This is The Parlour, a place for intimate conversation, a real-time archive, a shared diary passed between a rotating cast of queer characters every week in an attempt to capture a kaleidoscopic view of what it’s like to be a queer person right here, right now.
I stopped believing in electoral politics—at least enough to stop working in the field—after campaigning for a North Carolina State Senate candidate in 2020 who ultimately lost his race after his affair was exposed. A month and change before Election Day, texts between Cal Cunningham and a team member on his campaign—a consenting adult—were leaked, and the words “You are historically sexy” were burned into my brain for what feels like will be the rest of my life.
Cunningham was the Democrats’ true shot at having a pro-choice North Carolina State Senator and finally unseating evil Thom Tillis. If lifelong Republican voters were going to vote for a Democratic candidate, it was going to be Cunningham. He was a white man, a veteran, and—until the illusion was shattered—a respectable family man. He wasn’t even pro-abortion; he just believed politicians should stay out of the decisions made between doctors and their patients. He was going to win.
So, yeah, I was pretty fucking pissed when the following text exchange put trans rights, abortion access, and other “progressive” values at risk:
Woman: “I want to kiss you.”
Cunningham: “And I kiss you back. A lot.”
In the last five years, I’ve taken a significant step back from supporting candidates and refocused my attention on grassroots campaigns, mutual aid, and other forms of local organizing. I didn’t invest any political or social energy into any candidates—not even Kamala Harris—because of my lost faith in the Democratic Party, the two-party system, and the lessons I’d learned about not idolizing politicians.
That is, until eight months ago, when New York State Assemblyman Zohran Kwame Mamdani launched his campaign for Mayor of New York City. Mamdani’s campaign was the first time in a long time that I felt comfortable publicly advocating for a candidate rather than a cause—and that’s because his entire candidacy was a cause. Mamdani skillfully and authentically embodied the values of his current and future constituents at each and every step of the race. As the kids would say, he stood on business.
For the non–New Yorkers—though I’ve seen this race have international reach—Mamdani’s campaign focused on the following issues and values:
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- Make the most expensive city in the world affordable to live in.
- Improve public transportation by making city buses faster and free.
- Invest in public safety—not by giving the NYPD more money, but by creating a Department of Community Safety.
- Stand up to Trump’s fascism and keep ICE out of New York.
- Freeze the rent and actually enforce rent stabilization.
- Increase taxes for millionaires and billionaires.
- Create free and accessible childcare.
Many would call these campaign goals radical. People have called them unrealistic and unattainable. But last night, just a few hours after the polls closed in NYC, while I sat across from my girlfriend at an Italian restaurant celebrating our two-year anniversary, Zohran Kwame Mamdani—the Muslim socialist born in Kampala, Uganda, and raised in Queens, NY—won the Democratic primary election and became the people’s candidate for mayor.
My girlfriend has been volunteering for Mamdani’s campaign for months—canvassing, phone banking, and using her social media platform to inform new and returning voters about the importance of ranked-choice voting. While I haven’t had the time to volunteer, I’ve also been lending my social clout to Mamdani’s campaign. And by that, I do mean posting thirst traps while wearing my Hot Boys for Zohran shirt.
So many conversations in our home and among friends in the last few weeks have centered Mamdani and the chance to take NYC back from the Eric Adamses and Andrew Cuomos of the world. Comedians, specifically, have taken a vested interest in supporting Mamdani’s campaign—hosting standup show rallies, creating informative yet accessible content, organizing phone banks, and doing whatever they can to share the message: #DontRankCuomo.
Yesterday, in the middle of Election Day, my girlfriend joined a last-minute virtual phonebank alongside Cole Escola, Cynthia Nixon, and Sarah Sherman. I passed by canvassers for Zohran standing in 100-degree heat with ear-to-ear smiles on their faces. I watched as fellow candidate Brad Lander used whatever fight he had left in him to prop up Mamdani’s lead. I scrolled through friends’ posts from California, Massachusetts, Florida, and overseas—all rooting for New York.
For the first time in a very, very long time, we all had hope. Hope that in a time when we’re watching our dictator drop bombs on Iran, masked men kidnap our neighbors, and trans folks’ rights get signed away—an alternative exists. A socialist candidate can win the vote of half a million New Yorkers. A Muslim man can become mayor of New York City. A candidate whose campaign was funded by 20,000 individuals can defeat a name-recognized, super-PAC-backed candidate with $25 million to spend on smear campaigns. Engaged and concerned voters can stick it to The New York Times, The Atlantic, and the motherfucking establishment.
It’s all so incredibly exciting for New Yorkers and even beyond—but especially exciting for my girlfriend and me, who now share an anniversary with this historic moment for change. Even better, we live two blocks away from Gracie Mansion, the official residence of the mayor, in one of only two neighborhoods in all of NYC that ranked Cuomo over Mamdani. We are ecstatic to get Adams out of his position and his mansion, and move someone in who we’re proud to call a neighbor.
The work certainly isn’t done, and Mamdani still needs to defeat Republican nominee Curtis Sliwa, independent incumbent Eric Adams, and maybe even Cuomo if he chooses to run in the general election this November. But it feels damn good to be a New Yorker right now. And while I remain skeptical of and disheartened by electoral politics, the collective power I just witnessed brings me hope democracy can work again, despite the odds.
My girlfriend and the next mayor of New York City
