Voting is the most sacred act in a democracy. It is our greatest equalizer — the one instrument of power every citizen holds, regardless of wealth, race, faith, or status. When we cast our vote, we declare that our voice matters and that our future belongs to us.
I voted for Curtis Sliwa because I believed in him, and over the past nine months working beside him, that belief only deepened. I saw how he inspired people — not just from one party or one background, but from every corner of this city. Different races, religions, age groups, and political lines were drawn together by his conviction, his energy, and his relentless drive.
From petitioning candidates and marching in parades to fighting against unsafe lithium-ion battery plants and rallying across the boroughs, I saw the fire in him — the kind of leadership you rarely encounter, even among those trained to lead. Not even in the military did I see that combination of grit, loyalty, and unwavering focus.
And yet, what I witnessed behind the scenes broke my heart. We were too slow, too hesitant, and too divided. We failed to rally behind him when it mattered most — to raise the funds, secure endorsements, and fight for his campaign with the urgency it deserved. Worse still, some in leadership turned their backs entirely.
What is the purpose of a political party that abandons its own? Why build a movement only to hand our resources, our energy, and our support to the opposition? Fine — we lost. But loss is not fate; it is a lesson.
This is what happens when we neglect the basics: recruiting new members, empowering new candidates, building our financial base, and using our influence to amplify the voices of those who fight for us.
If we are to rise again, we must rebuild from the ground up. The strength of any movement lies not in its figurehead but in its foundation — in the people who make the calls, knock on doors, and refuse to surrender hope. We must stop placing all our faith in a single race or a single name. We must build the infrastructure that ensures that when a leader like Curtis Sliwa steps forward, he does not stand alone.
Because in this city — where we are outnumbered, outfunded, and often overlooked — our opponents are not stronger; they are simply more organized. They do the fundamentals. They focus. They win.
So the question is not, “What happened to Curtis Sliwa?” The real question is, “What happened to us?”
Now we stand at a crossroads: either we accept decline as our destiny, or we rise — stronger, smarter, and united. Curtis Sliwa didn’t fail us. We failed ourselves. The only question that remains is this: Will we do it again?