… what’s a democratic socialist?” one message read. “Wait, he said what about capitalism?” another replied. Screenshots of Mamdani’s old tweets started circulating—something about “dismantling capitalist structures” and “liberation through collective ownership.”
Within hours, excitement had turned to confusion, then regret. One man from Astoria summed it up in one sentence: “We thought he meant zakat, not Marxism.”
In mosques across the city, Friday prayers became impromptu therapy sessions. Imams were cornered by congregants whispering in horror, “Is it haram to vote for someone who wants to abolish private property?”
Others were just bewildered. “He said he wants to decolonize the economy,” said Ahmed from Flushing. “Does that mean he’s coming for my gas station?” Panic spread faster than free chai at an Eid gathering. Families huddled around dinner tables rewatching Mamdani’s campaign speeches, searching for clues they had missed.
Soon, a group of elders in Jackson Heights formed an emergency committee called “Concerned Believers for Basic Capitalism.” They gathered in the basement of a halal grocery store to discuss what went wrong. Their leader, Saeed Ahmed, looked around the room and sighed deeply. “We just wanted someone who’d fix the potholes and stop the NYPD from towing cars near the mosque. We didn’t realize we were electing the Desi version of Che Guevara.” The group began drafting a petition for what they called a “Vote Return Policy,” requesting the city allow them to take back their ballots “in the interest of spiritual and economic safety.”
City Hall, apparently unprepared for this level of regret, issued a polite but firm statement explaining that democracy doesn’t come with a refund option. That didn’t stop dozens of aunties from calling the Board of Elections hotline demanding to “speak to the manager.” Others attempted to log onto the city website to “unvote” Mamdani, only to be told by their kids that “this isn’t Amazon.”
Disillusionment turned to dismay when Mamdani gave his first press conference as mayor-elect. “We must build a city that transcends property ownership,” he declared. Across living rooms, tea cups froze midair. “Transcend property ownership?” muttered Uncle Farooq. “He’s talking about my house, isn’t he?” By that evening, memes had flooded social media showing Mamdani waving a red flag with the caption: “From Rent Control to Soul Control.”
Even those who had proudly volunteered for his campaign were starting to panic. “He told us he’d fight for equality,” said one young canvasser from Brooklyn. “I didn’t know he meant I’d be equal with my landlord.” Another confessed, “He said ‘inclusive city,’ and we thought that meant halal food in schools, not gender-neutral wudu areas.”
When a leaked memo from one of his advisors suggested exploring “inclusive spaces” for ablution areas, community WhatsApp groups went into meltdown. One forwarded message read: “Next he’ll make Eid prayers co-ed. Wake up, brothers!”
Meanwhile, the city’s halal cart vendors—many of whom had been Mamdani’s earliest supporters—felt utterly betrayed. “He said he’d fight for the working class,” said Abdul Rahman, serving chicken over rice near Times Square. “Now he’s saying we shouldn’t have classes at all. What does that even mean? I just want to sell my food, not join a commune.” The vendors have since organized an informal protest group called “Halal, Not Hegel,” demanding that Mamdani “keep his ideology away from the gyro.”
In the Bronx, one imam tried to calm his congregation, reminding them that “at least he’s still Muslim.” But the reassurance didn’t land. “A Muslim, yes,” replied one elderly man, “but a Muslim who quotes Lenin during Eid khutbahs? No thank you.” As another attendee whispered, “We wanted a man of faith, not a manifesto.”
Social media only deepened the confusion. When Mamdani tweeted, “Socialism is just zakat on a municipal level,” the post received twelve thousand likes and forty-seven thousand angry face emojis. “Zakat doesn’t involve the city confiscating my rental property,” commented one disgruntled follower. Another wrote, “Bro, we didn’t elect Karl Marx Khan.”
By the end of the week, mosques across New York began hosting community discussions titled “What Have We Done?” Flyers promised “collective repentance” and “emotional recovery after electoral trauma.”
Some even offered refreshments “sponsored by small business owners before they are nationalized.” Imams tried to reassure worshippers that voting mistakes are forgivable, but one admitted privately, “Even I didn’t see this coming. He said he wanted to fight inequality, not install a people’s council at City Hall.”
Mamdani, for his part, seemed entirely unfazed by the uproar. When asked about the wave of regret among Muslim voters, he smiled calmly and said, “They’ll come around once they see the benefits of collective ownership.” He then announced plans to rename Gracie Mansion to “People’s Housing Unit Number One.” His press secretary insisted it was “just symbolic,” though few were reassured.
As one Queens resident put it, “We thought he’d build mosques, not collectives.” Another sighed, staring at her absentee ballot from the recycling bin. “We waited our whole lives to see a Muslim mayor,” she said softly. “We just didn’t think he’d be this kind of Muslim.”
The city remains divided, with some trying to convince themselves it’s all exaggerated and others actively exploring spiritual loopholes for “undoing votes made in ignorance.” But one sentiment seems to unite them all: confusion mixed with comic disbelief. “We thought we were voting for someone who’d give Muslims a voice,” said Ahmed from Jackson Heights. “Turns out, he gave us a revolution. And now we can’t even return it for store credit.”