I
n between cleaning showers and meeting with his legal team, Luigi Mangione painstakingly writes to his supporters. Keeping up is a challenge, given the volume of mail — on any given day, he gets as many as 115 notes from more than 54 countries — but a former inmate describes him as walking around the prison with his mp3 player and a crate of correspondence.
Among the first letters Mangione received at the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn, New York, where he awaits trial for the murder of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson, was from a mother named Karen. She detailed her struggles getting United Healthcare to approve a medical procedure for her daughter, who has a rare, life-threatening disease, writing to Mangione, “I will never forget you, and I will keep up the fight in your name.” She included a photograph of the Christ in Majesty mosaic which features a golden Jesus swathed in bright red, hands held up.
On Dec. 29, 2024, Mangione handwrote a response: “Your letter is the first to make me tear up. I am so, so sorry for what you and your daughter so senselessly had to endure.” He asked Karen for a photo of her and her daughter or a copy of the art she sent to put up in his cell next to her letter. “Your daughter is blessed to have a mother who loves her so much and fights for her so relentlessly,” Mangione wrote.
Last winter, when, after a five-day manhunt, 26-year-old Mangione was arrested and named the only suspect in the murder of Thompson, he became known worldwide, his face a ubiquitous presence online and in the media. There were posters depicting him as a saint and rallies by supporters who took to the streets. Little was known about Mangione — just that he came from an upper-class background and had attended an elite private school in Baltimore. The crime he was accused of turned him into an avatar for frustrations with the health insurance industry. The words written on the bullet casings found at the crime scene — “delay,” “deny,” and “depose” — echo a phrase used by critics of the insurance industry to describe its claims-handling practices and captured the anger many Americans feel when it comes to health insurance.
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(A rep for UnitedHealthcare says, “We ultimately pay 98 percent of all claims received that are for eligible members. For the two percent of claims that are not approved, the majority are instances where the services did not meet the benefit criteria. Only 0.5 percent of claims are not approved based on clinical evidence and patient safety.”)
Mangione has pleaded not guilty to the crimes of which he is accused. But the role he’s played in igniting a national conversation is not lost on him as he awaits trial, which isn’t expected to take place until next year. In his only statement since his arrest, released through his attorneys in February, he wrote: “I am overwhelmed by — and grateful for — everyone who has written me to share their stories and express their support. Powerfully, this support has transcended political, racial, and even class divisions, as mail has flooded MDC from across the country, and around the globe. While it is impossible for me to reply to most letters, please know that I read every one that I receive.”
Luigi Mangione attends a hearing at Manhattan Criminal Court on February 21 in New York City.
Steven Hirsch – Pool/Getty Images
Almost a year after his arrest, there continues to be a robust ecosystem of supporters dissecting the crime and each shred of communication from Mangione. There are the letters he sends from prison, and his sporadic appearances in state and federal court for arraignments and standard check-ins. While Mangione hasn’t spoken publicly since his arrest, each letter and presumed signaling fuels speculation. Did he wear a green sweater as a sign to his supporters, who often wear the color as a nod to the Nintendo character with whom he shares a name? With a face that has launched a million memes, he’s been depicted as a folk hero, a symbol of anti-capitalism, a leftist villain, a rallying cry used by disparate groups to emphasize those causes — regardless of whether or not Mangione believes in any of their causes. For their part, the Thompson family has remained away from the spotlight — they didn’t respond to requests to comment for this article, and haven’t spoken out about the frenzy that’s followed the killing of their family member.
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IN THE WORLD OF MANGIONE SUPPORTERS, there are different factions. There are those who think he’s innocent and was possibly framed, those who think he’s guilty but see him as a righteous vigilante, those who think — guilty or not — he’s being denied a fair trial because the crime involved a wealthy, white CEO. There are those who’ve been inspired by different aspects of Mangione’s case — health insurance malfeasance, criminal justice advocacy, death penalty reform — to become activists. There are people who’ve taught themselves how to obtain and interpret court documents. And there are those who write romantic fan fiction about Mangione on Tumblr or express dismay if they hear any details about his past love life. It’s the latter of these who are often in the spotlight.
When Mangione was identified as the lead murder suspect last winter after a five-day manhunt, his profile created a media maelstrom. Mangione was privileged and handsome. Then came the staged perp walk in which he was led through lower Manhattan with a fresh haircut and orange jumpsuit, drawing comparisons to Superman or even Jesus. This led to even more Internet chatter about his appearance.
Mangione and then-New York City Mayor Eric Adams arrive at the South Street Helipad in New York City after he was extradited from Pennsylvania.
XNY/Star Max/GC Images
There’s long been interest in those accused of heinous crimes — serial killers Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer famously received numerous letters from fans while incarcerated. The Mangione fandom, though, plays out in real time online. There are Instagram accounts dedicated to unearthing old photos of him. There are fiercely active private Discord groups which require an admin invite to participate. There are X accounts with tens of thousands of followers, Facebook groups, and TikToks with millions of views. As with everything else, the Internet supercharges the intensity and parasocial obsession strangers may have with Mangione. It’s not just prison letters but also hundreds of thirst tweets inspired by Mangione merely walking into court. In June, Mangione’s defense team pointed out that one photo of his shackled ankles was shared more than 36 million times on X.
Mangione’s most fervent supporters often connect daily, whether or not there are any new updates or articles on Mangione. Many of the social media conversations about Mangione mimic stan culture; they use shorthand references to posts from his past, like when he called something “such blatant chatgpt” in June 2024, or they jokingly honor the anniversary of when Mangione wrote on Facebook about his “fishies” getting sucked into their tank’s filter in January 2010. Some wait in anticipation for Mangione’s next mail catalogue update — Mangione handwrites a list of all the letters he’s received to document which ones have reached him — which they refer to as a new “drop.” They share memes along with links to health care-oriented GoFundMe accounts or news articles about current events or politics. There’s also plenty of talk about the case. Manhattan Assistant District Attorney Joel Seidemann shoulders a lot of the ire — “Why does Joel look like he’s aged 10 years in the last 10 months? It looks like being evil really does make you age faster” — while lead defense attorney Karen Friedman Agnifilo is praised — “KFA is playing chess while these fools are playing Connect 4.”
On some forums, moderators don’t allow sharing of letters purported to be from Mangione, saying it is a breach of his privacy — others question their authenticity. In a letter that’s been the subject of online debate, Mangione, who was ultimately arrested at a McDonald’s, jokes he was arrested for the “crime of eating a hashbrown.” Online, supporters harassed the person who posted the letter, calling it a fake, to the point where she took it down. (Mangione’s legal team declined to comment on the veracity of this letter; so far they have only authenticated one letter, from Karen, the mother. There have been forged letters attributed to Mangione, though, one of which his team posted to his legal website.)
One of the most striking debates surrounding Mangione is about whether support should be predicated on his guilt or innocence.
Supporters hold signs outside of Mangione’s February 2025 hearing.
Griffin Lotz for Rolling Stone
“My confidence in his innocence was shaken a little,” one person said after the New York State prosecution released passages from a notebook they say were written by Mangione in August 2024. Another responded, “I still think he didn’t do it but even if he did do it, it wouldn’t change my opinion of him. The way he’s being treated either way is insane.”
“I honestly couldn’t care less if there were clear, uninterrupted footage showing his face the whole time,” wrote one person on Discord, “I would still support him.”
The Mangione communities don’t just exist online. Each time he appears in court, he draws a crowd of supporters — and the media attention that comes along with that.
Protests outside of the courthouse often feature trucks driving LED screens depicting people whose families say they died because of insurance claim denials. There are women wearing shirts that say “Luigi – my vigilante bae” next to activists passing out letters about supporting the New York Health Act. Reporters descend on those selling Saint Luigi merch as T-shirts, hats, and scarves.
“There’s been a lot of media frenzy,” says activist and whistleblower Chelsea Manning, who drew press attention when she showed up at protests outside of Mangione’s New York City court appearances. She often goes to court hearings in an effort to raise awareness about criminal justice reform. “There has been a mischaracterization of people who are open supporters. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy where it gets clicked if it’s people swooning over an attractive young man who is suddenly propelled into fame or infamy.”
Activist and whistleblower Chelsea Manning lines up outside Manhattan Federal Court in April to attend court as Mangione is set to be arraigned.
TIMOTHY A. CLARY/AFP/Getty Images
In September, the New York Post interviewed a woman who claimed she’d married an AI version of Mangione, and the story was picked up at other outlets. “She’s de-Lu-Lu” wrote the Post, referring to the fan as “deranged.”
Meanwhile, on forums more focused on activism, his supporters cringe at how this phenomenon fuels the characterization of anybody who supports anything to do with Mangione as a fangirl.
“It’s the fanfic-ication of real people,” said one Discord commenter. Another said, “He’s an inmate with a death penalty charge, he isn’t your boyfriend or your bestie.”
AT ONE OF MANGIONE’S FIRST COURT RALLIES, a protestor held up a large poster of Mangione inside a prescription drug bottle. It read “Free Luigi” and quoted a line Mangione shouted at the press outside of his extradition hearing in Pennsylvania: “This is an insult to the intelligence of the American people.”
The poster has been spotted in cities across the world. The creator, a Brooklyn visual artist called Eyesticker, says they were inspired to make the artwork because they suffer from chronic Lyme disease.
“Some people are very sick and try to get treatment, and they are basically trapped by bureaucracies and processes,” says the artist. “I’m not supporting any act of violence or murder, but this event triggered me to work on a piece that explains the feeling of being trapped by the medical system.”
Before Mangione was even identified as the main suspect, Thompson’s murder seemed to give people a release valve to vent their distrust in institutions, their pain, and to talk about who our systems were built to protect and why. Because the manhunt lasted five days before a suspect was identified, the public projected their own experiences with and ideas about the health-care system onto the unknown man dubbed on social media “the Adjuster.”
“There’s been a significant amount of focus on the idea of quote, unquote ‘fan girls,’ because it’s the easiest thing for the media to focus on to detract from the reasons why such a wide range of Americans across demographics support him,” says one supporter I’ll call Lydia (she requested a pseudonym for fear of retaliation).
Mangione’s supporters exchange bracelets outside of his hearing.
Griffin Lotz for Rolling Stone
Lydia represents “a passionate group of supporters” across multiple online platforms who “advocate for health-care reform, an end to government overreach and corruption, and a fair system for all people,” she says. She won’t share exactly how many are in the group she represents, but says it’s men and women from the age of 18 to 65, some of whom have dealt with “devastating personal losses to health insurance denials.”
“There’s many others who have been taken advantage of under our for-profit corporate system where profits come before all else, even human lives,” she says. “The majority of people who support him do so because he’s become a beacon of resistance against a system that is beating them down and essentially, in some cases, killing them. It’s why that same system — and the powers that protect it — want to kill him, and it’s why we can’t and won’t let that happen.”
The grassroots organization People Over Profit NYC launched after co-founder Ico Ahiycodae attended a Mangione court appearance in December and spoke with other protestors. POP NYC has hosted three rallies outside of Mangione’s pre-trial hearings. The group’s website is focused on Mangione along with stories of people who say they or a family member were injured or died because of health-care denials, including one man seeking to file a class action lawsuit over the loss of his leg.
“We want to call out the predatory health insurance industry and say, Brian Thompson should be alive and he should be in prison,” says Ahiycodae, a 44-year-old sign language interpreter who uses they/them pronouns. “If there were that level of accountability, none of this would be happening.”
Months ago, POP NYC was banned from YouTube, along with a few other accounts supporting Mangione. Ahiycodae received a message from the platform saying POP NYC wasn’t following YouTube’s policy on “violent criminal organizations.” Their plan is to launch a new social media account on TikTok and avoid any mention of Mangione at all, focusing solely on health-care stories. They’ll continue to advocate for due process for Mangione and host rallies for him, Ahiycodae explains, but this is a way they’re expanding reach for health care reform without risking censorship.
Ahiycodae says there are pros and cons to using a murder suspect as the face of an advocacy group. “The connection is exactly how we get the message out there. I’ve noticed that when we do actions that are just health care stuff, without any connection to Luigi, it’s harder to get the media to pay attention to it,” Ahiycodae says, pointing to their efforts to promote the stories of health care denials to reporters. Ahiycodae added that there are some advocacy organizations that have been leery of being publicly affiliated with POP NYC because of the connection to Mangione, which could scare away financial backers who don’t want controversy associated with their donations.
“The message has been: We love that you’re fighting for health care,” Ahiycodae says. “Privately, we support what you’re doing. Publicly, we can’t be connected to this.”
Mangione T-shirts are sold at a rally.
Griffin Lotz for Rolling Stone
FOR MANGIONE, THE STAKES OF his infamy couldn’t be higher as he is up for the death penalty in federal court. His case has garnered comment from the White House, even after a judge admonished Attorney General Pam Bondi and told the Justice Department to refrain from commenting publicly on the case. On Fox News in September, President Donald Trump called Mangione a “pure assassin” and said he “shot someone in the back,” later declaring he considered anyone supporting Mangione to be a domestic terrorist. (This was almost immediately after a New York state judge had dismissed terrorism charges against Mangione, citing lack of evidence.) Mangione’s defense has responded by asking the federal judge to prevent the government from seeking the death penalty following these “prejudicial statements.”
As his case nears a trial, criminal justice activists and those focused on the death penalty have been drawn to Mangione as an avatar for their cause.
“The right to a fair trial is not actually guaranteed for everyone equally,” says Jamie Peck, a spokesperson for the December 4th Legal Committee, which organized a defense fund for Mangione. Peck points out that the fund was started in December before a suspect was named. “We knew that whoever was ultimately charged for this crime was going to have the book thrown at them because we knew the state was going to do everything in its power to make an example out of them, as it does anyone who fights against corporate greed.”
The legal defense fund for Mangione has so far been hugely successful, raising $1.34 million dollars. (It’s worth pointing out that widespread news coverage can lead to outsized support for those accused of crimes. For context, a defense fund for Kyle Rittenhouse, who fatally shot Black Lives Matter protestors, raised $2 million dollars. A fund for Daniel Penny, who was charged with second-degree manslaughter in the chokehold death of subway performer Jordan Neely in New York City, raised nearly $3 million. Both men were acquitted.) The median donation to Mangione’s fund is $20, although the highest donation came from an anonymous donor who gave $50,000 citing his family’s struggles with health-care denials.
Eva, an Australia-based communications specialist who also asked to use a pseudonym, has been helping manage media relations for a coalition called PACT (Partnership for Advocacy, Collaboration and Trust) which brings together Mangione-inspired groups focused on activism to broaden their reach.
Abril Rios, a co-founder of advocacy group the Mangionistas and a founding member of PACT who made the front page of the New York Post with her Free Luigi shirt, says, “We seek to extend our advocacy beyond Luigi’s case in order to demand reform for the broader societal issues in our country.”
Another organization in PACT is the group “Stats 4 Lulu” (Lulu is a nickname for Mangione), which collects data and statistics about Mangione’s case on an online interactive dashboard. More than 30 volunteers from around the world analyze the volume of letters he receives and responds to, as well as Google trends about Mangione, and donations to the legal fund. “The members are custodians of statistics related to Luigi,” a spokesperson for the group writes in an email. “They nurture and grow it, but in the end it all belongs to Luigi and it’s to be shared as an act of service for him.”
A supporter holds a rose and signs for Mangione as he arrives at the courthouse.
Griffin Lotz for Rolling Stone
Eva has been working on prison advocacy for years and hopes to use Mangione’s case to draw attention to death penalty reform in the U.S. “If it’s going to take Luigi to educate people on this and use his face as a message, then I’m cool with that,” she says.
While some activists like Eva have used Mangione’s likeness to amp up support for causes they’d already been focused on, there are others who’ve come to activism purely by way of his case, like Amelia, who asked to use an alias. An accountant in her mid-forties, Amelia founded Luigi’s Legal Fund Bookshop; proceeds of the sales of her books go toward Luigi’s legal fund. She also encourages online visitors to buy books and send them to established books to prison programs.
Reverend Jeff Hood, who has been fighting to abolish the death penalty for the last 15 years, recently held a press conference to speak out against Mangione’s death penalty charge. While he’s heartened by the activism that Mangione’s supporters have engaged in, he’s worried that this “strange phenomena” is becoming too much of a circus. He describes it as a “religion of Luigi.”
“People create their own churches, their own saviors, and I think that’s what we’re seeing with Luigi,” Hood says.
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Hood says he spoke out about Mangione’s case to draw attention to the 2,100 people on death row whose cases don’t garner the same attention online and in the media. He hopes to redirect new activists’ energy to people of color and those on death row.
“He’s a gateway drug when it comes to the death penalty,” Hood adds. “If [Mangione] can get the death penalty, that’s going to empower people to pursue the death penalty all over the country, it opens up the floodgates for people of color, poor people, people with mental health issues. It creates a norm that I’m not interested in creating. It’s not just about him.”
