Opinion: Vigilantes, protectors and killers

Before a suspect had been identified, before a motive had been determined, before a five-day manhunt whipped through New York’s Central Park and crossed state lines into Pennsylvania, much of the public made a terrible assumption about the early morning shooting in Manhattan based solely on the victim and his occupation. Brian Thompson wasn’t merely a 50-year-old grunt in America’s sprawling, infuriating medical system, he was an executive at one of the country’s most powerful insurers, UnitedHealthcare. He wasn’t a low-level guy on the telephone listening to a client complain about a denied claim. And so Thompson represented the often invisible corporate authority that seemed to make life-and-death decisions based on profit margins rather than care and concern.

The person standing on the street by the New York Hilton plotted the attack and pulled the trigger, but many people couldn’t dismiss the soul-crushing ways in which powerful organizations treat individuals. They couldn’t shake off the stories of people bankrupted by a medical crisis. They couldn’t ignore the worry that their best interests are constantly being undermined and their anger over the unfairness of … everything.

That is not an excuse for the alleged actions of Luigi Mangione, the Maryland native who was arrested in an Altoona, Pennsylvania, McDonald’s and charged with the killing. But it is an explanation for how quickly Thompson’s shooter was viewed by some as an avenger of the little people. When the public learned about the words written on bullet shell casings — “deny,” “defend,” “depose” — they immediately recognized them as the devastating mantra of insurance companies aiming to avoid paying for what customers not only feel that they deserve but also desperately need. Who could ignore the people’s collective rage now?

When Mangione was arrested, New York police noted that in addition to having a ghost gun in his possession, he also had a handwritten document that expressed anger toward “corporate America.” The police announced this as if it was a stunning state of mind: being mad at corporate America. Is there anyone, aside from the billionaires who walk among us, who is delighted with corporate America? Who believes it should have a say in who lives and who suffers needlessly? Is there anyone who wants a big corporation to have even more authority over people’s lives?

There’s so much to grieve in the shooting of Thompson: the loss of life, the pain of his family and friends, the continued fraying of people’s sense of safety. But the assumptions surrounding his killing are something else to mourn. They reflect the distrust and anger connected to virtually every institution in this country that governs, informs, protects and employs. Whether it’s the “deep state,” the fake news or the corporate overlords, all of it is suspect.

That cynicism breeds the belief that salvation will come only through some real-life superhero, a conspiracy-fueling guru or a self-appointed vigilante. The system won’t save us because the system is what’s trying to do us in.

We’ve already seen the fallout from that cynicism. Conspiracy-obsessed men and woman pummeled police officers and climbed the walls of the Capitol in an attempt to overturn an election. A president-elect campaigned and won, in part, on the premise that he alone could save the day. His mere presence in the Oval Office would cause wars to cease and birds to sing.

And juries have declared an acceptance of vigilante justice as the only way to calm a fearful populace when other avenues have failed.

The same day Mangione was arrested, a New York jury found Daniel Penny, a Marine Corps veteran who was charged in the death of Jordan Neely, not guilty of criminally negligent homicide. Neely, who struggled with homelessness, mental illness and drugs, was being disruptive on a subway in May 2023 and Penny, perceiving him as a threat to others, placed him in a chokehold. When he released him, Neely was dead. The jury deadlocked on the more serious charge of second-degree manslaughter, which the prosecution dropped. Neely was a 30-year-old Black man who clearly wrestled with a multitude of demons. Penny was a 26-year-old white man. Was he a vigilante or a protector of his fellow citizens? The jury decided Penny was a protector. Neely’s father declared the system “rigged.”

And indeed, perhaps it was both. It’s no small thing to be underground in a fast-moving train car with someone who seems unstable and unpredictable and is acting out. It’s no surprise that someone dealing with untreated mental illness is vilified and considered a threat; that’s part of our culture. It’s no shock that a sick person goes untreated by a medical system that makes everything so difficult, that makes proper care feel like a matter of financial good fortune or a lucky billing code. This is a country where neighbors are often left little choice but to call the police when someone is mentally struggling when the person really needs is a doctor.

Penny walked out of a New York courtroom and celebrated the verdict with his lawyers. For now, Mangione — whose social media showed him with a big smile and who friends described as optimistic, kind and warm — is a guy in an orange prison uniform who has been denied bail. He’s fighting extradition to New York. He is accused of a terrible offense.

There are no heroes in the shooting of Thompson, just as there were none in the death of Neely. But there’s more than enough guilt.

Robin Givhan is senior critic-at-large at The Washington Post writing about politics, race and the arts. A 2006 Pulitzer Prize winner for criticism, Givhan has also worked at Newsweek/Daily Beast, Vogue magazine and the Detroit Free Press.