When America’s Founding Fathers collectively decided to “dissolve [their] political bonds” with the British Crown in one of history’s most delightful and heroic euphemisms for High Treason, many were already aware of the inherent contradictions between their stated values and the practiced reality of their new nation. None, however, knew about basketball, or that their nation’s inheritors would not overcome a 29-point deficit in a national finals game until 47 years after a different team of American heroes landed on the moon. (Perhaps the Knicks win echoed more of the Haitian Revolution than the American Revolution? After all, our heroes were primarily determined Black men, and we handily defeated the French.)
The American Revolutionaries set us on a trajectory made possible by being a nation founded on ideals, rather than any god or bloodline. That path saw war and peace; slavery and emancipation; ordinary people doing extraordinary things as we worked to resolve our contradictions and meet our ideals. We’ve seen technological and economic progress so rapid that today’s middle class enjoys certain comforts greater than even the very King of England we overthrew to get here, like air conditioning and flushing toilets.
But the boldest invention was the country itself. America, on its better days, is a country of and by whoever chooses to show up and add something to our shared project, no bloodline required. We have not always honored that idea, but the idea is the point, and nowhere lives up more to that ideal than New York.
New York is not immune to the forces shaking our country, but we do feel immune to the mood.
As the nation steps into its 250th birthday, it is gripped by fear and uncertainty. Americans increasingly live in politically isolated bubbles that feel openly mutually hostile. Trust in each other and our institutions is at an all-time low. The federal government has directed its weaponry on its own people while looting our treasury for its cronies. In not nearly the worst act but a powerfully symbolic one, the President trampled a non-partisan commission meant to lead our shared celebration. He built his own fiercely partisan one instead, turning an opportunity for unity into a weapon of political warfare.
New York is not immune to the forces shaking our country, but we do feel immune to the mood. Both in policy and in tone, we are doing what we have always done best: setting an example for America.
The great melting pot. The beacon for immigrants. The home for those seeking refuge. The product of enslaved people, freed people, and free people alike. The engine of invention, education, discovery, and social progress. The land of the free and home of the brave is represented by—and in fact simply is—New York. We have so much to be proud of, even if it can be hard to remember in the bitter winter months. But from the moment the last pile of grime-infused snow melted, yes, in May, New York has been celebrating.
With gratitude to the great adoptive New Yorker Thomas Edison for the technology and the vocabulary—our city has been absolutely electric.
Not everyone gets to feel it. For millions across this country, and for plenty of families right here in New York, this is a season of fear rather than celebration, an onslaught of attacks engineered by fascist leaders in Washington. But that shadow is precisely why our joy carries weight. A championship banner and a beautiful summer will not repeal a single cruel policy, but morale is no luxury in a long fight. A city that remembers how much it loves itself is a city with the strength to defend everyone within it.
The buzz in the air is undeniable and addictive. The prediction of “Knicks in four” replaced greetings and goodbyes, before itself being replaced with the prophecy “Knicks in five.” Many learned the phrase for the first time in a sort of chant referencing New York’s three most common faiths: Christian Dior, Jewish Bagels, and, of course, our Muslim Mayor.
The opening line—“My mayor’s Muslim”—rang with pride for an inspiring first. It also spoke to the centrality, in New York’s electric atmosphere, of our new Mayor.
Last year, we faced a choice between two very different visions of our city. One was the dark and loathing vision of Andrew Cuomo—a disgraced, sour man who sought to use us as his tool of revenge. The other was the optimism and joy of Zohran Mamdani and the Democratic Socialists of America, who powered his campaign. Ours was the side that loved our city as an unfinished project, flawed but always capable of becoming more perfect. Ours was the side that won.
Mamdani carried that joy with him after taking office. Where the White House occupant casts a shadow across America, City Hall’s light cuts through. New Yorkers turned out in historic numbers to support the political, athletic, and cultural leaders who love our city as much as we do. The celebration hasn’t stopped because we just keep winning.
New York has long shown America not just what it is, but what it can become.
New York leads the way, which is why everything Americans proclaim to love about America, they are usually, quietly, describing here: the place where anyone can arrive from anywhere and become someone, that took in the most newcomers and produced the most movers, shakers, hustlers, and saints. When a visiting priest passed through our scrappy Dutch trading post in 1643, he was told 18 languages were already being spoken on this one small island. Nearly four centuries later, the number is around 800. The World Cup is bringing the world to New York this summer, which is a lovely gesture, but the world was already here.
The night of the Knicks Game Four comeback, I was watching with the Mayor at a party I hosted at Singers Bar in Brooklyn. The joy that erupted in that backyard as OG Anunoby tipped Brunson’s shot into the basket to clinch the comeback was a peak New York Experience. It held what was surely a record for all of four days before being dethroned by the thousands of voices roaring simultaneously at my Herbert Von King Park watch party as we clinched the championship. The city is alive because we allow ourselves to be.
The contrast between the Big Apple’s season of celebration—in our sports, culture, and politics—and the country’s darker mood can feel like a contradiction. It isn’t. We’re simply ahead of the curve. New York has always been the best of America, and New York has always led the way. New York has long shown America not just what it is, but what it can become. We don’t answer fear with retreat. We answer it by building the future.
New York is meant to be a haven and destination for the people of the world. Those in leadership have an obligation to our history and to our future to set policy that makes our city affordable, accessible, and always improving.
So, I’m asked with increasing frequency these days if and how I will be celebrating the Fourth of July this year. The question is heavier than usual, given the national tone. But the answer is that I, and the rest of my city, have already been celebrating. And we will continue once the 250th Independence Day has come and gone. We have been celebrating the best of America: A global destination and guiding light called New York. I encourage the rest of the country to follow our lead in diversity, democracy, opportunity, and joy. They might just feel a little more like celebrating, too.
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