Adams’ Turbulent Legacy Ends in Chaos as Socialist Mamdani Seizes City Hall

Paul Riverbank, 1/1/2026Eric Adams exits amid noise and criticism, but real change lies in the city’s reform efforts and a quiet, symbolic handover to Zohran Mamdani—signaling a new era for New York governance.

Earlier that evening, Eric Adams presided over his own low-key farewell from the quiet of his office. Cradling a staff-gifted mug, he recited some of his more notorious quotes—“I wake up in the morning sometimes and look at myself and give myself the finger,” he read, half-laughing, half-defiant. Coffee in hand, Adams tried for a swan song heavy on self-aware bravado: “It’s not what’s in the tweet, it’s what’s in the streets.” If he looked tired, he also looked almost relieved, as if the battle of City Hall had run long but the coda was his alone to direct.

Adams’ four-year run was rarely still. He championed transparency, launching the much-discussed Charter Revision Commission. It was Martin Connor, ex-state senator, who helmed the effort, holding out the possibility of open primaries and even nonpartisan ballots—a bold idea by New York standards. Adams promised it would draw “trailblazing leaders,” and in this he wasn’t exaggerating. Among those answering the call: Betsy Gotbaum, the former public advocate still sharp with policy nuance, and Shams DaBaron, a tough-talking advocate for the city’s homeless. The commission’s roll call mirrored the city itself: broad, noisy, impossible to sum up with a single headline.

Every political career in New York absorbs its share of running jokes. For Adams, it was the “Office of Rodent Mitigation,” or as some called it, the Rat Czar saga. Cohen’s drunk New Year’s missive referenced that initiative too, wondering out loud if Adams’ war on rats wasn’t just a literal public health effort, but maybe a sly commentary on the city’s political underbrush. Some laughed, some cringed, and a few longtime staffers recalled heated briefings in the basement of City Hall, where the rat problem had suddenly become a recurring agenda item. The city’s punchlines have always doubled as survival tactics.

It was in the early hours—when most New Yorkers sought warmth inside leftover parties or empty subways—that the mayoral torch officially passed to Zohran Mamdani. No big crowds or stirring speeches, just a whispered oath in a forgotten subway station beneath City Hall Park. Mamdani, at 34, Muslim and a self-identified Democratic Socialist, pressed his palm to a Quran his wife gripped tightly. Already, rumors of coming friction within his inner circle trickled through neighborhood newsrooms. But the symbolism resonated: New York didn’t just want a break from the past; it was rooting for the script to change.

Up on the street, confetti still clung to the curbs as the city woke to a new face in charge. Adams lingered in the memory—if only for the slapdash humor and ballroom blitz demeanor that infuriated as often as it entertained. Cohen’s TV tirade flickered across social networks in a loop, the viral moment outpacing any official press statement. Yet, as always, it’s the quieter stuff that will last: the gradual charter reform work, the collision of old alliances, the sense that underneath all the sound and fury, bureaucracy was slowly rewriting the city’s playbook.

For four years, New York lived out loud under Adams, wins and losses woven tightly together. This January, an anxious city looked ahead—wondering if the next story would finally be written with a new pen, or if the ink would still run with the familiar stains of politics as usual.

When the lights finally faded over Times Square, Andy Cohen was still on the air—a glass in his hand and a glint in his eye that hinted at the late hour. As confetti swirled and crowds thinned, Cohen didn’t hold back on live television. He aimed squarely at Eric Adams: “Watching the final moments of Mayor Adams’ chaotic, horrible—” The cameras caught his co-hosts trying to reel him in, but Cohen, never one for subtlety especially after midnight, doubled down. Words poured out, messy and unscripted, mixing legal jargon and nightclub references. At one point, he attributed “pardons” to Adams—oddly off-mark since the only thing Adams had been cleared of were certain federal charges, not any pardoning spree. Yet what Cohen muddled in terminology he made up for in raw honesty. In truth, most New Yorkers watching at home didn’t need the details as much as they recognized the sentiment. For months, fatigue had worn grooves across the city; the desire for new leadership wasn’t exactly a secret.Earlier that evening, Eric Adams presided over his own low-key farewell from the quiet of his office. Cradling a staff-gifted mug, he recited some of his more notorious quotes—“I wake up in the morning sometimes and look at myself and give myself the finger,” he read, half-laughing, half-defiant. Coffee in hand, Adams tried for a swan song heavy on self-aware bravado: “It’s not what’s in the tweet, it’s what’s in the streets.” If he looked tired, he also looked almost relieved, as if the battle of City Hall had run long but the coda was his alone to direct.Adams’ four-year run was rarely still. He championed transparency, launching the much-discussed Charter Revision Commission. It was Martin Connor, ex-state senator, who helmed the effort, holding out the possibility of open primaries and even nonpartisan ballots—a bold idea by New York standards. Adams promised it would draw “trailblazing leaders,” and in this he wasn’t exaggerating. Among those answering the call: Betsy Gotbaum, the former public advocate still sharp with policy nuance, and Shams DaBaron, a tough-talking advocate for the city’s homeless. The commission’s roll call mirrored the city itself: broad, noisy, impossible to sum up with a single headline.Every political career in New York absorbs its share of running jokes. For Adams, it was the “Office of Rodent Mitigation,” or as some called it, the Rat Czar saga. Cohen’s drunk New Year’s missive referenced that initiative too, wondering out loud if Adams’ war on rats wasn’t just a literal public health effort, but maybe a sly commentary on the city’s political underbrush. Some laughed, some cringed, and a few longtime staffers recalled heated briefings in the basement of City Hall, where the rat problem had suddenly become a recurring agenda item. The city’s punchlines have always doubled as survival tactics.It was in the early hours—when most New Yorkers sought warmth inside leftover parties or empty subways—that the mayoral torch officially passed to Zohran Mamdani. No big crowds or stirring speeches, just a whispered oath in a forgotten subway station beneath City Hall Park. Mamdani, at 34, Muslim and a self-identified Democratic Socialist, pressed his palm to a Quran his wife gripped tightly. Already, rumors of coming friction within his inner circle trickled through neighborhood newsrooms. But the symbolism resonated: New York didn’t just want a break from the past; it was rooting for the script to change.Up on the street, confetti still clung to the curbs as the city woke to a new face in charge. Adams lingered in the memory—if only for the slapdash humor and ballroom blitz demeanor that infuriated as often as it entertained. Cohen’s TV tirade flickered across social networks in a loop, the viral moment outpacing any official press statement. Yet, as always, it’s the quieter stuff that will last: the gradual charter reform work, the collision of old alliances, the sense that underneath all the sound and fury, bureaucracy was slowly rewriting the city’s playbook.For four years, New York lived out loud under Adams, wins and losses woven tightly together. This January, an anxious city looked ahead—wondering if the next story would finally be written with a new pen, or if the ink would still run with the familiar stains of politics as usual.