Luigi Mangione | Curtis Means/UPI/Newscom

"Deny," "defend," "depose"—these three words were allegedly written on bullets found at the murder scene of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson. The slogan began appearing in graffiti, highway banners, and T-shirts. When the identity of the likely killer was revealed to be a man named Luigi Mangione, he developed a passionate fanbase.

"So many men and women are going nuts over how good-looking this killer is," said Jimmy Kimmel in a breezy monologue joking about his writing staff's adulation of Mangione's physique. "Free Luigi!" exclaimed comedian Bill Burr on a later episode of Kimmel's show.

How did a man who allegedly executed a married father of two at dawn on a New York City sidewalk become a hero? Those three bullets with words inscribed on them explain not just why the alleged killer did it, but why he received so much adulation. And it's not for the reasons most people think.

It seemed like the perfect American tragedy: A handsome valedictorian with a promising future suffers a back injury and a botched surgery, robbed of life's pleasures at his physical peak—no surfing, no travel, no sex. The personal became political, so the story goes, when the health insurance industry rejected Mangione's claim for treatment. "Deny, defend, depose" was likely a reference to a 15-year-old book by Jay Feinman exposing how health insurance companies don't pay routine claims.

"Frankly, these parasites simply had it coming," Mangione wrote in a manifesto.

His fans embraced him as "our shooter." The media made him a symbol of American rage towards a system that denies basic treatments with an eye toward the bottom line. Former Washington Post and New York Times reporter Taylor Lorenz defended the celebrations of Thompson's murder, writing that in a nation with "a barbaric healthcare system," where "the people at the top…rake in millions while inflicting pain, suffering, and death on millions of innocent people," "it's natural to wish" that people like Brian Thompson "suffer the same fate."

"I felt alongside so many other Americans, joy, unfortunately," Lorenz told an incredulous Piers Morgan when asked to describe her reaction to Thompson's murder, later clarifying that she felt, "maybe not joy, but certainly not empathy."

Forty-one percent of poll respondents under age 30 say the killing of Brian Thompson was acceptable. More young people polled admitted to viewing the killer favorably than unfavorably. But these poll numbers don't actually tell us very much about popular dissatisfaction with health insurance.

Most people under 30 are healthy and don't interact much with the health care industry. In fact, despite its problems, two-thirds of Americans say they are personally "satisfied" with their own insurance coverage.

Yet, the "delay, deny, and defend" inscribed on bullets do explain Mangione's popularity: Equating words with weapons is a reflection of how our culture increasingly treats language and violence as morally indistinguishable.

I first encountered claims that speech equaled violence a decade ago as I interviewed college students about microaggressions, trigger warnings, and deplatforming mobs. One student expressed the view that "political change is hard to conceive of without violence…even taking human life." Today, most students approve of shouting down viewpoints they disagree with; almost half are okay with blocking access to speeches; and a third say violence is a justified response to hateful ideas.

These notions trace back to the 1960s and a group of intellectuals who were part of the "Frankfurt School." In a 1965 essay, the German-American philosopher Herbert Marcuse, who was once branded the father of the New Left, called into question the value of free speech in a "manipulated" society, arguing that we need to "reexamine…the traditional distinction between violent and non-violent action" and recognize a difference between "revolutionary and reactionary violence, between violence practiced by the oppressed and the oppressors."

"People experience denied claims as an act of violence against them," Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D–N.Y.) said in a social media post addressing Thompson's murder.

If words are violence—and denying a service is violence—then actual violence is justified as retribution. To celebrate the murder of Brian Thompson, one must first dehumanize him by transforming him from a three-dimensional human into a low-resolution symbol.

But he was a real person with a family: a father of two and the son of a grain elevator operator who worked his way up the corporate ladder.

Thompson reportedly rushed $135 billion to an emergency fund for health care providers, keeping "thousands of hospitals and other healthcare providers afloat during the pandemic." Meanwhile, the federal government struggled to find the money. He was soon after promoted to CEO.

He made a lot of money in that role but didn't start out with the same "privileges" as his accused murderer: an Ivy League son of wealthy parents who spent the months leading up to the murder bumming around with friends in Hawaii. There's also