Andrew Cuomo’s Resignation and the Real Meaning of “New York Tough”

It was embarrassingly obvious that Governor Andrew Cuomo wanted the address, on Tuesday, in which he announced his resignation, in the face of allegations of sexual harassment, to stir up memories of his pandemic press conferences. Within a sentence or so, he was talking about “New York tough,” and he used the phrase—a rallying cry in the days when ambulance sirens were the signature sound of New York City—as the organizing rhetorical device for his speech. But it’s worth suggesting a different point of reference. Compare the image of Cuomo now with that of the Governor almost three years ago, on September 7, 2018, at the “grand opening” of a replacement for the Tappan Zee Bridge, which he had managed to rename the Governor Mario M. Cuomo Bridge, after his father. To celebrate, he drove across the new span with one of his daughters, Cara, and his then partner, Sandra Lee, in a 1932 Packard convertible that had belonged to Franklin D. Roosevelt, who had been the governor of New York before he became President.

Did Cuomo hope that he might follow in F.D.R.’s path? Almost certainly. Did the state pay more than ten thousand dollars to make F.D.R.’s Packard roadworthy so that the Governor could drive it on ceremonial occasions? It did. Did Cuomo also hope that people might eventually just start calling the bridge the Cuomo Bridge, and be surprised to learn that it was named for Mario, rather than Andrew? Possibly, unless he had a vision of the Manhattan or Brooklyn Bridge renamed for him. Does Cuomo have an issue with his father’s legacy that he seems to play out through political games in which he must be the center? See above, with the bridge; see his toxic squabbles with Mayor Bill de Blasio, which brought out the least admirable qualities in both men, while hurting the city; see, too, how stale and sorry the whole Cuomo spectacle has become. (And, as my colleague Lizzie Widdicombe has written, how strange it is that so many people lionized him, pandemic or no.) Were there troubling questions about the cost and the contract for the bridge? Inevitably—money and Albany were involved, after all. (One of the signature incidents of Cuomo’s tenure is his disbanding of the Moreland Commission, which was meant to address corrupt practices in the state government—a move that led to a feud with then U.S. Attorney Preet Bharara.) Did the bridge actually fully open the day of the grand opening? No, but it was less than a week before the Democratic gubernatorial primary, and Cuomo wanted an overwhelming victory over Cynthia Nixon, the actress, who was his main challenger. (She ended up getting thirty-five per cent of the vote.) A spectacle that looks like an empty display of ego can also be a matter of power.

And that brings the matter back to sexual harassment—also a corrosive exercise of power—and to Tuesday’s press conference. From a certain perspective, Cuomo’s resignation might have seemed inevitable from the moment, last week, when the state attorney general, Letitia James, issued a hundred-and-sixty-five-page report that detailed allegations against him from eleven women. It is hard to say that he simply denied those allegations. In his resignation address and in another one, last week, he portrayed himself as a man whose natural affability was misread, and expressed some regret for that, but he rejected the conclusions of the report as a whole. (He is also facing a criminal complaint in an incident involving alleged groping. He denies that allegation.) The report also described the Governor and his team working to discredit at least one woman, in what could be seen as an act of intimidation directed at others, too. President Joe Biden called on Cuomo to resign; so did some key Albany figures. The argument for why he might hang on consisted of observations about his predilection for destructive fights, his narcissism, and his refusal to listen—in other words, the case for survival was based not on faith that he would be vindicated but on skepticism about his judgment and character.

His resignation speech didn’t really dispel those doubts. “Let’s start New York tough—with the truth,” he said. His truth seemed to be that women are mysteries, young women especially. “I have slipped and called people honey, sweetheart, and darling. I meant it to be endearing. But women found it dated and offensive.” He thought that people knew him better; it was as if the problem were that the women had not been paying attention. He was just trying to be friendly. “I didn’t do it consciously,” he said, of one alleged incident. If he was sorry, it was because he hadn’t kept up with “generational and cultural shifts.” (This was a replay of his address last week, which included a slideshow of Cuomo embracing smiling people at campaign events—they understood—and a riff on how “ciao, bella” is an innocent greeting that he had grown up hearing.) On Tuesday, he talked about seeing things “through the eyes of my daughters”; he called them “my three jewels.” His affection and respect for them is not, of course, dispositive in considering the allegations against him, any more than his regular references to his pride in his parents would be.

“I was joking,” Cuomo said, in reference to comments he made to a doctor who gave him a COVID-19 test; he acknowledged that she found it “disrespectful”—which he said was far from what he, who has always proclaimed himself the champion of health-care workers, ever intended. Again, Cuomo might be under the misapprehension that every reference to the pandemic results in a point added to his column. Considering that there are questions about whether his administration’s policies contributed to the death toll in nursing homes, and about concealed information that might help answer those questions—the subject of another ongoing investigation, by the U.S. Attorney’s office in New York’s Eastern District—he might want to reconsider that assumption. (Cuomo has said that the lack of transparency was a “mistake,” but denies underreporting deaths.) And, if he wants to begin a conversation about respect for people administering COVID tests, it might also encompass the state workers who were dispatched to administer them, in the days when the tests were desperately scarce, in what amounted to a friends-and-family perk for Cuomo’s inner circle and supporters.

Cuomo didn’t really seem to think that the case against him was based on a misunderstanding, though. “There are many agendas,” he said. “And New Yorkers are not naïve.” Even as he thanked “the women who came forward with sincere complaints,” he urged his listeners to see insincerity everywhere. “Part of being New York tough is being New York smart,” he said, and, as smart New Yorkers presumably know, “It’s not about the truth. . . . This is about politics.” He referred darkly to how “this controversy” was “politically motivated” and both “unfair” and “untruthful.” He didn’t say who exactly he thought was lying.

But he did, at last, say that he will go. He explained that he is doing so because the process of trying to stay would be drawn out and would “brutalize people.” Impeachment was a real possibility. Non-naïve New Yorkers might wonder about other factors. They also have reason to wonder what Cuomo will do with the fourteen-day grace period he has given himself before his resignation becomes effective. He said that he plans to bring his successor, the lieutenant governor, Kathy Hochul—who will be New York’s first woman governor—“up to speed.”

“New York tough means New York loving,” Cuomo said, in his third attempt to make the slogan work for him. “And I love New York. And I love you. And everything I have ever done has been motivated by that love. And I would never want to be unhelpful in any way.” A lot of people love New York. And a lot of them are just as tough as Andrew Cuomo, and don’t waste their time pursuing grudges, fighting investigations, or chasing family ghosts across bridges. The state will get on without him.