A quiet unease hangs over the nation regarding New York City’s mayoral race, yet a curious calm seems to have settled over the city itself. The anxieties gripping the left and right appear strangely absent within the five boroughs.
I encountered Al, a Metropolitan Transit Authority worker in his early forties, beneath a World War I monument in the Bronx. He dismissed a key candidate’s proposal for free buses as “stupid,” but with a knowing shrug, added, “It’s never going to happen anyway. My bosses like money.” This sentiment – a blend of cynicism and acceptance – would become a recurring theme.
Over two days, I walked the city, seeking passionate opinions. What I found was a remarkable lack of fervor. New Yorkers, it seemed, were largely unmoved by the impending election, a stark contrast to the national narrative.
Derrick, a hospitality worker in midtown, confessed a baffling preference: he thought Bill de Blasio was a better mayor than the current one, yet planned to vote for a different candidate. His reasoning was simple, and distinctly New York. “We know Curtis and he loves New York City,” he declared, his voice echoing a familiar Brooklyn cadence.
He recalled seeing the Guardian Angels on the subway as a child, a symbol of respect and order. Derrick’s perspective was a powerful reminder that voters defy easy categorization, and perhaps that’s a strength, not a weakness.
At Steiney’s Pub in Staten Island, I met Cindy, a bartender and mother, and Denise, a retired school worker. Their outlook was pragmatic. “It just doesn’t matter that much,” Cindy admitted. “Life happens here, not up with the kings who run stuff.”
Denise nodded in agreement, offering a lifetime of experience. “I’ve lived under all of them,” she said. “You work hard, you do good, it's OK.” A quiet resilience permeated their words, a sense of weathering any storm.
I began to wonder if I’d find anyone genuinely invested in the outcome. Was this supposed “election of the century” simply falling flat?
My Uber driver, Naveed, a Pakistani immigrant with daughters in college, provided a surprising answer. He recounted a flurry of texts from friends in California urging him to vote for a particular candidate, but he was already at the polls.
Within his community, he explained, excitement for this candidate was unprecedented. It was the sole instance of genuine enthusiasm I encountered, a telling detail perhaps.
Returning to Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, felt like a homecoming. It was a neighborhood I’d known well before moving away, a Republican stronghold with a history of influencing statewide races.
Steve and Suzanne, lifelong residents, had a pointed question for me: “Has Cuomo even been to Bay Ridge, Suze?” The answer, unspoken, was clear. The candidate hadn’t bothered to connect with this crucial voting bloc.
In contrast, another candidate was a constant presence, a visible symbol of engagement. This disparity spoke volumes about a perceived sense of entitlement and political miscalculation.
“Who’s going to win?” Steve asked, then immediately reversed the question. “I don’t know, probably what’s his name, but Bay Ridge doesn’t change.” Suzanne simply added, “It is what it is.”
And that, I realized, perfectly encapsulated the sentiment I’d encountered throughout the city. This might be the “It is what it is” election, a reflection of decades observing New York’s unique character.
Few believed a particular candidate could truly disrupt the city’s established rhythm. They’d lived through a previous socialist mayoralty, and New York remained, undeniably, New York.
Gotham is defined by its people – the early risers, the tireless workers, those who simply endure. They seem impervious to political upheaval, and perhaps, they are.
New York City is a force unto itself, its residents unperturbed by the national anxieties surrounding this election. It’s the Big Apple, and, ultimately, it is what it is.
