We all know someone hurt by America's broken healthcare system, whether it's family, friends, or ourselves. Many suffer or die because they can't afford care, and we feel powerless. Luigi's story exposes this pain and greed, showing that no matter wealth, no one is truly safe. It’s a shared ache that touches everyone in this country.
You want to know why we cheer Luigi? Because everyone who does knows someone like this, or did. I want you to imagine me screaming this word at you like Gary Oldman with my full Texas drill instructor roar that disrupts birds in flight above: EVERYONE.
Insurance companies and their shills and bootlickers will talk about how there are always cracks in the system, but if these are cracks, then so is the Grand Canyon, because - allow me to repeat myself here - EVERYONE I know falls through them, or knows someone who has.
People who wait patiently for years to get the things that will let them survive - not even have a better life but just keep breathing. People who die of easily treatable conditions because they were afraid of racking up hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical debt.
People like me, who only went to the ER if we thought we were going to die, were treated to the point we weren't going to die in the parking lot - leaving the carer open to litigation - and sent home without our underlying conditions being treated or managed.
EVERYONE. Anyone who says they don't know someone who's suffered or died from medical neglect in America is either lying or was raised as an orphan in a cave. My mother. My dad. My grandfather. My grandmother. Me. My friends and partners. Waiters, baristas, mechanics. EVERYONE.
We've all sat with numb widows and widowers, parents, children; eaten potluck food off of paper plates in the living room as we helped the living remember the dead, and junk food from hospital vending machines in the small endless hours when night becomes morning in name only.
We've all given to Gofundmes and felt the self-recrimination that we didn't, couldn't give more; we've all talked someone into starting a Gofundme despite their horror of begging and sharing their private misery with strangers. We've all picked someone up to or from the doctor.
And when the battle is lost we go home to houses filled with emptiness and we don't look at the empty chair, the empty side of the bed, the medical gear that someone will be by to repossess in the next few days, so someone else can use their retirement fund to rent it.
EVERYONE.
That's why we don't feel as much sympathy for Thompson's grieving family as we ought to; because we've spent our sympathy on our own our entire lives: our families and friends and loved ones and familiar faces in our communities without whom they are a little grayer and darker.
And no, it's not their fault... but was it ours? Was it my poet friend's fault that she couldn't afford to get a tooth infection handled and it went to her amazing brain and pulped it, so she lingered like a ghost for years before finally becoming a real one?
All my friends who lost everything in the fight to survive the cancer or the MS? My dad who worked at a shit job he hated for decades so my mom would have her pitiful insurance that ended when he retired?
Do we deserve to sit in those rooms eating potluck and trying not to weep?
It is not acceptable, what these people do to us for nothing more important than greed. It has never been, but maybe what Luigi Mangione did was a sort of surgery on the American soul: a bloodletting that exposed the infection and decay at the heart of us, all of us, everyone.
And maybe the fact that it was a rich privileged kid that did it, because his wealth and privilege still couldn't work the magic to fix himself, is why it resonates so much. Because if the child of generational wealth can't find mercy, what chance do the rest of us have?
Whatever fear these insurance CEOs are feeling, whatever loss the Thompsons are feeling, never doubt that we all know the same dread, the same loss... because, in large part thanks to people like Brian Thompson, it visits every American eventually.
Everyone.
You want to know why we cheer Luigi? Because everyone who does knows someone like this, or did. I want you to imagine me screaming this word at you like Gary Oldman with my full Texas drill instructor roar that disrupts birds in flight above: EVERYONE.Insurance companies and their shills and bootlickers will talk about how there are always cracks in the system, but if these are cracks, then so is the Grand Canyon, because - allow me to repeat myself here - EVERYONE I know falls through them, or knows someone who has.People who wait patiently for years to get the things that will let them survive - not even have a better life but just keep breathing. People who die of easily treatable conditions because they were afraid of racking up hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical debt.People like me, who only went to the ER if we thought we were going to die, were treated to the point we weren't going to die in the parking lot - leaving the carer open to litigation - and sent home without our underlying conditions being treated or managed.EVERYONE. Anyone who says they don't know someone who's suffered or died from medical neglect in America is either lying or was raised as an orphan in a cave. My mother. My dad. My grandfather. My grandmother. Me. My friends and partners. Waiters, baristas, mechanics. EVERYONE.We've all sat with numb widows and widowers, parents, children; eaten potluck food off of paper plates in the living room as we helped the living remember the dead, and junk food from hospital vending machines in the small endless hours when night becomes morning in name only.We've all given to Gofundmes and felt the self-recrimination that we didn't, couldn't give more; we've all talked someone into starting a Gofundme despite their horror of begging and sharing their private misery with strangers. We've all picked someone up to or from the doctor.And when the battle is lost we go home to houses filled with emptiness and we don't look at the empty chair, the empty side of the bed, the medical gear that someone will be by to repossess in the next few days, so someone else can use their retirement fund to rent it.
EVERYONE.That's why we don't feel as much sympathy for Thompson's grieving family as we ought to; because we've spent our sympathy on our own our entire lives: our families and friends and loved ones and familiar faces in our communities without whom they are a little grayer and darker.And no, it's not their fault... but was it ours? Was it my poet friend's fault that she couldn't afford to get a tooth infection handled and it went to her amazing brain and pulped it, so she lingered like a ghost for years before finally becoming a real one?All my friends who lost everything in the fight to survive the cancer or the MS? My dad who worked at a shit job he hated for decades so my mom would have her pitiful insurance that ended when he retired?
Do we deserve to sit in those rooms eating potluck and trying not to weep?It is not acceptable, what these people do to us for nothing more important than greed. It has never been, but maybe what Luigi Mangione did was a sort of surgery on the American soul: a bloodletting that exposed the infection and decay at the heart of us, all of us, everyone.And maybe the fact that it was a rich privileged kid that did it, because his wealth and privilege still couldn't work the magic to fix himself, is why it resonates so much. Because if the child of generational wealth can't find mercy, what chance do the rest of us have?Whatever fear these insurance CEOs are feeling, whatever loss the Thompsons are feeling, never doubt that we all know the same dread, the same loss... because, in large part thanks to people like Brian Thompson, it visits every American eventually.
Everyone.
You want to know why we cheer Luigi? Because everyone who does knows someone like this, or did. I want you to imagine me screaming this word at you like Gary Oldman with my full Texas drill instructor roar that disrupts birds in flight above: EVERYONE. ... Insurance companies and their shills and bootlickers will talk about how there are always cracks in the system, but if these are cracks, then so is the Grand Canyon, because - allow me to repeat myself here - EVERYONE I know falls through them, or knows someone who has. ... People who wait patiently for years to get the things that will let them survive - not even have a better life but just keep breathing. People who die of easily treatable conditions because they were afraid of racking up hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical debt. ... People like me, who only went to the ER if we thought we were going to die, were treated to the point we weren't going to die in the parking lot - leaving the carer open to litigation - and sent home without our underlying conditions being treated or managed. ... EVERYONE. Anyone who says they don't know someone who's suffered or died from medical neglect in America is either lying or was raised as an orphan in a cave. My mother. My dad. My grandfather. My grandmother. Me. My friends and partners. Waiters, baristas, mechanics. EVERYONE. ... We've all sat with numb widows and widowers, parents, children; eaten potluck food off of paper plates in the living room as we helped the living remember the dead, and junk food from hospital vending machines in the small endless hours when night becomes morning in name only. ... We've all given to Gofundmes and felt the self-recrimination that we didn't, couldn't give more; we've all talked someone into starting a Gofundme despite their horror of begging and sharing their private misery with strangers. We've all picked someone up to or from the doctor. ... And when the battle is lost we go home to houses filled with emptiness and we don't look at the empty chair, the empty side of the bed, the medical gear that someone will be by to repossess in the next few days, so someone else can use their retirement fund to rent it.
EVERYONE. ... That's why we don't feel as much sympathy for Thompson's grieving family as we ought to; because we've spent our sympathy on our own our entire lives: our families and friends and loved ones and familiar faces in our communities without whom they are a little grayer and darker. ... And no, it's not their fault... but was it ours? Was it my poet friend's fault that she couldn't afford to get a tooth infection handled and it went to her amazing brain and pulped it, so she lingered like a ghost for years before finally becoming a real one? ... All my friends who lost everything in the fight to survive the cancer or the MS? My dad who worked at a shit job he hated for decades so my mom would have her pitiful insurance that ended when he retired?
Do we deserve to sit in those rooms eating potluck and trying not to weep? ... It is not acceptable, what these people do to us for nothing more important than greed. It has never been, but maybe what Luigi Mangione did was a sort of surgery on the American soul: a bloodletting that exposed the infection and decay at the heart of us, all of us, everyone. ... And maybe the fact that it was a rich privileged kid that did it, because his wealth and privilege still couldn't work the magic to fix himself, is why it resonates so much. Because if the child of generational wealth can't find mercy, what chance do the rest of us have? ... Whatever fear these insurance CEOs are feeling, whatever loss the Thompsons are feeling, never doubt that we all know the same dread, the same loss... because, in large part thanks to people like Brian Thompson, it visits every American eventually.
Everyone.
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
Update
