01-07-2025
Zohran Mamdani was born into privilege. Can he really speak for the working class?
Written by Sabine Ameer
In a political moment where the language of socialism has entered mainstream American discourse, few figures have captured the attention of younger, progressive voters like New York State Assembly member Zohran Mamdani. He's charismatic, speaks the language of class struggle fluently, and has successfully branded himself as a democratic socialist — a welcome generational shift away from the political establishment that has long dominated American politics. But as Mamdani gains national attention, a larger question emerges: Can someone born into layers of social and cultural privilege authentically represent the working class?
Let's be clear — Mamdani's political rise is significant. As a young Muslim politician, an artist-turned-legislator, and a vocal supporter of housing justice and Palestine solidarity, he has challenged the norms of American electoral politics. In doing so, he has provided inspiration for many Millennials and Gen Z voters who feel politically alienated. However, while his policy positions are progressive, his personal background reflects the same cultural and class capital that has historically defined elite access in American public life.
Mamdani is the son of Mira Nair, a globally celebrated filmmaker, and Mahmood Mamdani, a prominent academic at Columbia University. His upbringing was not one of economic hardship, nor one marked by the structural inequalities that define the lives of working-class New Yorkers. His family's cultural influence and access to elite institutions cannot be ignored — they are part of the architecture that enabled his platform to grow as rapidly as it did. This is not to say that children of privilege should be disqualified from public office. But when someone speaks on behalf of the working class, are they doing so as an ally — or as a representative? And what obligations come with each?
There's an important distinction to be made between having solidarity with working-class struggles and embodying them. Solidarity demands listening, humility, and redistribution of power — not just rhetoric. Representation, on the other hand, implies shared experience. When Mamdani — despite his policy alignment with working-class movements — positions himself as a political outsider, it raises tension. He may be an outsider to entrenched political machines, but he is not an outsider to privilege.
The issue here is not individual blame but perhaps it reflects a broader trend in left-wing American politics, where well-educated, upwardly mobile individuals increasingly speak in the language of class struggle. The result is often a symbolic radicalism that resonates with disaffected voters but doesn't always translate into structural change — or inclusion.
Consider the landscape: Many millennials in New York today — those working two jobs, struggling to pay rent, saddled with debt — don't have the time or stability to pursue careers in electoral politics. Their barriers to entry are logistical, not ideological. That someone like Mamdani could move from cultural spaces like hip-hop and theatre into elected office by 30 is not just a story of political ambition; it's also a story of access.
To be fair, Mamdani is not alone in this paradox. Many progressive leaders come from families with social capital, and that doesn't make their work meaningless. But what it does require is transparency, and a willingness to confront how that access has shaped their political journey. It also requires building and mentoring leadership from within the communities most affected by inequality — not just speaking on their behalf.
This is, ultimately, a question of social mobility and credibility. The symbolism of a 33-year-old winning a Democratic primary in New York should be tempered by the reality that most working-class 33-year-olds are locked into 9-to-5s, debt cycles, and housing precarity — not rapping one day and running for office the next. Political glamour can easily overshadow the hard truth that most people don't have the luxury to move fluidly between creative industries and state legislatures.
If we're going to build a more inclusive political future, we need to be honest about how class operates within even our most progressive movements. We need to ask: Who gets to speak? Who gets funded? Who gets published, profiled, and promoted? And most importantly — who is missing from the room?
Zohran Mamdani may be advancing important policy debates. But the movement for working-class empowerment must be cautious not to confuse voice with vantage point, or style with structure. It's not about cancelling anyone — but about demanding more complexity from our narratives, and more equity in our coalitions. Because in the end, real representation isn't about optics — it's about power.
The writer is a doctoral researcher in Politics and International Relations at the University of Glasgow, United Kingdom
