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 By Andrew Boutselis One morning about a year ago, I was drinking coffee in my Brooklyn apartment when there was a knock on the door. My wife had left for the day and we were not expecting any deliveries, so I was naturally perturbed by the disturbance to such a sacred morning ritual. Like most New Yorkers, I contain that paradox of being openly friendly to strangers, while holding any waste of my time in utter contempt. It’s the same trait that leads us to yield to a pedestrian with a pleasant wave yet lean on our horn when they don’t cross the street quickly enough. Closing my robe tightly around my neck, I looked through the peephole to assess the uninvited visitor. Waiting patiently on the other side of the door, stood a bearded, Caucasian man roughly my age, with a Mets hat and stack of pamphlets. He’s either delivering lost mail or the good word of Christ, I assumed, and took my chance as I turned over the deadbolt and swung open the door. He was neither a neighbor nor a missionary but rather a political advocate, specifically for the Democratic Socialist mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani. I knew little of Mamdani beyond his striking name, made all the more memorable by the retro font used by his campaign that would look more at home on the front of a tiki bar than a political banner.  As a disillusioned Democrat who was quickly devolving into a full-blown curmudgeon since moving to Brooklyn many moons ago, the universal championing of Mamdani by hipster progressives primed me to write him off with little more than an eye roll without having done much investigation. Prescribing to neighborly etiquette more than any political philosophy, I gave the man the floor to sell me whatever rehearsed talking point he had. After a brief introduction, he asked me as a New Yorker what issues concerned me the most. Hoping to pass whatever moral purity test I anticipated coming my way and return to my coffee, I rattled off an uninspired sentiment about the homeless crisis and the need for the city to do more to protect its most vulnerable population. The man in the door nodded politely and agreed, as if I had said something of substance, before telling me his concerns: “I’m a dad,” he began, “and the things that keep me up at night at are the cost of rent and childcare.” Huh. That’s rather pragmatic for a socialist, I thought, embarrassed by my own grandstanding. He went on to tell me about candidate Mamdani, the energetic, 33-year-old assembly member from Queens, who was running an outright affordability campaign, promising to make life in New York easier by taking the financial burden off of residents struggling to meet ends meet, much like my wife and me. I listened to his case, confirmed that I was registered to vote, that I knew where my polling place was, and was left with some literature before he departed to continue his journey. As the door shut behind him I felt a familiar sensation creeping in that I wasn’t able to identify, like a song that comes on the radio that you haven’t heard since you were a kid but cannot put a name to. For a moment I allowed myself to daydream that should this Mamdani character be able to win and accomplish some of this wish list of ideas, how my dramatically that would improve life for my wife and I, who have been actively contemplating if we can still afford the city, let alone have children. I began to recognize the feeling as something from my 20s—hopeful. The feeling had just shown up, uninvited, even more intrusive than the man at my door, but extinguished almost as soon as it had arrived by a reflexive cynicism. Picking up my lukewarm coffee, for the first time in a long time, I considered the option of being hopeful.  I hadn’t always been this much of a grouch. Like Mamdani himself, I’m a 33-year-old millennial, a mix of people who I feel have had a particularly tough political journey in their third of a century on the planet. While I know that every generation has its own tragic historical landmarks to define them, the chasm between where our country was when we became of age to participate in politics, and America of 2026, feels like an indescribable decent into chaos. As with most people my age, one of the earliest national events burned into my memory was September 11th. For many of us, it was a coming online point, a complete loss of innocence, the first steps towards recognizing the world as a bigger, scarier and far more complicated place than our backyards. Tragedy birthed further tragedy and we saw our country dive headfirst into a war that we did not understand led by people, who even as a 10-year-old overhearing the nightly news was able to recognize as morally dubious characters. By the time I neared voting age, the country had been at war for more than half of my life and was in the depths of The Great Recession. Up until that point, it seemed in fashion among most people I knew to assume that the government was run by war criminals, the president to be a buffoon, my best friend’s father famously enjoying his coffee from a mug with a devil-horned George W. Bush on it. The biggest album of my graduating class was Green Day’s “American Idiot.” Something else had happened, however, by the time I turned 18. Barack Obama was elected president, a historical event that had such an impact on this young white kid from New Hampshire that I cannot fathom the effect it had on more disadvantaged people around the country, let alone the world. The significance was not lost on me, and for everything terrible I had known to be true about America in the present and it’s not-too-distant past, the 2008 election signified to me that change is possible, that things can actually get better. While a child may not understand the minutia of foreign affairs or puzzle of the American economy, I cannot stress enough the impact the character of a leader can have on a child.  Photo credit: Courtesy Barack Obama Presidential Library. This optimistic outlook for the country mirrored a pivotal time in my own life as a I prepared for college and looked to my own future. Through graduation, college and the tumultuous post-grad years, there would be ups and in downs, but one constant in my life was my admiration for the president, the pillars of the Democratic Party aligning with my own values. The youngest of four children in a barely middle-class home, I was essentially raised by a single mother because of my father’s chronic, debilitating illness. Through this upbringing, I saw firsthand the importance of a strong social safety net, the value of the arts in public education, and the nightmare that is our healthcare system. In short, life was hard for my family, but we had leaders to look to and keep us inspired. Believing in my elected leaders and supporting their fight for a better future was an inherent part of my character, as essential to my identity as the books I read or the music I loved. This sentiment seems laughable now, as this romanticized idealism of politics in 2026 sounds as dated and quaint as stump speech given out of the caboose of a steam locomotive. As the Obama years wound down, I found both myself and the country preparing for an uncertain, new future. I had made up my mind to move to New York City to pursue a career in the film industry, and my final few months in New Hampshire were spent basking in the political frenzy that is this key state during an election year. Saddened by the end of a presidency that had defined my formative years, I saw an exciting, more progressive future in the senator from Vermont, Bernie Sanders. Much to my dismay, as well as virtually every other Democrat I knew, he was not our candidate. Dismissed by many establishment Democrats as “extreme” or “unable to win an election,” this seemingly blatant rejection of the will of the party’s base was the first crack in the foundation of my faith in the Democrats.  Photo credit: Facebook Nonetheless, my friends and I threw our support behind the Clinton-Kaine ticket enthusiastically, even having an opportunity to see the former first lady speak, introduced by then first lady Michelle Obama. Unstirred by the trollist rhetoric coming from the other candidate on the right, a friend and I had dinner on election night and even cheered to the presumptive first woman president. It was cold and grey when I moved to Brooklyn in January the following year. I found myself, as well as the country, in a new, unknown place. While exploring a new city was a welcome distraction, I couldn’t escape the existential dread of the direction our country was headed, like waiting for a diagnosis after the discovery of a potentially malignant lump. We looked to leaders but they were still licking their wounds. It felt quite powerless at times. The party was having an identity crisis and seemed to be trying to try to cleanse itself in any way it can. Progressive movements spiked up like #MeToo, leading to long overdue justice for so many women, but adding to further disillusionment of men in power. It was a confusing time and I did my best to listen and learn. I went to protests, met plenty of liberals in my community, but more often than not it appeared to me we were finding more reason to divide amongst ourselves at a time when we should be building a strong coalition more than ever.  Photo credit: Pamme Boutselis Things were reaching a boiling point when the pandemic hit, and a red-hot populace stayed home and had nothing but time on its hands—hands that were constantly holding their phones. Misinformation, toxic algorithms, and age-old police violence, now impossible to ignore, filled everybody’s screens. The American culture had become a dumpster fire and the first year of what should have been an exciting new decade did nothing but pour gasoline onto it. The beaten down idealist in me, still clinging to hope, believed that a new leader could emerge from this 24-hour a day shit show. We got Joe Biden. The next four years were a bit of a respite, but it felt like a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound, a minute to catch our breath in the corner of the ring before hearing the bell and going another eight to ten rounds. There were whispers of something called Project 2025—and in seeing the growing lack of faith in Biden, it became increasingly apparent to me that in 2024 there would need to be new energetic leadership to seize this moment and protect the country from the monster waiting in the wings. By July of 2024, as I watched the addled, feeble president fumble his way through the most important debate of his life, I felt a long way from the young man who had watched Barack Obama’s inauguration speech 15 years ago. It was a fittingly frigid day when the orange man was sworn in for his second term. Record-low temperatures moved the ceremonies indoors, although the chill was felt far beyond the borders of the capital. As I watched him take his oath, surrounded by many of the people responsible for eroding the decency of our culture, I felt any hope left in me expire. I wasn’t sad. I was angry, bewildered, and felt that my own party had failed me, the country, and future generations. All these things were on my mind as I drank my cold coffee and looked at the big, yellow letters on the pamphlet in my hands. ZOHRAN. I cast it to the purgatory of unread mail in my office and assumed I’d forget about the wonder kid from Queens. History proved to make this impossible over the next several weeks. I could not escape the name Zohran Mamdani. Posters in bodega windows, stickers on the Q train, wheelbarrows of mail, and above all, a relentless social media presence speaking directly to voters.  Photo credit: Kara McCurdy My knee-jerk reaction was to dismiss the digital blitzkrieg as a shameless attempt to seem relevant to younger voters, until remembering Mamdani was my age and, in fact, a young voter himself. This was not a typical candidate awkwardly appearing on podcasts and desperately speaking to influencers in a calculated ploy to assimilate to the next generation’s language. Mamdani spoke that language. Additionally, he was an immigrant from a working-class neighborhood in Queens, understood the hustle culture of New York City, and even more importantly, had a sense of humor. Most impressive was the clear communication and frank goals of his campaign that you could rattle off the top of your head: freeze rent, universal childcare, free buses. No grandiose statements about equity or demonizing folks who had a different perspective. Direct messaging, instead, to voters about how he will improve our lives. Inevitably, Mamdani’s candidacy became the main talking point over drinks or dinner with friends, whether it be their fiery support or outright dismissal based on the scope off his ambitions. Always more comfortable seated at the skeptic table, I largely agreed with the latter and found the Mamdani agenda a bit fantastical. The rest of the democratic establishment seemed to agree, everyone from the governor to mainstream podcasters labeling him as “radical.” Despite following this logic, emotionally it didn’t sit well with me, perhaps bringing back memories of that old senator from Vermont and his ill-fated nomination back in 2016. As time went on, my flirtation with the omnipresent Mamdani developed into full-fledged support when it became clear the alternative was none other than disgraced former Governor Andrew Cuomo. Having resigned over sexual misconduct, Cuomo’s brand of politics reeked of a bygone era, like the stench of cigar smoke in the woodwork of an Albany steakhouse. Positioning himself as a political heavyweight who had the strength to go toe-to-toe with the President, he seemed to think the title of Mayor was nothing more than a consolation prize that he was entitled to. Contrasted with Mamdani’s direct to the people approach, Cuomo barely did interviews or made his case for himself. He didn’t seem to be seeking people’s vote but rather demanding it. His statements regarding his past lewd behavior can be summed up as “boys will be boys,” a total parade of arrogance not too dissimilar to the president he claimed that only he could stand up to. For anyone on the fence about Mamdani, the choice seemed crystal clear in my mind, as this was a decision between returning to the past or stepping into the future.  Photo credit: Kara McCurdy Faced with the choice between fresh idealism and business as usual, I was frustrated to find many of the people in my life, who I was ideologically aligned with, still weren’t convinced. “He just won’t be able to get anything done,” they’d proclaim with tired eyes and defeated certainty. No rational person could argue against the mountain of improbability facing the young candidate, but is dreaming big not the purpose of seeking higher office in this country? Obama spoke of the audacity of hope. For eight years in this country, we said yes we can, even when we were defeated and the odds stacked against us. Did John F. Kennedy tell us we would go to the moon because it would easy? Hell, the current president has spent the last decade making promises that he cannot deliver. That is not to equate his incessant lies to Mamdani’s lofty agenda—no, but it is to say that the goals of a candidate don’t inform you of what they for certain will accomplish, but to inform you of who for certain they will be fighting for. The word that came up over and over in this dialogue was “radical.” Every time I would hear this word, I felt an anger growing inside of me. When I looked around, there were plenty things that seemed radical to me beyond Zohran Mamdani. What seems “radical” to me was accepting the status quo, that so many New Yorkers worked more than 50 hours a week and struggle to pay their rent. What was “radical” was expecting people who had been living under an authoritarian to elect a sexual predator as the mayor of their city. It is “radical” to accept that we cannot choose a leader who will fight for us because we need to accept that large-scale change in this country is no longer possible. Surrounded by such rank pessimism, I found myself for the first time in a decade feeling like an idealist. And it felt good. Even if Zohran can only accomplish a fraction of what he has promised, he will have mobilized a new generation.  Photo credit: Kara McCurdy It was a bright, brisk day on January 1, 2026. As the world celebrated a New Year and nursed their hangovers, my city celebrated a new chapter. The sun beamed hard as the young mayor was sworn in by none other than the senator from Vermont himself. It was the beginning of what would be a historic, brutal winter, but I felt some of that cynicism in me melt away. “Beginning today, we will govern expansively and audaciously. We may not always succeed. But we will never be accused of lacking the courage to try.” In those remarks, Zohran Mamdani articulated a core tenet of American idealism. Falling short in the pursuit of a better world is not a failure, but a noble effort, one that is essential to the American story. A lot has been said about the state of our democracy because of the current administration. While it is true that the president is morally bankrupt, culturally poisonous, and globally harmful, he was brought to power by the will of the American people. Rather than let that understandably horrify me and shatter my hope for a better world, I choose to focus on the fact the American people can still choose their leaders, no matter how “radical” they may be perceived. We can educate, inspire, and mobilize an electorate that can make a tidal, historical change in this country. Andrew Boutselis is a writer and filmmaker, currently working in location management in the film and television industry. He studied film production at Fitchburg State University and earned a bachelor’s in communication at Southern New Hampshire University. After two-plus decades of New Hampshire life, he now resides in Brooklyn, New York. Connect with him on LinkedIn. Please note: We invite members of the greater Global Citizens Circle community to contribute to GCC Voices. The views and opinions expressed in each blog post are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Global Citizens Circle. I choose to focus on the fact the American people can still choose their leaders, no matter how “radical” they may be perceived. We can educate, inspire, and mobilize an electorate that can make a tidal, historical change in this country." - Andrew Boutselis
2 Comments
Michael A Lockett
4/7/2026 11:33:26 am
A great piece. Hope comes in many forms and through many people. Hopefully, this brightens a few people's days and lets them see sunlight streak through the cloud-filled sky, if only for a moment.
Andrew Boutselis
4/13/2026 05:18:39 pm
Thanks so much for the feedback Michael! If someone's day is brightened even for a moment, that is a win in my books. Leave a Reply. |
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