By One week ago, New York City elected its first Muslim mayor, my friend and fellow activist Zohran Kwame Mamdani. And, just days later, I ascended the halls of Oxford University to receive my Master’s degree in International Human Rights Law, a program I nearly couldn’t finish when my scholarship was frozen by the Trump administration.
Both of our stories reveal an enduring truth: when the systems of power are built to keep us out, our very existence becomes an act of resistance.
Zohran’s victory isn’t just symbolic; it’s seismic. A child of immigrants now holds the keys to America’s largest city — a position once unimaginable for someone who prays like us, whose name they still mispronounce, whose faith they still try to erase from public life. His win shatters the myth that American Muslims are permanent outsiders. It proves that we are not the exception; we are the foundation.
When I sat in that Oxford hall as the only Middle Eastern woman in my program, wearing the keffiyeh my mother never got to see me in, I thought of how many of us have had to build our own tables, fund our own dreams, and fight our way into rooms that once decided our oppression — and still decide the balance of power today. Finishing my degree isn’t just an academic milestone. It’s a reclamation of what was meant to be denied.
Experiencing the overlap of these two seismic moments taught me a lesson no elite institution could teach: liberation isn’t linear, and it’s never granted. It’s wrestled from the grip of power with faith, vision, and stubborn hope.
As we step into this new era, we must remember that this is only the starting line. If a system could freeze my scholarship to stop me from studying human rights, imagine what it will do to stop us from demanding them. And, if a Muslim can rise to lead one of the most influential cities in the world, imagine the stakes of ensuring he won’t be the last.
Our task now is to protect what we’re building — to keep showing up, keep learning, and keep pushing the limits of what’s possible for ourselves and those who come after us. We are no longer waiting for permission to lead; we are writing the new terms of belonging.
And, when we do finally win, may we never get too comfortable in the lead.
