The Bizarre Infatuation With Luigi Mangione Won’t Help Him Beat a Murder Case
Quick, no Googling: What’s the name of the CEO who was gunned down on the street in Manhattan last week? I’ll be honest. I’ve been covering this case since it happened and even I had to sneak a peek. (It’s Brian Thompson.)
Okay now, what’s the name of the shooter? Got it right away, didn’t you? Luigi Mangione. (Yes, it’s in the headline above, but you knew it anyway.)
Mangione committed a brazen sneak-attack murder of an innocent victim whom he had never met, and who never saw him coming. He shot a 50-year-old man in the back, leaving a wife without her husband and two kids without a father. By any rational calculation, he’s a grotesque villain. I’ll spare you further sermonizing. It’s not complicated, really.
Yet this killer has seemingly become an object of wide public infatuation. You’ve surely seen the memes and the social-media posts already, and I’d rather not promote them further. To boil it down, the affection for this guy falls under one or both of two headings: (1) “He’s a Modern-Day Robin Hood Standing Up Against Corporate Greed” and (2) “He’s Hot.” The first is preposterous, and juvenile, and dangerous. (Not to mention: some Robin Hood, coming from a rich family and Ivy League schooling.) I’m being glib on point two, but it’s inarguably a factor; just glance at any social-media outlet. And let’s be real: If the killer was a heavyset 56-year-old with a paunch and a gray ponytail, he’d have no fans at all.
This social-media deification is mostly silly games for now. There’s a giddy subversiveness to celebrating the mysterious killer who laid in wait, then befuddled the cops for a few days with Monopoly money and a COVID mask. He’s the Joker and all that. But some day, maybe a year from now, things will get more serious. This case will go to trial in Manhattan, where prosecutors must convince 12 jurors unanimously to find Mangione guilty of murder and to lock him up for much or potentially all of his remaining life.
At first glance, the risk of jury nullification is elevated here. If you catch one purveyor of Mangione fanfic — yeah, it’s a thing — that jury could hang. But if I was prosecuting this case, I wouldn’t be especially concerned about that possibility.
Prosecutors have two potent safeguards. First, the jury-selection process is designed to filter out people who are genuinely biased for or against a defendant. It’s not perfect, of course, but it does eliminate outliers. Some who genuinely sympathize with the defendant will self-identify; it’s not quite the same scenario, but plenty of potential jurors pulled themselves off the Trump hush-money trial (which was held in the same courthouse where this trial will eventually happen) because they felt they couldn’t be fair. Beyond that, potential jurors will be pressed by the judge and the attorneys on their feelings about the defendant, and whether they’d be able to render impartial judgment. The judge will remove some “for cause” (in the lingo) while the parties can eliminate others using their allotted peremptory strikes. And you can bet prosecutors and defense attorneys alike will pore over each potential juror’s social-media feeds, which should provide a clear indication of any pro-killer sentiment.
The second safeguard is the trial process itself, which is more solemn and ritualistic than many might realize. Imagine walking into a criminal courthouse in downtown Manhattan. As you enter, you pass through security gates and magnetometers staffed by armed guards. You’re herded together with others and eventually, if your number is called, walked up to the courtroom. You answer a barrage of questions from the judge and the lawyers, you vow that you’ll be fair, and you are seated on the jury. You raise your right hand and take an oath to decide the case impartially and based solely on the evidence presented in court.
Over weeks, you sit through evidence about how the defendant stalked his prey, shot him in the back, and left him to bleed out on a cold Manhattan sidewalk. At the trial’s conclusion, the judge solemnly instructs you from up on the bench on the specific elements of the law that you must consider. You retire to the jury room with 11 other civilians to do your sworn duty. Are you really going to fib your way through the entire process, then hijack the verdict because of some juvenile infatuation with a killer?
Even allowing that the murder of Thompson has evoked genuine frustration aimed at the insurance industry, any rational adult can readily reconcile, “I strongly dislike the insurance industry and think it is unfair and poorly run,” with, “This defendant murdered that innocent victim.” These thoughts are not mutually exclusive.
Our courts are imperfect, heaven knows, but they tend to impose a healthy dose of seriousness and conformity. I’ve seen gangsters, cops, billionaires, politicians, even prosecutors brought down to size in the courtroom. Egos tend to deflate once their possessors become part of the trial process. We’ve all known that guy at work who receives a jury-duty notice and vows to go into court and act out or claim he’s biased or put on some wacky show to get dismissed. Take it from somebody who’s picked a slew of juries: Nobody actually does that.
It’s one thing for Mangione’s admirers to pop off on social media and post jokey memes or even to express sincere (if misguided) empathy or support for the guy. But a criminal trial has a way of forcing people to get serious.
This article will also appear in the free CAFE Brief newsletter. You can find more analysis of law and politics from Elie Honig, Preet Bharara, Joyce Vance, and other CAFE contributors at cafe.com.