CONGRATULATIONS to Zohran Mamdani on a victory that has animated timelines from Queens to the wider Muslim World. His win in the New York mayoral election has become a moment of celebration across Muslim social media. And yet, as so often happens, the conversation has turned less toward public service and more toward religious identity.
Open any social platform, and the debate emerges instantly — not about Mamdani’s work on affordable housing, public transit, or healthcare, but about his religion. We seem to have an extraordinary talent for transforming civic achievement into theological symbolism.
Muslims worldwide are delighted to see a Muslim voice gain visibility in American politics. Among ShiÊ¿a communities, the celebration has been particularly warm: screenshots, clips from Muharram gatherings, and the now-famous quote in which Mamdani identifies himself as a “[Shia] Ithna-Asheri.”
Much of this celebration has been sincere — and often very funny. On Instagram, an Iranian user joked that while the White House hasn’t become a Husseiniyeh, “New York seems to have turned into one.”
At the same time, others revived the tired refrain: “He is a ShiÊ¿a, not a Muslim.” One could almost hear history sigh. Yet the replies and counter-memes that followed were sharp and often hilarious. For once, satire outpaced sectarianism.
Even among Middle Eastern expatriates — who often pride themselves on having transcended such divides — the religious framing persisted. For example, Iran International English reported: “New York mayor-elect Zohran Mamdani’s aunt was a supporter of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the founder of the Islamic Republic …”
The implication was clear: if one cannot fault the man, perhaps one can fault the family.
Western political reporting, however, has mostly focused on Mamdani’s work — advocacy for affordable housing, tenants’ rights, public transit, workers’ dignity, and his vocal support for Palestinians. Yes, his Muslim identity has been noted — the presence of a Muslim mayor is newsworthy.
Mamdani is a 34-year-old immigrant and a son of immigrants. He built support by speaking directly to people — on doorsteps, in stairwells, along sidewalks, and inside cafés.
He did not campaign through religious appeal but through shared economic realities: rent, childcare, commuting, and the cost of living. He did not present himself as someone set apart; he presented himself as someone who understands.
That is the achievement.
Yet many observers — especially those watching from afar — rush past all of this to ask: “But what kind of Muslim is he?”
As though governance depends on doctrinal classification. As though identity must always overshadow service.
Mamdani himself has shown a far broader political imagination. He has worked alongside Muslims and Jews, Christians and atheists, people of faith and people of none. His stance on Palestine is clear and principled — yet it has not prevented constructive engagement with Jewish communities.
This is not hidden. It is simply mature politics.
While Mamdani works to dissolve walls, many rush to rebuild them.
Religion, at its best, is a private affair between a soul and its Creator. The first word revealed to the Prophet Muhammad was Iqra — Read. Not Argue. Not Exclude. Not Define others. It was an invitation to learn, reflect, and expand. Yet here we are again, performing the old theatre of suspicion and triumph.
Perhaps the lesson is simple:
We should recognise that someone rose by listening, understanding, and caring.
And yes — a multicultural, multilingual, Indian-American, and indeed Muslim figure has now emerged on the horizon of US politics.
So yes — Salam to Mamdani.
May his politics remain generous.
May his critics remain humorous.
And may we learn, someday, to applaud achievement before counting prayer beads.
Mubarak to Mamdani.
And Mubarak to us, if we choose to learn something from this.
