When Zohran Mamdani won the mayoral race in New York City, Muslim communities across the boroughs erupted in joy. Families gathered around their televisions, children waved miniature city flags, and WhatsApp groups exploded with congratulatory emojis and jubilant messages.
“Finally, one of us!” wrote an uncle from Jackson Heights, his message quickly followed by celebratory stickers of crescent moons and confetti. For one brief night, it felt as if history itself had turned a page — a Muslim mayor for the greatest city in the world.
But just two days later, that same uncle sent another message to the group chat: “Brothers… did you know he’s a communist?” The mood shifted faster than the call to prayer. Screenshots of Mamdani’s old posts began circulating, quotes about “abolishing capitalist systems” and “reimagining ownership.”
Within hours, group chats once filled with celebration now echoed with confusion, disbelief, and a healthy amount of regret. Someone wrote, “Wait, he said we should ‘decolonize property.’ What does that mean for my two-bedroom in Queens?” Another replied, “I think it means your tenants are about to become co-owners.”
At mosques across the city, imams found themselves holding unexpected Q&A sessions after Friday prayers. “Is socialism halal?” one congregant asked nervously. “What if it’s democratic socialism?” another followed.
A third simply sighed and said, “We thought he’d fix the subway, not the means of production.” For the first time in memory, the prayer lines seemed less worried about rent prices and more concerned about dialectical materialism.
The growing panic led to the formation of a grassroots organization calling itself the “Association for Post-Election Repentance.” Meeting in the backroom of a halal grocery store in Astoria, its members drafted what they termed a “Vote Return Policy.”
The document politely requested that the city allow Muslim voters to withdraw their ballots and, if possible, exchange them for someone “less ideological and more practical.” One attendee suggested offering the votes back to Eric Adams “just for stability.” Another proposed donating them to charity “to cleanse the intention.”
City officials were initially baffled by the movement. One spokesperson said, “We’re receiving dozens of letters written on mosque stationery, asking if they can cancel a vote under ‘buyer’s remorse.’ Unfortunately, democracy doesn’t work like Amazon Prime.” The statement did little to ease tensions. A frustrated uncle from Flushing reportedly tried logging into the NYC election portal and typing “return vote” into the search bar, only to call his nephew afterward complaining, “There’s no refund button!”
Meanwhile, social media erupted in debate. When Mamdani tweeted, “We must dismantle systems of oppression and redistribute power,” one follower replied, “I thought you meant fix housing.
Why does this sound like revolution?” Others begged him in the comments to clarify whether he still believed in private business. One halal cart owner tweeted, “I voted for better licensing laws, not Lenin.” His post quickly went viral under the hashtag #HalalNotHegel.
Even among the faithful, doubt spread fast. “We thought he’d bring representation, not redistribution,” said one imam in Brooklyn, shaking his head. “When he said he’d make the city more equal, I didn’t think he meant literally.” Rumors soon circulated that Mamdani planned to introduce “gender-inclusive wudu areas” in public mosques, sparking a wave of alarm and meme-making. “We wanted a mayor who prays,” said one exasperated auntie, “not one who experiments with pronouns.”
Inside community circles, a new phrase began to trend: “What have we done?” It appeared on posters, prayer bulletins, and even car bumpers outside restaurants in Jackson Heights. One café owner hung a sign reading, “Closed for reflection — reconsidering life choices and political affiliations.” Others joked about holding a communal repentance dinner, complete with humble lentil soup and a PowerPoint presentation titled “How Not to Get Catfished by a Politician.”
The halal cart vendors, once some of Mamdani’s loudest supporters, began distancing themselves. “He said he was for the working class,” said Youssef, who runs a cart near Times Square.
“But now he’s talking about abolishing classes altogether. That’s bad for business, bro.” A group of vendors even announced a “Symbolic Hunger Strike,” explaining that they weren’t actually hungry, just “protesting ideological indigestion.”
Despite the mounting panic, Mamdani remained calm and composed. In an interview, he smiled serenely and said, “I understand the concerns. But socialism is just zakat with better PR.” The remark did not land well. Within hours, community elders were debating whether it was blasphemous or just tone-deaf. “Zakat is about charity, not confiscation,” muttered one man, “and certainly not turning my corner store into a cooperative.”
By the end of the week, mosque bulletin boards were plastered with new event flyers: “Emergency Seminar: How to Spiritually Undo a Vote.” Attendees were promised guidance, snacks, and a brief lecture on the perils of political enthusiasm. One imam tried to inject humor into the situation. “At least we’re learning civic engagement,” he said with a smile. “Next time, we’ll just Google before we vote.” The laughter was nervous but genuine.
Still, not everyone was ready to give up hope. Some argued that maybe the community was overreacting, that Mamdani’s policies wouldn’t be as radical as they sounded. Others disagreed, pointing out that he had already floated the idea of renaming Gracie Mansion to “People’s Housing Unit Number One.” “I knew it,” one uncle muttered. “Next thing you know, he’ll replace the Statue of Liberty with a statue of Karl Marx holding a falafel.”
Even Mamdani’s most devoted campaign volunteers began quietly distancing themselves. “He said he’d make the city fairer,” said a former supporter from Queens. “I didn’t realize he meant by redistributing my tips.” Another added, “We thought he’d give Muslims a voice. Turns out, he gave us a manifesto.”
And yet, amid all the confusion and regret, there was something strangely unifying about the collective panic. Families debated politics over chai, neighbors swapped stories of mistaken idealism, and entire prayer groups discovered they could laugh through their remorse. One elderly man, sipping tea outside a mosque, summed it up best. “We were so excited to make history,” he said. “We just didn’t realize history would make us question our life choices.”
In the end, no one knows whether the “Vote Return Policy” will gain any traction, or if it will simply become another punchline in New York’s long tradition of political chaos. But one thing is certain: next election season, Muslim voters will be reading every manifesto twice — and checking for the words “woke,” “revolution,” or “collective ownership” before celebrating with samosas again.
