Death Penalty: Trading Justice for Political Points?

Luigi Mangione’s calculated killing of Brian Thompson, a UnitedHealthcare executive and father of two, sent ripples of horror across the country on December 4, 2024. The public execution, carried out with chilling premeditation in front of bystanders, wasn’t just a crime; it was a stark reminder of how raw and unpredictable violence can fracture our shared sense of safety. Attorney General Pamela Bondi’s response, announced on April 1, 2025, was swift and unyielding: federal prosecutors would seek the death penalty, a move she tied directly to President Trump’s pledge to ‘Make America Safe Again.’

But beneath the surface of this tragedy lies a deeper question, one that cuts to the core of who we are as a nation. Is the death penalty - a punishment dusted off from a bygone era - truly the answer to violent crime, or does it drag us back into a cycle of vengeance that history has shown us fails to heal or protect? For those of us who believe in a justice system rooted in fairness and humanity, Bondi’s directive feels less like progress and more like a gut punch to the values we’ve fought so hard to uphold.

This isn’t about denying the brutality of Mangione’s act. Thompson’s death was a loss that demands accountability. Yet, the rush to execute, cloaked as a solution to rising violence, ignores the evidence and the voices of a growing majority who see capital punishment for what it is: a flawed, biased relic that risks more harm than it prevents.

Let’s look at the numbers. By late 2024, the U.S. death-row population had shrunk to 2,092, the largest drop in over 20 years, thanks in part to President Biden’s commutation of 37 federal death sentences. That shift wasn’t random; it reflected a nation wrestling with the reality that capital punishment doesn’t deter crime. Studies stretching back decades, from the National Academy of Sciences to the Death Penalty Information Center, consistently find no credible evidence that executions reduce murder rates. If anything, states without the death penalty often report lower homicide rates than those that cling to it.

Then there’s the human cost. Wrongful convictions haunt this system - at least 197 people have been exonerated from death row since 1973, their lives nearly snuffed out by mistakes or misconduct. Racial bias compounds the problem; Black defendants are disproportionately sentenced to death, a pattern that echoes the injustices of Reconstruction-era lynchings. Mangione’s case, with its high-profile victim and political undertones, might seem like a clean justification for execution, but the system’s track record suggests otherwise. One slip, one tainted witness, and we could be mourning another irreversible error.

Public opinion backs this unease. Only 53% of Americans supported the death penalty in 2024, the lowest in half a century. Younger generations, especially Millennials and Gen Z, are even less convinced, with support dipping below 50%. They see a punishment that fails to address root causes - poverty, mental health, unchecked rage - and instead offers a hollow spectacle of retribution. Bondi’s push to revive federal executions flies in the face of this tide, betting on fear rather than reason.

Supporters argue it’s about justice for victims like Thompson. They point to the cold precision of Mangione’s act, the public danger it posed, and say execution sends a message. But what message? That we’re willing to risk innocent lives and perpetuate a cycle of violence to feel tough? Historical spikes in political violence, from the Weather Underground bombings to the January 6 Capitol attack, show that punitive crackdowns rarely silence the underlying fury. If anything, they fan the flames.

Bondi’s directive also leans on Trump’s rhetoric, which ties crime to partisan enemies - immigrants, urban unrest, anyone who doesn’t fit the ‘America First’ mold. Research links this kind of language to real-world violence, like the El Paso shooting that targeted Hispanics after years of demonizing talk. Pursuing the death penalty here doesn’t just punish Mangione; it risks amplifying a narrative that turns justice into a political weapon, not a public good.

There’s another way. Life imprisonment without parole offers accountability without the moral baggage of state-sanctioned killing. It keeps dangerous people off the streets - Mangione included - while sparing us the hypocrisy of fighting violence with violence. Countries across Europe have ditched the death penalty and seen crime rates drop, proving that safety doesn’t hinge on execution. We could invest in what actually works: mental health support, community programs, and policing that prioritizes de-escalation over confrontation.

Bondi’s choice isn’t inevitable. Just four years ago, Attorney General Merrick Garland paused federal executions to review their fairness, a move that signaled hope for a system less obsessed with death. Biden’s clemency actions built on that, showing leadership that valued life over vengeance. Today’s reversal under Trump and Bondi isn’t strength; it’s a retreat to the ‘tough-on-crime’ playbook of Nixon and Reagan, policies that bloated prisons and left marginalized communities reeling.

For everyday people - the parents worried about their kids, the workers just trying to get by - this matters. The death penalty doesn’t make your neighborhood safer; it siphons millions in legal costs that could fund schools or addiction treatment. It’s a distraction from the real threats, like the rise in political violence that’s targeting everyone from elected officials to ordinary citizens. We deserve a justice system that heals, not one that doubles down on division.

Mangione’s crime was monstrous, no question. Brian Thompson’s family deserves closure, and society needs protection. But the death penalty isn’t the answer - it’s a shortcut that risks too much and delivers too little. We’ve got the data, the history, and the will of a changing nation telling us to move beyond this. Bondi’s decision, tied to Trump’s chest-thumping agenda, pulls us backward when we ought to be leaping forward.

Justice isn’t about blood for blood. It’s about building a country where violence doesn’t define us, where we tackle the causes instead of just the symptoms. Killing Mangione won’t bring Thompson back or stop the next tragedy. It’s time we demand more - a system that reflects our best instincts, not our worst fears.