Mangione's Kindled Fire - Part 2

The politics of guilt: A trial by narrative, not law

Mangione’s Kindled Fire - Part 1. The Legal Arsenal as a Bludgeon

As we mentioned in the first part of this analysis, the adherence to legal standards can be undermined by external influences. In this second part, we will explore this issue further.

When political considerations seep into the judicial process, its integrity is at risk. Political figures, such as Mayor Adams, have played a key role in shaping the narrative, and his theatrical display and his statements are unlikely to be incidental.

His appearance during Mangione's perp walk and his statement about wanting to “look him in the eyes” to make clear that he’s “not going to just allow him to come into our city to carry out this terrorist act” were made at an extremely early stage of the investigation—10 days after his arrest—highlighting the premature nature of such a claim. This raises serious concerns about the integrity of the investigation and the motivations behind such statements. A highly irresponsible accusation by a public authority—asserting that Mangione had committed a terrorist act while the evidence was still emerging and when the relationship between the crime committed and the suspect has not yet been proven—serves to politicize the case and portray him as a dangerous criminal without due process. These declarations not only reinforce state control but also attempt to justify a more aggressive stance against individuals perceived as threats, positioning the government as the guarantor of an unyielding order.

A particularly revealing aspect of this controlled narrative—this time focusing on its staged performances—is the stark contrast between Mangione’s treatment during the well-known perp walk and his most recent court appearance, on February 21st. As previously noted in the analysis of media narratives, the established outlets have a history of distorting and oversimplifying complex facts to feed public sensationalism, which in turn bolsters the power structures' agendas. This case is no exception: the coverage has transformed Mangione into a fictional character, not a defendant.

On one hand, during the perp walk, authorities staged him surrounded by heavily armed police, rifles visibly poised, intending to project him as a dangerous threat to public order. Instead, the optics backfired: on social media, users highlighted Mangione’s subdued demeanor—head bowed, hands cuffed, flanked by militarized escorts—contrasting it with the state’s aggressive framing. The imagery evoked unintended parallels to religious iconography, with memes juxtaposing him against paintings of Christ’s crucifixion. Comments like “They wanted us to see a criminal; we see a scapegoat”, flooded online platforms. The role of social media in shaping public opinion cannot be understated. In cases like Mangione’s, platforms such as Reddit and X become arenas where the state’s narrative collides with the public’s interpretation, often exacerbating the divide between the official story and popular perception.

This public reframing of state-sponsored theater underscores a critical tension: while authorities sought to legitimize extreme charges through visuals of hyper-policing, the audience decoded the scene as a spectacle of overreach. The disconnect reveals how symbolic vulnerability—a lone defendant dwarfed by state power—can fracture attempts to dehumanize.

On the other, in his last appearance, Mangione was clad in a bulletproof vest—an accessory that they deliberately chose to forgo during the perp walk—marking a calculated narrative pivot. Why the bulletproof vest, absent in the first act of this judicial drama? Because the script now demanded a villain, not a martyr or scapegoat. By costuming him as a figure under existential threat, authorities aimed to replace the “unjustly persecuted” narrative with one of latent danger. The vest, a staple in high-profile terrorism trials (e.g., Boston Marathon bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev), functioned as a visual shorthand to align him with publicly recognized villains while reinforcing the image of Mangione as a social outcast, suggesting that his life was in imminent danger because society now saw him as a threat. For many, however, the sudden shift only fueled suspicions of manipulation.

Now, let's take a moment to carefully analyze the following image:

Nothing illustrates this excessive control more than the way Mangione was physically handled during his transfers. Already shackled at both wrists and ankles, he was further restrained by officers gripping his belt, as if he could somehow defy the chains and flee. What is the purpose of this over-restraint, if not to dramatize the spectacle of power? This is not a security measure; it is a deliberate display of dominance, reinforcing the visual narrative of the state’s iron grip on its accused.

This brings to mind Foucault’s words: ‘Power is exercised, not possessed.’ In Mangione’s case, we witness the raw exercise of power manufacturing fear to justify its own existence. His role as the accused transcended courtroom formalities, morphing into a spectral threat—a public enemy to be surveilled, controlled, and ritually condemned.

To watch him was to fear him; to fear him was to condone his symbolic erasure.

This symbolic erasure finds legal justification in what German jurist Günther Jakobs termed Feindstrafrecht (enemy criminal law)—a doctrine that redefines justice as a tool to eliminate “enemies” of the state, not to try citizens. Under this logic, the accused lose their rights, becoming threats to be neutralized, not defendants to be judged. The terrorism charges, coupled with the piling on of the other 19 offenses, against Luigi Mangione are a calculated invocation of this very framework. Jakobs’ theory strips criminal law of its role as a protector of rights, transforming it into a weapon to preemptively dismantle those deemed existential threats. Mangione’s case fits disturbingly well: his alleged “dangerousness” hinges less on the crime itself than on his emergence as a political lightning rod—a man whose grassroots support reframes him as a systemic challenge to power.

This is not mere prosecution; it’s political neutralization. The state’s rhetoric—obsessively emphasizing his “radicalization,” the “contagious danger” of his alleged critiques, and the need for an “exemplary” punishment—reveals the blueprint. Mangione is not just accused; he is constructed as a latent threat. His trial becomes theater to justify eroding due process: if the goal is to eliminate a “future risk”, why let procedural fairness interfere?

The implications ripple far beyond this case. By weaponizing terrorism charges against an alleged lone critic of corporate power, the state blurs justice into social control. The message is unambiguous: challenge entrenched interests, and the law will reframe dissent as terrorism. Mangione’s fate could greenlight a punitive model where courts don’t judge crimes—they erase enemies.

All of this has tangible consequences. Far from an isolated incident, the Mangione case opens the door for similar charges to be applied in future cases that do not meet strict criteria, diluting the concept of terrorism and inflating penalties for crimes that, in essence, pose no mass threat. When merged with the theatrics of hyper-policing and political grandstanding, the combination of intense media exposure and state intervention corrodes the presumption of innocence, replacing it with a trial by public opinion. The risk of prejudicing judicial impartiality is not merely hypothetical—it is a slow-burning crisis that erodes trust in the justice system.

As Karen Agnifilo, Mangione’s defense attorney, stated in her public remarks following the New York status hearing on January 21st, the differential treatment of her client has compromised his right to a fair trial. Mangione remains in federal custody, which has hindered his legal team's access and led to an unusually heavy security presence. Furthermore, Agnifilo denounced the prosecution’s failure to provide key documents to the defense and pointed to potential irregularities in his arrest in Pennsylvania. Adding to these concerns, the recent appearance of New York’s mayor and the chief of detectives in an HBO documentary, where they discussed evidence that the defense had yet to receive, undermining, once again, the principle of the presumption of innocence.

Additionally, the judge presiding over the hearing denied Mangione’s request to be unshackled while in court, due to apparent ‘safety concerns’ raised by the prosecution. What these ‘safety concerns’ were, and if they were legally justified, is questionable. The judge's admonishment of the defense for not filing motions, despite not having the necessary evidence in their possession due to the prosecution’s Brady violation, while failing to address the issue of verifying dates, demonstrates a clear bias. It is the judge's responsibility to ensure that both parties comply with New York State Law at all times, as the presumption of innocence is a constitutional, non-negotiable priority. Furthermore, the judge showed no concern regarding the District Attorney's actions, which not only violated Mangione's rights but also allowed time for a smear campaign to unfold.

The Luigi Mangione case involves more than three files in different jurisdictions; it exemplifies how the law can be manipulated to serve interests that do not benefit the majority. Each additional charge and grand statement from an official seems to point to a calculated strategy. The use of a term typically associated with mass attacks to describe a crime involving a single individual is particularly noteworthy. The answer is disconcerting: the victim's position at the pinnacle of economic power transforms his murder into a symbol, a means of fortifying the boundaries of power.

Instead of a traditional murder trial, the case has transformed into a theatrical play, where justice seems to masquerade as vengeance. With charges spread across multiple jurisdictions and a legal arsenal that seems designed to ensure no escape, the case raises the question: is this about justice, or about setting an example? The prosecution piles on charges as if trying to bury the presumption of innocence under paperwork.

If this case establishes a precedent, it will have far-reaching consequences, as justice could become a weapon of bias—harsh on the weak and lenient on the powerful. The application of terrorism charges to isolated crimes could lead to the dilution of their meaning, potentially opening the door for their use as a tool to silence dissent or protect specific interests. The severity of the law is determined not by the crime committed, but by whom the crime affects.

Mangione is still innocent—yet the system has branded him guilty through channels far removed from the courtroom. His case exposes a core contradiction: when law is hijacked by power, it abandons its role as a guardian of fairness and instead draws lines between the influential and the powerless.

Justice must not morph into a political tool; it must remain an unwavering protector of truth. As the process unfolds, it will not only judge one man; it will judge whom justice truly serves. And that, perhaps, is the most uncomfortable question of all.