The mayor who didn’t march

New York is a city of parades. It does not merely tolerate them; it is partly defined by them. Fifth Avenue, Broadway, Madison Avenue, Queens, Brooklyn, Harlem, Staten Island and the Bronx all become, at different moments of the year, stages upon which communities tell the city who they are.

There is the St Patrick’s Day Parade, among the oldest and largest in the world. There is the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, watched by millions and woven into the mythology of American childhood. There is the Puerto Rican Day Parade, the West Indian American Day Carnival, the Dominican Day Parade, the Columbus Day Parade, the Lunar New Year Parade, the Pride March, the Veterans Day Parade, the Halloween Parade, the Mermaid Parade and many more. Some are vast. Some are local. Some are patriotic. Some are cultural. Some are religious. Some are political. Together, they form a moving map of New York’s astonishing diversity.

That is why the recent Israel Day Parade mattered.

Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s decision to boycott the parade was not a small scheduling choice. It was a break with tradition, and a pointed one. New York mayors have long understood that parades are not simply endorsements of every policy position held by every participant. They are civic gestures. They are moments when the city’s leader says to a community: you belong here; your story is part of our story; your safety and dignity matter.

A mayor can disagree with the Israeli government. Many Israelis do. Many Jews do. Many thoughtful people do. But the Israel Day Parade is not merely a referendum on the policies of a government in Jerusalem. For many Jewish New Yorkers, it is a public affirmation of identity, continuity and resilience. It is a day when children from Jewish schools, synagogues, youth groups, civic organisations, survivors, families, allies and friends walk proudly in a city that contains one of the largest Jewish populations in the world.

To absent oneself from that moment, especially at a time of rising antisemitism, sends a message whether intended or not.

There was, however, one figure who emerged with credit: Police Commissioner Jessica Tisch. She understood the moment. Her language was direct and reassuring. Her posture was professional. Her decision to march was significant. In a city where symbols matter, her presence mattered.

The security operation itself tells a deeper and more troubling story. New Yorkers were told there was no known specific or credible threat. Yet they also saw what was described as the most extensive security plan the NYPD had ever put together for this parade. That combination is revealing. No specific threat, but maximum precaution. No single known plot, but a climate sufficiently dangerous to justify extraordinary measures.

The precautions were striking. Uniformed officers along the route. Counterterrorism teams. Explosive-detection canines. Helicopters. Drones. Emergency services. Mounted units. Hostile-surveillance teams. Plainclothes officers. Screening checkpoints. Vehicle checks. Police in the transit system. Monitoring of social media. Rapid-response units. Hardened NYPD vehicles and heavy sanitation trucks positioned to prevent a ramming attack.

This is what public Jewish life now requires in a leading Western city.

That should trouble every decent person. The issue is not whether security was necessary. Plainly, it was. The NYPD deserves praise for taking the threat seriously and for ensuring that the parade proceeded safely. The issue is that such measures are now necessary at all.

A parade should not require the architecture of a military operation. Children marching under school banners should not need hostile-surveillance teams. Families waving flags should not need hardened vehicles protecting them from the possibility of a ramming attack. A community celebrating its identity should not have to pass through layers of screening simply to be publicly visible.

And yet this is the world we are entering.

The trend line augurs poorly. Across the West, Jewish communities are once again being asked to demonstrate courage merely to live openly. Synagogues require guards. Schools require protection. Students hide symbols of Jewish identity. Families think twice before wearing a kippah, a Star of David or a Hebrew slogan in public. The old hatred has found new slogans, new platforms and new excuses.

New York’s parades have always been about more than celebration. They are claims of belonging. The Irish claimed belonging. The Puerto Rican community claimed belonging. The Caribbean community claimed belonging. The LGBTQ community claimed belonging. Veterans, immigrants, faith communities and national diasporas have all marched, waved, sung, danced and declared: we are here.

Jewish New Yorkers were doing the same.

That is why leadership matters. A mayor does not need to agree with every banner to stand with his citizens. He does not need to resolve Middle East history to affirm that Jewish New Yorkers are not alone. He does not need to surrender his views to understand that, in this moment, absence is not neutral.

The parade went ahead. Tens of thousands marched. The police performed their duty. Commissioner Tisch did hers with distinction. But the image that remains is uncomfortable: a Jewish community celebrating under unprecedented security, while the mayor of New York chose not to walk beside them.

In the parades of New York, presence has always carried meaning. So does absence.

Colonel Michael Scott CSC Ret’d is a former Australian army officer and the founder of The 2023 Foundation, an initiative dedicated to combating antisemitism.