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How Mira Nair and Mahmood Mamdani’s politics shaped New York City’s new mayor
(New York Jewish Week) — When he sat down for an interview in November with the Chronicle of Higher Education, Mahmood Mamdani offered one parameter: “Let’s not talk about the mayor thing.”
It was just two days after the Columbia University professor had taken the stage alongside his wife and daughter-in-law after his son Zohran had been elected mayor of New York City, winning more than 50% of the vote in a three-way race.
Zohran Mamdani, a 34-year-old democratic socialist with a long track record of pro-Palestinian activism, has said he counts his father as one of his political inspirations.
But Mahmood Mamdani preferred to talk about his own record, as a professor of anthropology and international affairs and a longstanding pro-Palestinian activist who was the first faculty member to address the Gaza war encampment on his campus.
His wife, filmmaker Mira Nair, and Zohran’s wife, the artist Rama Duwaji, likewise are respected in their fields and well known for their pro-Palestinian advocacy and adherence to the movement to boycott Israel.
Zohran Mamdani has described the BDS movement as “consistent with the core of my politics,” and in 2023 introduced a bill while serving as an assemblymember that sought to block nonprofits from funding Israeli settlements in the West Bank.
While it is unclear the extent to which Mamdani will pursue BDS policies during his upcoming mayoral term, his politics and those of his parents reflect a shared alignment with pro-Palestinian causes.
“When you’re the kid of two parents who are very involved in social justice, a lot of times what you remember as a playdate was you being at some rally or some march,” Mamdani recalled in an interview with City & State in April 2023.
Now, as Zohran takes the city’s reins, here’s what you need to know about his immediate family.
Mahmood Mamdani, viewing Israel through an anti-colonial lens
Long before his son’s mayoral campaign, Mahmood Mamdani, 79, was known widely as one of the foremost scholars on colonialism and postcolonial politics in Africa. Born in India in 1946, Mamdani was raised in Kampala, Uganda at a time when the country was racially segregated. After receiving his bachelors, masters and doctorate from universities in the United States, Mamdani was expelled from Uganda in 1972 after Ugandan President Idi Amin ordered all Asians to leave the country.
Since 1999, he has been a professor of government at Columbia University, and has published several books and essays on colonialism and political violence including “Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism” in 1996 and “Good Muslim, Bad Muslim: America, the Cold War, and the Roots of Terror” in 2004.
As a scholar, Mahmood Mamdani is best known for his analysis of colonial rule and how it shapes the identities of both the occupied and occupiers. In his 2020 book, “Neither Settler nor Native: The Making and Unmaking of Permanent Minorities,” he uses case studies that include Nazi Germany, Israelis and Palestinians and post-apartheid South Africa.
Mamdani has spoken directly and repeatedly about how his broader scholarship shapes his thinking on Israel and Palestinians. “The issue is not settlers, but settler colonialism,” he wrote in “Neither Settler nor Native.” In 2021, during an 11-day outbreak of violence between Hamas and Israel that was sparked by tensions in Jerusalem, Mamdani wrote on X, “Palestinians have a right to resist. This is a colonial occupation, not a conflict!”
Three days later, as Hamas and Israel exchanged missiles and airstrikes, Mamdani wrote that the conflict was not between Israel and Hamas, but rather the resurgence of a third intifada.
“The resistance this time began in Jerusalem and spread to Gaza, now the West Bank and Palestinian communities beyond. This is not a conflict between Israel and Hamas,” wrote Mamdani in a post on X. “We are witnessing something far more meaningful, the birth of the Third Intifadah against settler colonialism!”
In 2002, as the second intifada was in full force, Mamdani signed onto a petition calling for Columbia University to divest from companies supplying arms to Israel, saying at the time his support for the petition was to make a “moral statement registering concern over the exercise of power by Israel.”
In the Chronicle of Higher Education interview, Mahmood Mamdani spoke about being the first faculty member to address the pro-Palestinian protesters who set up an encampment at Columbia in 2024. He said his talk focused on “lessons of the divestment movement in South Africa.”
In a 2022 Zoom lecture at the Carter G. Woodson Institute of the University of Virginia, Mahmood Mamdani argued that while there was reason to give “full and enthusiastic support” to the BDS movement, he cautioned against the movement extending its boycotts against the breadth of “Israeli society and not just to its Zionist sectors.”
During his lecture, Mamdani also argued that Israel must learn from the dissolution of the South African apartheid, saying that the only way forward in the region was if there was an “epistemic revolution” in Israel where they realized the “flourishing of Jews and Jewish life does not require a Zionist state.”
“Whites did not need to monopolize political power to have a home in South Africa. It is this lesson that needs to be driven home to Israelis, as many as possible, that Jews do not need to have a Jewish state to have a secure home in Israel-Palestine,” said Mamdani. “Indeed, Jews are more secure in New York City than they are in Israel.”
Asked whether he supports a one-state solution, Mamdani recently told The Chronicle, “I’m sympathetic to only one type of one state, a state which is based on rule of law and guarantees equal rights,” a position his son echoed on the campaign trail. “I’m opposed to any kind of discrimination. I’m opposed to any form of apartheid which I understand to be a legally enforced distinction between two groups in society, where one benefits and the other is penalized.”
In an interview with The Nation in January 2024, Mamdani criticized the public response to the pro-Palestinian protests erupting across the U.S., saying that conflating anti-Zionism with antisemitism was a danger to democracy.
“To conflate the critique of a state with the critique of a people poses a challenge to a democratic culture,” he said. In his recent Chronicle interview, Mamdani pointed favorably to the Jerusalem Declaration definition of antisemitism, signed by over 200 mostly Jewish scholars, which insists that the movement to boycott Israel is not in and of itself antisemitic. The declaration, he said, “makes a very clear distinction between the State of Israel and the people of Israel,” as opposed to the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition.
In a January 2024 letter published in the Columbia Spectator, Mahmood Mamdani criticized the school for dissuading the use of the words “intifada” and “from the river to the sea,” arguing that excluding them would “rule out any meaningful dialogue on Israel and Palestine on this campus.” (He told the Chronicle that the “river to the seas” concept appears in the Likud party manifesto, which declares that “between the [Mediterranean] Sea and the Jordan [River] there will only be Israeli sovereignty.” He also claimed that he had not actually heard “from the river to the sea” chanted in Columbia’s quad, and had only read about it.)
Zohran Mamdani similarly downplayed rhetoric that many Israel supporters consider incendiary. In June he declined to condemn the phrase “globalize the Intifada,” arguing that the phrase symbolized a “desperate desire for equality and equal rights in standing up for Palestinian human rights.” (Mamdani later said he would “discourage” the use of the phrase, which many supporters of Israel, recalling two violent uprisings of Palestinians in 1987 and 2000 that killed hundreds of Israelis, see as a call to violence.)
At an appearance on the encampments, Mamdani described charges of antisemitism as “part of the currency the administration uses to demonize protests like this,” according to the Columbia Spectator.
Critics of the elder Mamdani say he underplays Jewish historical vulnerability and antisemitism, minimizes Palestinian political agency and their internal divisions, and ignores the way Zionism differs from European colonialism. But like his son, he believes even younger Jews are increasingly adopting his critique of Israel and Zionism.
In a December interview with Peter Beinart for Jewish Currents, a leftist magazine, he said he believed the Jewish diasporic community would play an “important role” in discussions over the “Palestinian question” in the future.
“Jewish children in New York City have become increasingly skeptical of the direction in which Israel has been moving, and increasingly disillusioned with both the moral and the political efficacy of that route and increasingly open to explore an alternative,” said Mamdani.
Mira Nair, a supporter of cultural boycotts
Nair is an award-winning Indian-American filmmaker whose debut 1988 film, “Salaam Bombay!,” earned her an Academy Award nomination for Best Foreign Language Film. She also directed several acclaimed films including “Mississippi Masala” in 1991, “Monsoon Wedding” in 2001 and “The Namesake” in 2006.
Born in India, she met Mahmood Mamdani in Uganda in 1989, and they married two years later. Nair was also married to the Jewish photographer Mitch Epstein from 1981 to sometime before 1989; he has declined JTA’s requests for an interview.
Nair has also been an outspoken critic of Israel and a supporter of petitions backing the Boycott, Divest and Sanctions movement.
In 2013, Nair declined an invitation to the Haifa International Film Festival. “I will not be going to Israel at this time. I will go to Israel when the walls come down. I will go to Israel when occupation is gone,” she tweeted at the time. In a subsequent post, she added that she stood with the BDS movement.
In March of this year, Nair signed onto a petition calling for the Academy Awards to remove Israeli actress Gal Gadot from its ceremony, accusing her of showing “support for Israel’s military actions against Palestinians,” according to an Instagram post by the group.
Following the election of her son, Nair has also declined to discuss Mamdani’s attitudes towards Jews and Israel in an interview with The Hollywood Reporter.
“What I love so much about Zohran is that he embraces the multiplicity of our lives in the most natural way — this mosaic that is our city but that no one has seen until this young man came along,” Nair told The Hollywood Reporter of her son.
Rama Duwaji, an artist with a political vision
Mamdani’s wife, Rama Duwaji, whom he married this year, has also made pro-Palestinian advocacy a focal point of her work in ceramics, animation and illustrations.
While Duwaji has largely refused interviews with the press and did not appear at campaign events or fundraisers, last month she sat for her first interview post election with The Cut.
“Speaking out about Palestine, Syria, Sudan — all these things are really important to me,” Duwaji told The Cut. “I’m always keeping up to date with what’s going on, not just here but elsewhere. It feels fake to talk about anything else when that’s all that’s on my mind, all I want to put down on paper.”
“Everything is political; it’s the thing that I talk about with [Zohran] and my friends, the thing that I’m up to date with every morning, which is probably not great for my mental health. It’s what I talk about when I check on my family back home,” continued Duwaji.
During the interview Duwaji also discussed the meaning behind part of her election night outfit —- a black top designed by Zeid Hijazi, a London-based Palestinian-Jordanian label.
“It’s nice to have a little bit of analysis on the clothes because, for instance, during the general-election night, it was nice to send a message about Palestinians by wearing a Palestinian designer,” said Duwaji.
Duwaji, 28, who is ethnically Syrian and grew up in Texas and Dubai, also frequently posts illustrations that advocate for pro-Palestinian causes on her Instagram account. Her art has been featured in The New Yorker, The Washington Post, the BBC, and VICE, according to her website.
https://www.instagram.com/p/DNQ85ehpSo6/?hl=en
In August, she posted an animation of the Palestinian flag along with the words “end the genocide,” and posted another last month depicting the Global Sumud Flotilla.
In March, she posted an illustration of Mahmoud Khalil, a pro-Palestinian student activist at Columbia University, calling for his release after he was detained by the Trump administration amid its campaign to purportedly combat campus antisemitism.
“This is an attack on freedom of speech, and sets a scary f—king precedent for anyone who speaks up for what’s right. Resist,” wrote Duwaji.
“He’s his own person”
In an interview with the New York Times in June, Mahmood Mamdani spurned suggestions that his politics had an outsized impact on his son’s political views.
“He’s his own person,” Mamdani said. “Now, of course what we do as his parents is part of the environment in which he grew up, and he couldn’t help but engage with it. That doesn’t mean anything is reflected back on us.”
But Nair was quick to disagree, telling the Times that her son had “very much absorbed” his parents’ politics, which largely center on anti-colonialism.
“I don’t agree!” Ms. Nair said. “Of course the world we live in, and what we write and film and think about, is the world that Zohran has very much absorbed.”
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The 2026 J. I. Segal Award for Yiddish literature is now accepting submissions
די יערלעכע פּרעמיע פֿאַר ייִדישער ליטעראַטור, אַ טראַדיציע פֿון דער מאָנטרעאָלער ביבליאָטעק במשך פֿון די פֿאַרגאַנגענע 50 יאָר, זוכט אָריגינעלע ביכער אָנגעשריבן אויף ייִדיש און אַרויסגעלאָזט צווישן דעם 1טן יאַנואַר 2024 און דעם 31סטן דעצעמבער 2025. די מחברים קענען זײַן פֿון אומעטום.
דער מחבר וואָס געווינט די „פּרעמיע פֿאַר ייִדישער ליטעראַטור אויפֿן נאָמען פֿון ד״ר הירש און דבֿורה ראָזענפֿעלד“ וועט באַקומען 1,000$.
אינטערעסאַנט איז וואָס מע האָט הײַיאָר צוגעגעבן אַ נײַע תּקנה: ווערק וואָס זענען טיילווײַז אָדער אין גאַנצן געשאַפֿן דורך „איי־אײַ“ וועלן נישט אָנגענומען ווערן.
פֿריִערדיקע ביכער וואָס האָבן באַקומען דעם פּריז זענען באָריס סאַנדלערס ראָמאַן „אַנטיקלעך פֿונעם סאַקוואָיאַזש“ און בער קאָטלערמאַנס ראָמאַן „דער סוד פֿון ווײַסע בערן“. די תּקנות אָנצוגעבן אויף אַ פּרעמיע קען מען געפֿינען דאָ https://www.jewishpubliclibrary.org/en/jacob-lsaac-segal-awards.
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Cultural boycotts of Israel just reached peak absurdity
Nadav Lapid is a filmmaker whose work has become increasingly ferocious in its indictment of Israeli society, nationalism and moral self-deception. His latest film, Yes, is not a plea for Israeli innocence, but rather a savage, obscene, self-implicating reckoning with a country in which language, music, sex and grief have all been drafted into the service of monstrous affirmation.
That he was pushed out of a prestigious international film festival in the name of opposing Israeli state violence is not a victory for moral clarity. It is “an intellectual failure,” to quote an open letter that was published in Le Monde on June 9.
Here’s the backstory: Lapid, a dissident Israeli director based in France, was asked to serve on the jury of the international film festival FID Marseille. After his appointment was announced, the festival’s director, Tsveta Dobreva, started to receive phone calls objecting to the presence of an Israeli director on the film festival jury.
Dobreva initially stood by her decision, yet as pressure intensified, the festival and Lapid mutually agreed that he would give up the jury role. Instead, the festival envisioned a more limited role for Lapid in Marseille, in which he would present his first feature, Policeman (2011), followed by a public discussion. However, even this compromise continued to raise the hackles of those who felt that the mere presence of an Israeli filmmaker at FID Marseille was unacceptable.
After a dozen directors threatened to pull their films from the festival over his participation, Lapid exited — not, it seems, out of a desire to capitulate to his opponents, but rather because he felt insulted that so many in the global filmmaking community felt that his presence in Marseille was an instance of “artwashing” designed to deny, obscure or deflect from the crimes of the Israeli government and the IDF.
How does the presence of a dissident filmmaker make him the representative of the very state he critiques? One can argue about and with Lapid’s films. One can validly choose to love them, attack them or reject them. But first one has to watch them.
That point rests at the heart of the Le Monde letter defending Lapid, collectively signed by 10 prominent actors and directors including Natalie Portman and Jacques Audiard. The case against him is that for a blanket cultural boycott of Israeli artists, fueled by the fact that Yes received support from the Israel Film Fund.
What critics may miss: The Israel Film Fund operates independently of Israel’s government, albeit with taxpayer funding, and has supported films sharply critical of Israeli policy — including last year’s The Sea, an antiwar film about a Palestinian boy that won five Ophir awards, Israel’s equivalent to the Oscars. (After The Sea’s award night victory, Israel’s Culture Minister threatened funding cuts to the ceremony.) Le Monde even reported that the Israel Film Fund stepped in to provide 10% of Lapid’s budget for Yes after the European Union declined to support what they judged to be an anti-Israel project.
Lapid himself has not dismissed the boycott debate. He has called it serious, and has long supported political sanctions against the Israeli state. Nor does he appear to think of the filmmakers who oppose him as enemies. He has suggested that their actions come from powerlessness, anger and immense frustration at political inaction over Gaza.
But he understands that political frustrations can lead to censorship with far-reaching implications.“For a year, it was my film Yes that was being attacked,” he told Le Monde earlier this week. “And then, suddenly, my mere presence became unacceptable. I asked myself: What exactly do they want? That I stop making films? Should I leave France? How far will this go?”
Those are troubling questions. Answering them incorrectly — as Lapid’s critics have — risks turning film festivals into places to virtue signal and perform outrage, rather than opportunities to sit with art that fosters critical thinking and discrimination.
The most recent editions of the Berlin Film Festival illustrate that risk. Berlin has always been a deeply political festival, beginning with its Cold War origins. Since the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023, the festival has been convulsed by furious debates set off by Israel’s war in Gaza, and amplified by the German government’s iron-clad support for the Jewish state.
Accusatory speeches, open letters and political threats have frequently upstaged the actors and filmmakers on the red carpet. The festival has become political in the way that a rally is political. Instead of the films themselves provoking complicated political conversations, the focus has increasingly been on the inability of the Berlinale — one of Germany’s foremost cultural institutions — to issue a robust defense of freedom of expression while respecting Germany’s historic responsibility to Israel.
Marseille risked a similar mistake. Dobreva, the festival director, warned that the boycott threats over Lapid prevented the festival from programming freely and serving as a place of free thinking. She is absolutely right. A film festival should be able to screen Palestinian films, condemn state violence, interrogate potential moral compromises in film funding and still hold clarity about the fact that an individual artist’s value cannot be reduced to the birthplace listed on his passport.
The collective Palestine Will Save Cinema, which agitated against Lapid’s presence at Marseille, argued that placing Palestinian and Israeli narratives side by side risked turning the devastation of Gaza into a tidy exercise in balance, as if symmetrical programming could smooth away asymmetrical suffering.
That argument is guilty of its own kind of cultural flattening. Lapid’s films have been arguments with and against the country that formed him. In Synonyms (2019), an existential tragicomedy that is Lapid’s most incisive investigation into Israeli and Jewish identity, a young man moves to Paris after completing his military service. There, he tries — and ultimately fails — to transform himself into a Frenchman by repudiating the Hebrew language and severing ties with his family.
In Ahed’s Knee (2021) an Israeli filmmaker is incensed after being asked to choose from a list of approved discussion topics for a Q&A about his work at a community library. The filmmaker’s protest against government censorship swells into a scorching, self-destructive tirade against Israeli culture, with righteous anger warping into paranoia and cruelty.
When I interviewed Lapid about Ahed’s Knee in Cannes, where the film won the jury prize, the director told me that making the film had allowed him to think through a number of tough yet vital questions: “What does it mean to be good in a bad place? And what does being right matter when it detaches you from your most human instincts?”
He added that sick societies present people with bad choices, where “the normal option doesn’t exist.” Yes is the most extreme form he has given to that idea. In Munich, he said the film is vulgar, noisy and brutal because the “collective soul” it depicts is vulgar, noisy and brutal — and because he, too, is “part of the sickness.”
Rejecting false equivalences is not the same thing as reducing every Israeli artist to an emissary of state violence. Film festivals exist, in part, to teach us to see such distinctions. To exclude an artist of Lapid’s stature, temperament and talent is to admit that we no longer trust art, or ourselves, to withstand complexity and contradiction.
Lapid’s case reveals this category error with special force.
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The Jewish friendship that let David Hockney experience ‘dangerous perfection’
Think of the British painter David Hockney, who died Thursday at 88, and you think of color. 1967’s “A Bigger Splash,” almost certainly his most famous work, is a study in blue so profound that it’s nearly synesthetic: The pool is such a saturated cool that you can feel the water lap your feet, and the sky so rich with California sunlight that your shoulders burn. When Hockney turned more toward landscapes in later years, trees came in every color of the rainbow — here a pink trunk, there a purple — and roads were streaked salmon and teal.
Which makes it stranger that one of the works of his that I find most evocative has no color at all. It’s a 1975 pen and ink drawing of the American Jewish artist R.B. Kitaj, one of Hockney’s dearest friends, sitting on a bench outside an art school in Vienna.
Kitaj, head propped in his hand, looks out toward the left side of the page. His face is the lone area of detail in a scene thrown together with brisk, expressive lines. There is a sense of place around him, but that place is in the act of disappearing. As the scene spreads to the right and lower edges of the page — the areas that would fall outside Kitaj’s line of sight — it ceases to exist. Kitaj’s bench is slatted, rounded and real, but the bench abutting it is depicted in a few brief strokes. The buildings and street are sketched with light attention within what seems to be Kitaj’s periphery line, and are nonexistent beyond it.
The picture is a study of a man in deep focus. Hockney draws Kitaj’s head — and by inference, everything within it — as real and lifelike. But beyond the scope of Kitaj’s vision — the material the world presents him, possibly to be made into art — Hockney shows his surroundings as being valuable only as perspective lines, helping to situate the subject in space.
To be caught thinking is a vulnerable experience. To have someone restore your sense of your own physical self is a shock. By sketching Kitaj in his moment of remove, Hockney gave a renowned and somewhat glamorous friendship a sense of life. And he gave a sense of life, too, to the thing that made his own art so attractive: the impression of a rare and gorgeous intensity of vision, one that could draw a viewer’s attention so completely that it seemed what was on the canvas was the only real thing on earth.
In his drawing of Kitaj, the line is blurred between his subject’s concentration and his own. Is it really that Kitaj is so immersed in the act of seeing — or that Hockney is, his gaze so rapt upon his friend as to make him able to capture, briefly, what it was like to see through Kitaj’s eyes?
From the first days of their friendship at the Royal College of Art, Hockney and Kitaj existed on two planes for one another: human and artistic. As each worked to find the right way to reflect their own humanity in their art, their concepts of both themselves and their work influenced one another. “I was painting about my Jews and my books and Hockney was just coming out of the closet, so I said paint that,” Kitaj once said. And another time: “He switched to his gay culture as I began on my Jewish culture in its first forms.”
When Kitaj married the painter Sandra Fisher in 1983 — after Hockney introduced them in the 1970s — Hockney was his best man. “Those orthodox Rabbis had never seen such a gang under the chuppa,” Hockney told 032c magazine in 2025. At that moment, he said, “life for me had reached a dangerous perfection.”
A “dangerous perfection.” What did that mean? I see a glimpse of the answer in Hockney’s drawing of Kitaj — a sense of connection so complete as to threaten the boundaries of selfhood. At Kitaj’s wedding, Hockney experienced that threat as a kind of transcendence: Look, how wonderful being alive among other people can be. The experience captured in his drawing of Kitaj is different, but related. It’s that of a kind of looking, and seeing, that briefly gives total knowledge.
That kind of completeness is one of the aims of friendship, and also of art. There will be much to miss about Hockney, an artist who was easy to love. But the rare experience of absolute immersion that his best work gave its viewers may have made, out of all he accomplished, the biggest splash.
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