Stephen Colbert couldn’t resist—and this time, the late-night host went all in. Fresh off Zohran Mamdani’s stunning win in the New York City mayoral race, Colbert turned his stage into a pulpit of satire, aiming his sharpest barbs at the billionaire class that tried—and failed—to buy the election. The audience at The Late Show erupted with laughter as Colbert, with his signature mix of wit and precision, transformed a political upset into a cultural moment. But behind the punchlines and applause, there was something else — an unmistakable current of truth about power, money, and democracy in America.
Colbert opened the monologue with his trademark deadpan humor. “It’s a bad day for billionaires,” he announced, his grin widening as the crowd cheered. “But don’t worry—they’re still billionaires.” The laughter that followed wasn’t just amusement; it was recognition. For weeks, New Yorkers had watched as some of the richest men in the country poured millions into the effort to block Mamdani’s rise. And yet, the grassroots candidate — a son of immigrants, a progressive, and a relentless community organizer — had done what few thought possible. He’d beaten the machine, outmaneuvered the money, and rewritten the political narrative of the nation’s biggest city.
Colbert rattled off the names of the billionaires who bankrolled the opposition: Ron Lauder, Bill Ackman, Joe Gebbia. Together, they’d funneled more than $6 million into anti-Mamdani ads, mailers, and digital blitzes. “Ron Lauder spent $2.6 million trying to stop him,” Colbert quipped. “For that kind of money, you’d think he could have bought himself a mayor who’d actually win.” The audience laughed again, but Colbert’s delivery—light but deliberate—carried the subtext that money, once seen as the ultimate weapon in politics, had met its match in a movement driven by people rather than profits.
As the laughter subsided, Colbert pivoted to the heart of the story: the extraordinary coalition that propelled Mamdani to victory. “His supporters came from everywhere,” Colbert said, pausing for effect. “Latvian truck drivers, Nepalese librarians, Polish fishermen, and pizza chefs from Eswatini—which, by the way, used to be called Swaziland.” The absurdity of the list brought the house down. Colbert leaned in and smirked: “My wife got me an atlas for my birthday, and now we all have to pay the price.” Beneath the humor was something profound—a celebration of the city’s vast, interwoven diversity and the power of ordinary people coming together across languages, professions, and neighborhoods.
It wasn’t lost on Colbert—or his audience—that this was more than just a local election. The comedian connected Mamdani’s win to a broader wave of Democratic victories across the country. He highlighted Mikie Sherrill’s success in New Jersey and Abigail Spanberger’s in Virginia, calling the night “a clean sweep for candidates who didn’t have billionaires on speed dial.” The crowd applauded, sensing the broader implication: the political landscape was shifting. Colbert, as always, used humor not just to entertain, but to reflect — to remind viewers that in a democracy, the pulse of change often beats loudest at the grassroots.
Throughout the monologue, Colbert balanced mockery with meaning. His jokes about billionaires weren’t just about wealth—they were about influence, and the fragility of the assumption that money always wins. “These billionaires spent millions trying to stop a guy who still takes the subway,” he said, his voice cutting through the laughter. “Maybe next time, they’ll try riding it.” The jab landed perfectly, a reminder that political power doesn’t just flow from financial empires, but from the everyday experiences of the people who live and work in the city.
The segment, though comedic, was also a subtle lesson in civic engagement. Colbert’s humor disarmed the topic of campaign finance and class disparity, turning it into something accessible and alive. He reminded viewers that satire could still serve a higher purpose — that laughing at the powerful is one of the oldest, and most democratic, acts of resistance. In a media environment often dominated by cynicism, Colbert’s monologue felt both cathartic and clarifying.
By the end of the segment, the laughter had softened into something closer to admiration. Colbert’s final lines were quieter, slower, delivered with that half-smile he saves for moments when the truth hits just right. “Tonight,” he said, “New Yorkers proved that even in a city of skyscrapers, the tallest thing is still the people standing together.” The room erupted into applause, then fell into a brief silence — the kind that lingers after comedy brushes up against something real.
Zohran Mamdani’s victory, as Colbert framed it, wasn’t just a political event. It was a reminder of possibility — a story about how conviction and community can overpower money and machinery. It was also a mirror held up to America itself, reflecting the tension between wealth and democracy, between those who build power and those who buy it.
As the cameras panned out and the band played him off, Colbert chuckled softly. “It’s been a tough week for billionaires,” he said one last time, raising an eyebrow. “But don’t worry—they’ll be fine. They always are.” The audience laughed again, a little more knowingly this time.
In that moment, Colbert had done what he does best: turned news into narrative, politics into parable, and laughter into truth. Mamdani’s victory may have belonged to the voters of New York, but Colbert’s monologue ensured that its meaning reached far beyond the five boroughs. It was, as one critic later wrote, “the night the punchline belonged to the people.”
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