102 newyork| october12–25, 2020
is thefilmdirectorMiraNair.)He movedto
Astoriatwoyearsago, althoughhesaysthat
asa Muslimimmigrantwithfamilyinthe
neighborhood,hefeels“thisplacehasbeen
homemuchlongerthanthat.”He worked
asa foreclosure-preventioncounselorand
puthisoppositiontothereal-estatedevel-
opersattheforefrontofhiscampaign,
promisingnottoacceptmoneyfromthe
industry andpledgingtofightits“perni-
ciousinfluence”inpolitics.“Weneedtorec-
ognizerealityforwhat it is,” Mamdanisaid.
“Whichis that therewasa crisisthat existed
beforethispandemichit.”
Mamdani’svictorywaspart ofa waveof
DSAupsetsthat beganwithAlexandria
Ocasio-CortezandhassinceshakenupNew
York’s politicalfirmament.“Thebusiness
communityandtheEstablishmentpolitical
classwillnotsayit publicly, butprivately
theytalklike theworld’s gonecrazy,”said
VishaanChakrabarti,anarchitect andfor-
mercity-planningofficial.Like many others,
Chakrabartisuggestedthat theideological
at tacksfromtheleft oneconomicdevelop-
mentwerenaïve—andevendangerous—in
thecontextof a deeprecession.“I don’t think
it’ s centrism;it’s just understandinghow
thingswork,”hesaid.“It’smaturity.”
Mamdanitoldmeheis wellawareof how
badthingsare.“Thatfood-pantry lineis not
ge ttingsmaller;it’s gettinglarger,”hesaid.
Hebelieves,however,that thepandemic
offersanopportunitytoimagineanother
city. “What’ssoexcitingaboutthepotential
ofthismomentis thatit allowsustocreate
a newworld,” Mamdanisaid.“Thereareso
manyofthesethinkpiecesabouthow‘New
Yorkis dead.’ Andthereareaspects ofNew
Yorkthat must die.” Oneofthem,hesaid,is
thenotionthatcity governmentshould
exist toservebusinessinterestsunderthe
pretext ofcreatingeconomicgrowth.“That
idea,” he added,“of socialism for the
wealthy, ruggedcapitalismforthemany, is
somethingthat must die.”
Wewalkeddowna streetblockedoff for
outdoorsocialization,passinga pairof
womendoingPilates.“Astoriais very much
alive,”Mamdanisaid.We stoppedat a
bodega,wherehegota coffeeandanegg-
and-cheese,andcontinuedourconversa-
tiononthestreet, standinginoneofthose
cute wooden sukkah-like structures that
have been constructed for outdoor dining.
“This is something that came about because
of the pandemic, and we need to keep it,”
Mamdani said, reflecting on the open-air
summer as well as emergency-aid measures
like free bus transit. “The things that we
like, that remain after the pandemic, will be
the things that we fight for. If we just sit
back,it will be capital that determines the
futureofthe city.”
Hearing this kind of talk, Capital, it’s fair
tosay, isfreaking out. “I agree that the
windisat their backs in terms of them
becomingmore politically powerful,” Glen
toldme.“But what I’m struggling with is,
Whatwillthey do when they get there? It’s
nota game. People’s lives are at stake.”
Spitzerwryly recalled a time, anera ago,
whenhewas an attorney generalcrusad-
ingagainst corruption on Wall Street.
“Everybody thought I was the bane of capi-
talism,”he said. “I said, You don’t get it. I’m
heretoprotect capitalism.” Now, asa devel-
oper,he’s the left’s enemy.
“Growth is to economics what the law of
evolutionis to science,” Spitzer said. “Growth
andprogress are what lift those atthe bot-
tom.” Politicians and activists like Mamdani
askwhattangible benefit the people lining
uponSteinway Street have seen from the
government’s estimated $6 billion in subsi-
diesforHudson Yards. “It’s high time that
real-estate developers feel unappreciated,
becausethey’ve been appreciated for too
long,”Mamdani said. The DSA’s victories
thisyear,he added, are only a prelude to the
comingbattle in 2021: “I think that’s what
they’reterrified of. Finally, they’re meeting
anequaland opposite force.”
Notlong after my walk with Mamdani,
thatforcecame down hard on the develop-
ersofIndustry City, who announced they
werescrapping their expansion plan after
opposition from the DSA and neighbor-
hoodgroups prompted elected officials to
comeoutagainst the proposal. Theproject’s
backerswere infuriated. “The newgenera-
tionofprogressive electeds don’t have a
senseof how dire this is,” said Rosen. “There
is nosuperman waiting in the wings. And
whiledemands for equity are totally fair
andinmany ways long overdue, the com-
placencyabout revenue is frankly terrifying,
assomeone who considers myself a big-
government purist.”
A fewdays after the defeat, I called up
the leader of the community group
uprose, Elizabeth Yeampierre, an attor-
neyandactivist in the climate-justice
movement. She had argued that water-
frontdevelopment should be restricted to
promoteenvironmental resiliency and
“greenindustrial” uses, rather than office
spaceandwhat she calls a “Chelsea/Wil-liamsburg vision” of retail. “We’ve been
hearing, ‘How can these people turn away
from these jobs in the middle of covid?’ ”
Yeampierre told me. “Well, are you in your
office right now or are you at home?” I was
at home. “People are not going back to
their offices,” she predicted.
Actually, when I’d visited Industry City a
few weeks before the plan fell apart, Andrew
Kimball, the former city official who is run-
ning the project for its private developers,
told me that it was coming back to life, rela-
tively speaking. Because many of its tenants
were in light manufacturing and other
hands-on businesses, about half of the
roughly 8,000 workers had returned. He
was even doing some leasing. Whole Foods
had taken a 25,000-square-foot space for its
first online-only store, where paid shoppers
pick out groceries for deliveries.
“How could we not support this at a
moment when we are looking at 25 percent
unemployment?” Kimball asked.We met
up outside the renovated part of the ware-
house complex. The scene inside was, in
fact, a little Williamsburg-y. Kimball
showed me a candy store wheremasked
workers were making chocolates on a con-
veyor belt, a high-end tattoo parlor, a shop
selling raw honey, a whiskey distillery, and
a darkened co-working space. “The covid
tour is not as exciting,” he said apologeti-
cally. Around 90 percent of Industry City’s
tenants are small businesses, employing
fewer than ten people, and many were
barely surviving on emergency federal
loans, which were running out.
We went upstairs into the airy, open-plan
office of an engineering firm. It was filled
with models and diagrams of jobsin prog-
ress before the lockdown. A sad cactus sat
drooping on a long galley-style desk. Work-
ers had left their pens and papers neatly
arranged. Someone’s backpack was leaning
against a desk chair. Taped over each com-
puter monitor was a sheet of paper reading
workstation closed.
Looking out a window toward the harbor,
Kimball pointed out the sights: the new
space for Steiner Studios, the Brooklyn Nets
practice facility, the sites that would have
become office buildings if the city had
approved his plan. Of course, it was hard to
say when there would be demandfor that
office space. Kimball directed my attention
to a huge parking lot, where a bunch of
white tractor-trailers were parked. “That’s
the South Brooklyn Marine Terminal,” he
said, which is slated to be redeveloped as
part of a state-financed offshore wind-
power project. For now, though, it’s being
used as the city’s temporary morgue. Lately,
Kimball said, there had been less activity
around the morgue. But the trailers are still
waiting there, ready for the fall. ■Power Brokers