The case of Luigi Mangione reveals an uncomfortable truth we don’t like to talk about in this country: justice is not blind. It’s broadcast.

Mangione, who shot and killed UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson in broad daylight, now faces the death penalty under federal charges. On the surface, some might argue that’s the proper consequence for premeditated murder. But when you strip away the headlines and emotions, what you’re left with is something much uglier: a justice system that punishes not by the severity of the crime, but by the visibility of the crime.

Because if we’re honest?
Thousands of people are murdered with firearms every year.
Many of those murders are calculated.
Many happen in broad daylight, with witnesses.
Yet the overwhelming majority of those killers — even the ones who are caught, charged, and convicted — are sentenced to life in prison, not death.

So why Mangione?

It’s not because he was more brutal than an MS-13 enforcer.
It’s not because he was more dangerous than a Naragua gang member who murdered family to climb the ranks.
It’s not because he represented a unique threat to public safety.
It’s because he committed his crime in public — and it went viral.

Visibility. Not justice. Visibility.

When prosecutors announced their intent to seek the death penalty, they didn’t suddenly discover a new standard for murder.
They recognized an opportunity.
An opportunity to show they were “tough on crime.”
An opportunity to make an example out of someone whose face — whose crime — had been seen by millions.

But justice that bends to media coverage isn’t justice at all.
It’s theater.

The Death Penalty Was Supposed to Be for the “Worst of the Worst”

In 1976, the U.S. Supreme Court reinstated the death penalty under strict conditions:
It was only supposed to apply to the most heinous, exceptional crimes — serial murders, terrorism, torture killings. Crimes where the sheer horror demanded the ultimate punishment.

Mangione’s crime was horrific. No one is denying that.
But one killing, no prior pattern, no larger conspiracy — that’s not what capital punishment was supposed to be used for.
By the system’s own rules, he does not meet the standard of the “worst of the worst.”

And let’s not pretend otherwise: if this killing had happened in an alley with no trending hashtags, Mangione would be facing life without parole.
No national outrage.
No political posturing.
No death penalty.

Selective Justice Is No Justice at All

The irony is, even now, there’s no massive public outrage demanding Mangione’s execution.
When the story broke, the overwhelming public sentiment — disturbingly — leaned toward sympathy for him.
Corporations offered discounts on the jacket he wore.
State agencies posted memes celebrating the moment.
The narrative wasn’t about condemning him — it was about turning him into an accidental folk hero.

The fact that prosecutors are still pushing for the death penalty now doesn’t reflect public morality.
It reflects institutional shame — an attempt to claw back legitimacy after letting the public narrative spin out of control.

Execution here isn’t about justice.
It’s about optics.
It’s about damage control.
It’s about using Mangione’s life — and death — to restore an image.

Let Him Rot

If true justice were the goal, the answer is simple:
Life in prison. No parole.

Mangione deserves to rot in a cell, forgotten by the public he briefly captured.
Not turned into a martyr.
Not transformed into a symbol of government overreach or inconsistency.

Executing him for the sake of headlines only feeds the cycle:
Justice by popularity.
Punishment by poll numbers.
Death by visibility.

And if we accept that — if we accept that your punishment depends on whether you trend on Yahoo or CNN — then we have no justice system at all.
We have only a theater, and we are the audience, clapping or booing as lives are ended to keep up appearances.