Akash Sachdeva

My tribute to my dad, who passed away last month in the UK. He was a proud Indian immigrant *and* a proud British citizen. His life story is one long rebuttal to the nativists, bigots and xenophobes.

Devastated. RIP MANI xx

Mamdani: Yesterday, Andrew Cuomo laughed and agreed when a radio host said that I would cheer another 9/11. Yesterday, Eric Adams said that we “can’t let our city become Europe.” He compared me to violent extremists, and he lied when he said that our movement seeks to burn churches and destroy communities. The day before that, Curtis Sliwa slandered me from a debate stage when he claimed that I support global jihad. And every day, Super PAC ads imply that I am a terrorist or mock the way I eat, push polls that ask New Yorkers questions like whether they support invented proposals to make halal mandatory, or political cartoons that represent my candidacy as an airplane hurtling towards the World Trade Center. But I do not want to use this moment to speak to them any further. I want to use this moment to speak to the Muslims of this city. I want to speak to the memory of my aunt, who stopped taking the subway after September 11th because she did not feel safe in her hijab.  I want to speak to the Muslim who works for our city—whether they teach in our schools or walk the beat for the NYPD, New Yorkers who all make daily sacrifices on behalf of this city, only to see their leaders spit in their face. I want to speak to every child who grows up in New York marked as the Other, who is randomly selected in a way that rarely feels random, who feels that they carry a stain that can never be cleaned. Growing up in the shadow of 9/11, I have known what it means to live with an undercurrent of suspicion. I will always remember the disdain I faced, the way my name could immediately become “Mohammad,” and how I could return to my city only to be asked in a double mirrored room at the airport if I had any plan of attacking it. And since I was very young, I have known that I was spared the worst of it. I was never pressured to be an informant like classmates of mine. I have never had the word ‘terrorist’ spray-painted on my garage, as one of my aides has. My mosque has never been set on fire. To be Muslim in New York is to expect indignity. But indignity does not make us distinct—there are many who face it. It is the tolerance of that indignity that does.