Earlier this week, New York Mayor Zohran Mamdani introduced his “Equity Plan”, presenting it as an answer to the city’s crushing affordability crisis. But the plan rests on a basic confusion: it mistakes redistribution for abundance.

Instead of asking how the government has driven up the cost of housing, healthcare, and education through regulation and bureaucratic red tape, Mamdani assumes that affordability can be achieved through transfers and further intervention. That is the central flaw in both the city’s new Preliminary Racial Equity Plan and its companion True Cost of Living Measure.

It’s hard to deny that New York is unaffordable. But affordability crises do not appear out of nowhere: they are usually the result of scarcity. The city’s own housing figures make that clear. In 2023, New York’s rental vacancy rate was just 1.41%, the lowest since 1968. For apartments renting below $1,650 a month, vacancy was below 1%. When so few units are available at the lower end of the market, prices are bound to stay high. The basic problem is not that New Yorkers have too little help, but that the city provides too little supply.

Mamdani’s framework, however, barely grapples with the city’s role in producing that shortage — for example, with the Mayor’s plans to stabilise rents for more New York apartments. Instead of beginning from the premise that if you make it difficult to build, difficult to expand services, and difficult to enter tightly regulated sectors, then prices will rise, City Hall works on the assumption that the state must step in more aggressively once they do.

The True Cost of Living Measure makes that logic explicit. The report says that 62% of New Yorkers do not meet the threshold for living with financial security and dignity. But it also explains that this is not a poverty measure, or even a basic-needs measure. Rather, it is designed to capture a much broader standard that includes housing, food, healthcare, childcare, transportation, taxes, emergency savings and retirement savings.

Additionally, many people counted below the threshold are housed and employed, but rely on family support, public benefits, reduced consumption or debt to get by. Mamdani is not just describing hardship. He is defining insecurity upward, so that a supermajority can be swept into a larger moral and political claim on government.

That is why Mamdani’s politics remain redistributionist rather than pro-abundance. Transfers can cushion the pain of scarcity, but they do not eliminate scarcity altogether. Subsidies do not create more apartments. Administrative targets do not create more doctors, daycare slots, or better schools to lower the costs of existing services.

A genuine affordability agenda would ask how to expand supply, from legalising more housing, streamlining approvals, lowering barriers to entry, and making it easier to produce the goods and services New Yorkers need. Mamdani’s plan moves in the opposite direction, treating the symptoms of scarcity as proof that the machinery of scarcity should grow.

This is where the plan’s racial language matters. The equity proposal spans 45 agencies and contains more than 200 agency goals. It explicitly seeks to embed racial equity analysis across city government and its objectives, which would turn ordinary failures of urban governance into evidence for a broader project of identity-conscious administration. Bureaucratic expansion, filtered through the language of race and equity, becomes the new solution.

New Yorkers do not need a government that is better at narrating scarcity. They need one that is better at reducing it. Mamdani’s plan gets that backwards. It offers managed scarcity with a moral gloss, when what the city actually needs is abundance.