Opinion: The rage and glee that followed a CEO’s killing should ring all alarms

It started barely minutes after the horrifying news broke that the chief executive of UnitedHealthcare, Brian Thompson, was fatally shot in midtown Manhattan. Even before any details were available, the internet was awash in speculation that the company had refused to cover the alleged killer’s medical bills — and in debates about whether murder would be a reasonable response.

Soon there was a video of a man in a hoodie, face not visible, walking up behind Thompson and shooting him multiple times, ignoring a woman standing nearby before walking away. Could he be a hit man?

Then came the reports that bullet casings bearing the words “delay,” “deny” and “depose” were found at the scene. “Delay” and “deny” clearly echo tactics insurers use to avoid paying claims. “Depose”? Well, that’s the sudden, forceful removal from a high position. Ah.

After that, it was an avalanche.

The shooter was compared to John Q, the desperate fictional father who takes an entire emergency room hostage after a health insurance company refuses to cover his son’s lifesaving transplant in a 2002 film of the same name. Some posted “prior authorization needed before thoughts and prayers.” Others wryly pointed out that the reward for information connected to the murder, $10,000, was less than their annual deductibles. One observer recommended that Thompson should be scheduled to see a specialist in a few months, maybe.

Many others went further. They urged people with information about the killing not to share it with the authorities. Names and photos of other health insurance executives floated around. Some of the posts that went most viral, racking up millions of views by celebrating the killing, I can’t repeat here.

It’s true that any news with shock value would get some of this response online — after all, trolling, engagement bait and performative provocation are part of everyday life on digital platforms.

But this was something different. The rage that people felt at the health insurance industry, and the elation that they expressed at seeing it injured, was shocking. It was also widespread and organic. It crossed communities all along the political spectrum and took hold in countless divergent cultural clusters.

Even on Facebook, a platform where people do not commonly hide behind pseudonyms, the somber announcement by UnitedHealth Group that it was “deeply saddened and shocked at the passing of our dear friend and colleague” was met with, as of this writing, 80,000 reactions; 75,000 of them were the “haha” emoji.

Politicians offering boilerplate condolences were eviscerated. Some responses came in the form of personal testimony. I don’t condone murder, many started, before describing harrowing ordeals that health insurance companies had put them through.

On a prominent Reddit forum for medical professionals, one of the most upvoted comments was a parody rejection letter: After “a careful review of the claim submitted for emergency services on December 4, 2024,” it read, a claim was denied because “you failed to obtain prior authorization before seeking care for the gunshot wound to your chest.” Just a few days earlier, the forum had been a place where people debated the side effects of Flomax and the best medical conferences.

I’ve been studying social media for a long time, and I can’t think of any other incident when a murder in this country has been so openly celebrated.

The conditions that gave rise to this outpouring of anger are in some ways specific to this moment. Today’s business culture enshrines the maximization of executive wealth and shareholder fortunes, and has succeeded in leveraging personal riches into untold political influence. New communication platforms allow millions of strangers around the world to converse in real time.

But on a deeper level, the currents we are seeing are expressions of something more fundamental. We’ve been here before. And it wasn’t pretty.

The Gilded Age, the tumultuous period between roughly 1870 and 1900, was also a time of rapid technological change, of mass immigration, of spectacular wealth and enormous inequality. The era got its name from a Mark Twain novel: gilded, rather than golden, to signify a thin, shiny surface layer. Below it lay the corruption and greed that engulfed the country after the Civil War.

The era survives in the public imagination through still resonant names, including J.P. Morgan, John Rockefeller, Andrew Carnegie and Cornelius Vanderbilt; through their mansions, which now greet awestruck tourists; and through TV shows with extravagant interiors and lavish gowns. Less well remembered is the brutality that underlay that wealth — the tens of thousands of workers, by some calculations, who lost their lives to industrial accidents, or the bloody repercussions they met when they tried to organize for better working conditions.

Also less well remembered is the intensity of political violence that erupted. The vast inequities of the era fueled political movements that targeted corporate titans, politicians, judges and others for violence. In 1892, an anarchist tried to assassinate industrialist Henry Clay Frick after a drawn-out conflict between Pinkerton security guards and workers. In 1901, an anarchist sympathizer assassinated President William McKinley. And so on.

As historian Jon Grinspan wrote about the years between 1865 and 1915, “the nation experienced one impeachment, two presidential elections ‘won’ by the loser of the popular vote and three presidential assassinations.” And neither political party, he added, seemed “capable of tackling the systemic issues disrupting Americans’ lives.” No, not an identical situation, but the description does resonate with how a great many people feel about the direction of the country today.

It’s not hard to see how, during the Gilded Age, armed political resistance could find many eager recruits and even more numerous sympathetic observers. And it’s not hard to imagine how the United States could enter another such cycle.

A recent Reuters investigation identified at least 300 cases of political violence since the 2021 assault on the Capitol, which it described as “the biggest and most sustained increase in U.S. political violence since the 1970s.” A 2023 poll showed that the number of Americans who agree with the statement “American patriots may have to resort to violence in order to save the country” was ticking up alarmingly.

And the fraying of the social contract is getting worse. Americans express less and less trust in many institutions. Substantial majorities of people say that government, business leaders and the media are purposefully misleading them. In striking contrast to older generations, majorities of younger people say they do not believe that “the American dream” is achievable anymore. The health insurance industry likes to cite polls that show overall satisfaction, but those numbers go down when people get sick and learn what their insurer is and is not willing to do for them.

Things are much better now than in the 19th century. But there is a similarity to the trajectory and the mood, to the expression of deep powerlessness and alienation.

Now, however, the country is awash in powerful guns. And some of the new technologies that will be deployed to help preserve order can cut both ways. Thompson’s killer apparently knew exactly where to find his target and at exactly what time. No evidence has emerged that he had access to digital tracking data, but that information is out there on the market. How long before easily built artificial-intelligence-powered drones equipped with facial recognition cameras, rather than hooded men with backpacks, seek targets in cities and towns?

The turbulence and violence of the Gilded Age eventually gave way to comprehensive social reform. The nation built a social safety net, expanded public education and erected regulations and infrastructure that greatly improved the health and well-being of all Americans.

Those reforms weren’t perfect, and they weren’t the only reason the violence eventually receded (though never entirely disappeared), but they moved us forward.

The concentration of extreme wealth in the United States has recently surpassed that of the Gilded Age. And the will among politicians to push for broad public solutions appears to have all but vanished. I fear that instead of an era of reform, the response to this act of violence, and to the widespread rage it has ushered into view, will be limited to another round of retreat by the wealthiest. Corporate executives are already reportedly beefing up their security. I expect more of them to move to gated communities, entrenched beyond even higher walls, protected by people with even bigger guns. Calls for a higher degree of public surveillance, or for integrating facial recognition algorithms into policing, may well follow. Almost certainly, armed security entourages and private jets will become an even more common element of executive compensation packages, further removing routine contact between the extremely wealthy and the rest of us, except when employed to serve them.

We still don’t know who killed Brian Thompson or what his motive was. Whatever facts eventually emerge, the anger it has laid bare will still be real, and what we glimpsed should ring all the alarm bells.

Zeynep Tufekci, a New York Times Opinion columnist, covers the Internet, technology, politics and society. This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

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