New York City mayoral elections
Based on Wikipedia: New York City mayoral elections
In 2025, a thirty-something Democratic Socialist from Queens named Zohran Mamdani became the youngest mayor of New York City in a century. He was also the first mayoral candidate since 1969 to receive more than one million votes. That election drew more than two million voters total—a turnout not seen in over half a century.
How did this happen? To understand Mamdani's victory, you need to understand the strange, contentious, and often chaotic history of how New York City chooses its mayors—a history that stretches back nearly two centuries and involves everything from Tammany Hall political machines to term limit referendums to the aftermath of the September 11th attacks.
A City Stitched Together
Modern New York City didn't always exist. What we now call the five boroughs—Manhattan, the Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, and Staten Island—were once separate jurisdictions. Manhattan had been holding mayoral elections since 1834. Brooklyn had its own mayor. The Bronx was part of Westchester County. Queens and Staten Island were collections of small towns and farms.
On January 1, 1898, these territories consolidated into "Greater New York," forming the modern city. The first mayor of this new metropolis was Robert A. Van Wyck, elected in November 1897. Suddenly, the mayor of New York wasn't just running Manhattan—he was governing a sprawling urban expanse of millions of people across five distinct boroughs, each with its own character, its own political traditions, and its own interests.
This consolidation created something unprecedented: one of the largest and most diverse urban democracies in the world, electing a single chief executive to manage it all.
The Term Limit Roller Coaster
The length of a New York mayor's term has changed more times than most people realize. It's a story of political experimentation, occasional manipulation, and democratic pushback.
Before consolidation, mayors of the old City of New York served just one year at a time. In 1849, this was extended to two years. When the consolidated city came into being, the 1897 charter stipulated a single four-year term—no second chances, no re-election allowed.
This didn't last. In 1901, the term was cut back to two years, but with no restrictions on how many times a mayor could run. Then in 1905, it went back to four years. Under these rules, three legendary mayors—Fiorello La Guardia, Robert F. Wagner Jr., and Ed Koch—each managed to serve twelve years, three full terms apiece.
Then came the modern era of term limits.
In 1993, voters approved a two-term limit, capping mayors at eight years. They reaffirmed this in a 1996 referendum. The matter seemed settled.
It wasn't.
In 2008, Mayor Michael Bloomberg, a billionaire businessman who had originally run as a Republican, wanted a third term. Rather than submit the question to voters—who had twice said they wanted two-term limits—he convinced the City Council to vote 29-22 to extend the limit to three terms. A proposed amendment to put this to a public referendum failed the same day by a vote of 22-28. Bloomberg got his third term.
But voters had the last word. In November 2010, yet another referendum passed overwhelmingly, reverting the limit back to two terms. The message was clear: New Yorkers wanted the power to change their leadership regularly, regardless of what sitting mayors or council members preferred.
The Shadow of Tammany Hall
To understand New York mayoral elections, you have to understand Tammany Hall. For over a century, this Democratic political machine dominated the city's politics through a combination of patronage, organization, and occasional corruption.
Tammany Hall wasn't just a political party organization—it was a comprehensive system for converting votes into power and power into jobs. If you needed work, Tammany could help. If you needed your garbage collected or your street fixed, Tammany knew who to call. In exchange, you voted the way Tammany told you to vote.
The machine was deeply skeptical of civil service reforms—the idea that government jobs should be awarded based on merit rather than political loyalty. Why would Tammany support a system that eliminated its primary currency? Competitive bidding for city contracts posed a similar threat. If contracts went to the lowest bidder rather than to Tammany's friends, how could the machine reward its supporters?
Against Tammany stood a shifting coalition of opponents: Republicans, middle-class reformers who believed in good government, businessmen tired of paying bribes or excessive taxes, and labor union activists who wanted something more than patronage. The problem was that these groups rarely agreed on anything except their opposition to Tammany.
George Washington Plunkitt, a Tammany leader famous for his colorful political philosophy, captured this dynamic perfectly. Reformers, he said, were "mornin' glories—looked lovely in the mornin' and withered up in a short time, while the regular machines went on flourishin' forever, like fine old oaks."
He had a point. Until Fiorello La Guardia's election in 1933, anti-Tammany coalitions almost never lasted more than one term. They would unite in outrage, win an election, and then fragment over what to do next.
The Art of Fusion
New York developed a distinctive solution to this problem: fusion politics. The term referred to the strategy of uniting multiple constituencies and parties against Tammany—fusing them together into a winning coalition.
Fusion usually required Republicans to step aside and not compete with a non-Republican reform candidate. In 1901, Seth Low won this way. In 1913, John P. Mitchel did the same. The Republican Party would essentially lend its voters to an independent or reform candidate rather than run its own nominee who would split the anti-Tammany vote.
New York's election laws made this easier through a practice called cross-endorsement, where a single candidate could appear on multiple party lines on the ballot. A voter who didn't want to pull the lever for a Republican could vote for the same candidate on the Liberal Party line instead. The votes all counted the same, but the voter got to make a statement about their political identity.
This system gave rise to a constellation of minor parties that punched above their weight: the American Labor Party, the Liberal Party, the Conservative Party, the Working Families Party, the Independence Party. None of these could elect a mayor on their own, but their endorsements—or refusals to endorse—could swing elections.
Here's a remarkable fact: no Republican has ever been elected mayor of consolidated New York City without the support of at least one other significant party. Not La Guardia. Not Giuliani. Not Bloomberg. In a city where registered Democrats vastly outnumber Republicans, the Republican brand alone has never been enough.
The Power and Peril of Third Party Lines
Minor parties discovered that endorsements gave them leverage. If you wanted the Liberal Party's support, you had to promise certain things. The same was true for labor unions, reform groups, and eventually the Conservative Party.
But this power invited backlash. When some Republicans felt that Governor Nelson Rockefeller and Mayor John Lindsay had been pulled too far to the left by Liberal Party endorsements, they founded the Conservative Party of New York in 1962. In 1965, the Conservatives ran William F. Buckley Jr. against Lindsay—not because they thought Buckley could win, but to punish Lindsay for being insufficiently conservative and to demonstrate that there were limits to how far rightward candidates could be pushed.
Even when candidates couldn't secure another party's endorsement, they often created their own ballot lines to attract independent voters. Joseph McKee ran on the "Recovery" line in 1933. Jeremiah Mahoney ran as "Anticommunist" in 1937. Vincent Impellitteri created the "Experience Party" in 1950. These weren't real parties in any meaningful sense—they were marketing strategies, ways to give voters who couldn't stomach pulling a major party lever an excuse to vote for you anyway.
Robert Wagner Jr. ran on a "Brotherhood" line in 1961. John Lindsay added an "Independent Citizens" line to his Republican and Liberal endorsements in 1965. His opponent that year, Abe Beame, countered with a "Civil Service Fusion" line in addition to his Democratic backing.
The ballot, in other words, told a story—not just about who was running, but about the coalitions they had assembled and the voters they were trying to reach.
Borough by Borough
New York's five boroughs have never voted as a monolith. Their political personalities are distinct and have remained remarkably consistent over time.
The Bronx is the most reliably Democratic borough. Since it began reporting separate election returns in 1913, it has supported a Republican mayoral candidate exactly three times—all for La Guardia in 1933, 1937, and 1941. That's it. Nearly a century of elections, and only one Republican has ever carried the Bronx.
Manhattan, for all its wealth and famous residents, has opposed only two winning candidates in the history of the consolidated city: Rudy Giuliani in 1993 and Michael Bloomberg in 2001. Both won anyway, but Manhattan made clear it wasn't happy about it.
Staten Island is a different world. In the fifteen contested elections between Democratic and Republican candidates since 1961 (excluding 1981, when Koch ran on both tickets), Staten Island has voted for only two Democrats: Abe Beame in 1973 and Koch in 1985. Before 1961, the borough had only voted Republican three times. Something shifted in the 1960s, and Staten Island became a Republican stronghold in a Democratic city.
Queens has been the swing borough. Since 1961, it has voted for the eventual winner in all but two elections: 1977 and 1989. If you want to know where a New York mayoral race is headed, watch Queens.
Brooklyn, the most populous borough, has backed a Republican only twice since 1945: in 1997 for Giuliani's re-election and in 2005 for Bloomberg's.
The last candidate to sweep all five boroughs was Ed Koch in 1985. Since then, every winner has had to accept losing at least one borough.
When Mayors Don't Finish
Not every mayor completes their term. The reasons have varied from scandal to death to higher ambition.
John T. Hoffman was elected mayor in 1866 but left in 1868 to become governor of New York. William Havemeyer served three separate stints as mayor (1845-46, 1848-49, and 1873-74) but didn't finish his final term. William Jay Gaynor served from 1910 until 1913. Jimmy Walker, the flamboyant Jazz Age mayor, served from 1926 until 1932, when he resigned amid corruption investigations. William O'Dwyer served from 1946 until 1950, when he resigned to become ambassador to Mexico—conveniently leaving before his own corruption scandals fully unraveled.
When a mayor doesn't finish, the president of the Board of Aldermen (or later the City Council) becomes acting mayor. These acting mayors have included some of the city's more colorful characters, thrust suddenly into power without having won it at the ballot box.
September 11th and the Limits of Crisis
The September 11, 2001 attacks on the World Trade Center created a unique constitutional moment for New York City. The attacks happened on the same day as the Democratic and Republican primaries to choose nominees to succeed Mayor Rudy Giuliani, who was completing his second and final term.
Giuliani's handling of the crisis won widespread praise. Many people—genuinely impressed by his leadership in those terrifying days—wanted him to stay in office beyond December 31, 2001. Some proposed removing the term limit. Others suggested extending his service by a few months to provide continuity during the crisis.
Neither happened.
The primary elections were re-run on September 25th with the same candidates. The general election was held as scheduled on November 6th. Michael Bloomberg took office on January 1, 2002, exactly when he was supposed to.
This was a profound demonstration of democratic norms. In a moment of genuine crisis, when there were plausible arguments for continuity and strong public sentiment for keeping a popular leader, New York stuck to its rules. The election calendar didn't bend. The term limits held. Power transferred on schedule.
The Bloomberg Era and Its Discontents
Michael Bloomberg's three terms as mayor from 2002 to 2013 represented something new in New York politics: a genuine billionaire buying his way into office, then using his personal fortune to stay there.
Bloomberg spent unprecedented sums on his campaigns. He switched party registrations from Democrat to Republican to run in 2001, then left the Republican Party to become an independent in 2007, then ran for his controversial third term in 2009 on an "Independent Jobs and Education Party" line of his own creation.
His 2008 manipulation of the term limits—getting the City Council to extend them without voter approval—was legal but deeply unpopular. The 2010 referendum reversing that change passed with overwhelming margins. Voters had accepted Bloomberg's third term, but they wanted to make sure no one else could do what he did.
The De Blasio Era
Bill de Blasio's victory in 2013 represented a sharp turn from the Bloomberg years. As the city's Public Advocate, de Blasio had positioned himself as a progressive alternative to Bloomberg's business-friendly approach.
The 2013 Democratic primary showed just how dominant de Blasio had become. He won 40.8% of the vote—enough to avoid a runoff with second-place Bill Thompson, who had 26.1%. Christine Quinn, the City Council Speaker who had been the initial frontrunner, finished third with just 15.7%. De Blasio carried all five boroughs.
The general election was a landslide. Republican Joe Lhota never had a chance in a city where Democrats outnumber Republicans by enormous margins and where the Republican brand had been defined for years by Bloomberg's independent-minded centrism rather than any coherent conservative philosophy.
De Blasio won re-election in 2017 against Republican Nicole Malliotakis and a scattered field of minor candidates. It wasn't close.
Eric Adams and the Return of the Machine
The 2021 election to succeed de Blasio brought Eric Adams, the Brooklyn Borough President and a former police captain, to City Hall. Adams ran as a moderate Democrat focused on public safety—a sharp contrast to the progressive de Blasio.
Adams defeated Curtis Sliwa, founder of the Guardian Angels, by a margin of 67% to 28%. It was a fairly partisan election by New York standards, with 94% of voters casting ballots on the Democratic and Republican lines. The Working Families Party, which usually plays a significant role in city elections, didn't endorse anyone—leaving the ballot unusually barren of meaningful third-party options.
Adams's tenure would prove turbulent. By 2025, he was facing federal indictment on corruption charges, becoming just the latest in a long line of New York mayors whose administrations ended under clouds of scandal.
The Mamdani Moment
Which brings us back to Zohran Mamdani.
A state assemblyman from Queens, Mamdani represented a new generation of New York progressives—younger, more ideological, and more willing to challenge the Democratic establishment from the left than the Reform Democratic club movement of earlier decades.
His 2025 victory was historic by multiple measures. He became the youngest mayor in a century. He broke the million-vote barrier that had stood since 1969. He did it in an election that brought out more than two million voters total—engagement levels not seen in over fifty years.
The narratives around his victory were immediately contested. His critics argued he won primarily because of highly-educated, affluent white voters—the "symbolic capitalists" of academic sociology. His supporters insisted he had built a genuinely multiracial coalition that crossed class lines.
This debate echoed a century of arguments about New York mayoral elections. Who actually votes in this city? Which coalitions can hold together? How do you build a winning majority in a place this vast and diverse?
What the History Teaches
A few patterns emerge from nearly two centuries of New York mayoral elections.
First, reform movements are hard to sustain. Plunkitt's mornin' glories observation has held up remarkably well. Voters get outraged, elect a reformer, and then lose interest. The organizations that sustain political power—whether Tammany Hall or its successors—outlast the enthusiasm of any single election cycle.
Second, coalition-building matters more than party labels. In a city this Democratic, the Republican Party is almost a third party. Winning requires assembling coalitions that cut across traditional party lines—which is why the minor parties and their endorsements have wielded such disproportionate influence.
Third, the boroughs are different. Staten Island is not the Bronx. Queens is not Manhattan. Any candidate who treats the city as a single entity rather than five distinct political cultures is making a mistake.
Fourth, term limits are popular. New Yorkers have repeatedly voted for them, repeatedly defended them, and repeatedly punished politicians who tried to circumvent them. Bloomberg got away with it once. No one should assume they can do it again.
Finally, turnout matters. The 2025 election drew more than two million voters—a dramatic increase from recent cycles. High-turnout elections in New York have tended to favor outsider candidates who can mobilize irregular voters. Low-turnout elections favor established organizations that can deliver their reliable supporters to the polls.
Mamdani benefited from high turnout. Whether he can maintain that engagement, and whether his progressive coalition can hold together longer than the reform movements of the past, remains to be seen. History suggests skepticism is warranted. But history has been wrong before.
The next election is always coming. In New York, it always has been.