Not Just Surviving the System—Transforming It
Author’s Note:
Hey y’all, I just want to take a moment to reintroduce myself here. For those who don’t know me, my name is Eduardo. I’m a grade school teacher in Oregon, and lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my future. Next year I’m planning to take some time off to travel and do stand-up comedy in different cities—I’ve got a story I want to tell, and I want to practice it on the road.
Anyway, I wanted to write this post because a lot of you have been getting wound up about that recent CEO murder story. I was on the fence about commenting, but then some of my ten-year-olds at work started asking me, “Why are the grownups saying the killer is ‘hot,’ teacher?” That pulled me up short. When kids that young are noticing how we’re talking about something like this, it’s a sign we might need to step back and rethink our words.
I’ve been following the coverage of the UnitedHealthcare CEO’s killing, and it’s unsettling to see how the story’s been twisting in public conversation. Brian Thompson, a man at the helm of a giant health insurance company—one that many feel has benefited from a system that leaves ordinary people struggling—was shot and killed. The suspect, a 26-year-old named Luigi Mangione, allegedly forged documents, carried a 3D-printed “ghost gun,” and ultimately took a life. Authorities say he was apprehended while sitting in a McDonald’s after a tip from an employee and now faces murder charges.
As these details have poured out—the fake IDs, the suppressor, the alleged manifesto railing against healthcare giants—I’ve noticed some folks online turning the shooter into a kind of folk hero. It’s not everyone, but it’s enough that you can’t just ignore it. The reasoning, if you can call it that, seems to be: “This CEO symbolized the greed and abuse in our healthcare system, and now he’s gone. Good riddance.” I get where that anger’s coming from. For too long, we’ve watched while companies like UnitedHealthcare reap massive profits while countless Americans wrestle with denied claims and crushing medical debt. It can feel like no one at the top ever faces real consequences. But does this violent act suddenly count as “consequences”? Is that the answer?
We should be careful here. What we say and how we react to moments like this matter because they set the tone for what we’ll tolerate next. Cheering a murder, even of someone who seems to represent a broken system, runs the risk of dragging us deeper into a place we don’t want to be. It suggests that violence—shooting without trial, accountability, or even a chance for systemic redress—is a form of justice. And if we start to believe that, then what stops us from applying that logic over and over, until every problem is met with a bullet?
Think about the long-term goal. We don’t just want revenge. We want a healthcare system that treats people like human beings, not walking dollar signs. We want universal coverage so no parent hesitates to take a sick child to the doctor. We want fair contributions so that those making billions off our need for health and well-being actually pay their share. We want accountability, yes, but not the kind delivered by a single disturbed individual with a printed gun and fake IDs. We want accountability delivered through laws, regulations, whistleblowers, and collective action—through the mechanisms that can reshape an entire industry, not just remove one person from it.
It’s tempting to say, “Well, look how much attention this got. Maybe now they’ll take us seriously.” But attention isn’t the same as progress. This tragedy only reminds us that we’ve strayed too far if we’re willing to celebrate a killing as a step forward. Taking a life might momentarily feel like some twisted form of payback, but it doesn’t fill a prescription. It doesn’t erase medical debt. It doesn’t force insurers to approve procedures or lower premiums. It doesn’t write new legislation or change a corporate board’s mind. It just leaves another family grieving and one more sorry chapter in a world already brimming with sorrow.
We can be furious with a system that puts profits over people. We can be outraged that Brian Thompson lived in comfort while so many struggled, and that Luigi Mangione saw violence as a path rather than seeking a legitimate form of justice. But if we glorify this act, if we turn this murderer into a hero, we’re deserting something vital—our collective sense of humanity and the power of constructive change.
This isn’t about coddling the rich or feeling sorry for powerful executives. It’s about recognizing that murder doesn’t open the door to universal healthcare. It closes off dialogue. It hardens hearts. It allows those who benefit from the status quo to point at the chaos and say, “See? This is what happens if we give an inch.” It confirms their worst fears and excuses for not engaging with genuine reforms.
What if, instead, we take this moment to re-energize our calls for real accountability, not the type delivered at gunpoint? What if we let our anger fuel a demand for actual policy changes—capping drug prices, guaranteeing coverage, making sure no one goes broke because they got sick? What if our legacy from this grim episode isn’t a slide into celebrating death, but a doubling-down on what we truly wanted all along: fairness, dignity, and a healthcare system that doesn’t crush us?
We have a chance to choose our words and, by extension, our direction. We can reject the idea that this killing “evens the score.” We can hold onto our anger at the system but channel it somewhere far more productive. We can commit ourselves to dismantling the structures that cause the suffering, rather than embracing the myth that one murder might set things right.
In the end, the words we choose now will shape how we move forward. Let’s pick words that reflect the world we’re trying to build—one where health is a right, where accountability is earned through transparency and law, and where our humanity remains intact despite all the reasons we have to be furious. That’s the hard path, I know. But it’s also the only one that leads somewhere better.