Understanding Luigi Mangione starting from this atmosphere of perpetual aggression

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Yes or no is our society becoming particularly fierce, a society, I mean, that preaches tolerance and mutual understanding among different people, yet spares no effort to make you pay dearly if you contradict someone on political opinions or do something that risks harming them? Just a few days ago, in a central street of New York, a corpse riddled with bullets was found lying on the ground. It was the body of Brian Thompson, a senior executive of a health insurance company. It's well known that these companies are notorious for doing everything possible to pay as little as they can—or sometimes not paying their policyholders at all. So much so that in the United States, 26-year-old Luigi Mangione, an Italian-American from a well-off bourgeois family with an exceptional academic background, is accused of waiting for Thompson on the street in the early hours of the morning, pointing a gun at him, and shooting him three times in the back.

Whether or not Mangione was the killer, many in the U.S. have hailed him as a hero—some even used the word "martyr"—as if to say he did something that absolutely had to be done, a kind of modern-day Robin Hood. The narrative is that Mangione carried out a symbolic act of vengeance on behalf of the many people mistreated by insurance companies over the years. Newspapers feature photos of the man pointing a gun as well as close-ups of Mangione, whose face is open and smiling—anything but that of someone destined to kill. Thus, it’s not true that villains necessarily look grim or menacing. They are exactly people like us, now more than ever—ordinary individuals, as common as those we meet every day.

Nevertheless, the investigation into Thompson's murder is still in its very early stages. Let’s try to take a step down from these dramatic events and focus on the atmosphere. Yes or no—do we watch TV shows for hours where everyone seems ready to pounce on their interlocutor as soon as possible, if not sooner? Of course, these aren’t gunshots fired in the back at dawn—obviously not. But when you watch two or three people sitting around a big table on TV, each sharing their opinions about the state of the world, you get the sense that a quarrel is brewing. At any moment, words might grow sharper, more offensive, as though verbal blows are just around the corner. Or at the very least, the chatter will be filled with sharp edges and malicious insinuations.

It’s rare for opinions to be expressed with simplicity, elegance, or evident respect for those on the other side. I’ve found no trace of elegance in everything that has unfolded between Fedez and his ex-wife. Dagospia, which thrives on such spats day after day, calls them “telescazzi”—a term implying that it’s not something to take seriously, just trashy noise. What’s more, TV audiences eagerly await these moments, which the next day’s newspapers will headline, while social media churns out miles of nonsense that generate even more nonsense—because there are no consequences for what you write on social media. It’s virgin land where everyone can gallop freely. From this perspective, today’s Italian political scene provides a bright stage. Cheap soundbites from one party leader or another feed miles of nonsense on social media, which then bounce onto newspapers, and so on, in an endless and shameless cycle. Entire generations, alas, consume this fodder 24/7. Somewhere—I don’t recall where—school authorities have banned cell phones for students under 16. Was it the right decision? Is this the right path? You tell me.

P.S. When publishing a book on the history of Italian fascism, British historian Denis Mack Smith pointed out that he never mentioned the name “Colonel Valerio” in it—not even once. Valerio was the man who led the communist partisans responsible for the barbaric killing of Benito Mussolini and Claretta Petacci. Not a single mention. What could be stronger or more definitive than silence?