At a time when American institutions superficially celebrate diversity, Mamdani’s story exposes the narrow boundaries of what kind of difference is truly welcome. His landslide victory in the primary in New York, backed by a broad, working-class, multiracial coalition in Queens, should have been hailed as a triumph of democratic pluralism. Instead, it triggered a wave of smear campaigns, Islamophobic insinuations and racially coded attacks from right-wing forces and centrist liberals alike.
Why? Because Mamdani represents a kind of politics that threatens the American establishment. The son of Ugandan academic Mahmood Mamdani and Indian filmmaker Mira Nair, Zohran brings to public life a deeply rooted understanding of empire, colonialism and resistance. He’s not merely a brown face in the room — he’s a voice unafraid to challenge the very foundations of US power.
From Palestine to policing, from capitalism to casteism, he says out loud what others fear to whisper. He is part of a growing movement of diasporic leaders who bring the history of struggle, both personal and inherited, into spaces that have long excluded them. And for the first time, many in America are seeing a public official who wears his cultural and political commitments without apology.
That courage has made him a target. The ugliest attack came in the form of a New York Times article accusing Mamdani of misrepresenting his race on a college application as a teenager. The evidence? Hacked documents obtained by a white nationalist — a dubious and deeply unethical basis for any serious journalism. But the article’s subtext was unmistakable: people like Mamdani don’t belong unless they play by the rules, and those rules are written by power. His very presence — and refusal to conform – provokes discomfort in spaces that pride themselves on superficial tolerance.
The backlash was immediate. Donald Trump branded him a communist and demanded his deportation. Fox News hosts called him anti-American. Mayor Eric Adams seized the moment to question Mamdani’s integrity. AI-generated smear campaigns flooded social media. Even the image of him eating biryani was weaponised, mocked as a sign of foreignness. It’s no coincidence that the attacks intensified just as Mamdani’s political profile began to rise, with growing speculation around a possible future mayoral run.
This is a pattern that extends well beyond Mamdani. Figures like Ilhan Omar, Rashida Tlaib and Summer Lee are tolerated until they critique Zionism or American militarism – then the knives come out. It’s a dynamic that resonates far beyond the United States. In Pakistan, India and across the postcolonial world, we know what it means to be told that inclusion is conditional, that your welcome depends on your silence. From student leaders silenced on campuses to politicians labeled anti-national for criticising militarism, the mechanisms of suppression are disturbingly familiar.
But Mamdani refuses to be silent. And it is that refusal – delivered with empathy, eloquence and ideological clarity — that truly unsettles his opponents. He embodies the promise of a more just, inclusive and globally aware politics — one that recognises the links between racism, capitalism, imperialism and state violence. And he does so while staying rooted in the aesthetics, rituals and memories of his cultural upbringing.
His biryani moment is not just a cultural vignette; it’s a declaration of intent. It speaks to a politics that is proud of its lineage, unapologetic in its beliefs and uninterested in appeasing power. It reminds us that cultural expression can be resistance, and that authenticity is itself a political act. In a world where minority politicians are often pressured to shed aspects of their identity to gain acceptance, Mamdani chose to embrace his fully — and that, perhaps more than anything, is what makes him dangerous to the establishment.
As Pakistan continues its own debates about democracy, dissent and who gets to speak, Mamdani’s story offers an urgent reminder: the West is not immune to the authoritarian impulse, to the urge to silence those who challenge dominant narratives. We must not be fooled by surface-level inclusion that masks deeper exclusions. Democracy without dissent is merely a performance — and increasingly, it is one the West struggles to maintain.
From Karachi to Queens, the lesson is the same: when the children of the colonised rise — not just to assimilate, but to agitate — they will be smeared, surveilled and silenced. But they will also spark something bigger. Because truth is contagious. And biryani, after all, is best shared — with neighbours, with comrades, with movements.
Let them fear the biryani. Let them fear the voice. We’ve fed revolutions on less.