In the United States, the label “terrorist” isn’t about the violence you commit, it’s about who you frighten. That truth becomes alarmingly clear when comparing the narratives surrounding two recent, high-profile acts of violence: Vance Boelter’s politically motivated assassination of a Minnesota lawmaker and Luigi Mangione’s calculated murder of a healthcare CEO.
Top Three Takeaways from the Article:
Double Standards in Terrorism Labels: The article critiques the stark contrast in how the justice system and media label acts of violence, highlighting that Vance Boelter, who allegedly planned a mass assassination of public officials, was not labeled a terrorist, while Luigi Mangione, who targeted a healthcare CEO, was immediately branded one.
Class and Power Shape Public Perception: It argues that the label of “terrorist” in America often hinges not on intent or scale of violence, but on whether the target threatens wealthy or powerful individuals, reflecting systemic class bias in how violence is interpreted and punished.
Violence Against the Public is Normalized: The piece suggests that violence impacting everyday Americans, such as mass shootings, hate crimes, and political attacks, is treated as routine, while any act that frightens the elite is swiftly condemned as terrorism, revealing a deep imbalance in national priorities and justice.
On one side, you have Vance Boelter, a man who broke into the home of Rep. Melissa Hortman, D-Minn., murdered her, her husband Mark, and even her dog, while carrying a hit list of more than 45 additional public officials. He did this just after he shot Sen. John Hoffman, D-Minn., and his wife, Yvette, at their home. Bolter was disguised as a police officer when he allegedly committed the shootings and was driving an unmarked black SUV that was fitted with emergency lights to make it appear to be a law enforcement vehicle. His weapons cache included dozens of firearms, body bags, zip ties, and tactical gear. His intent was clear: to launch a targeted political killing spree against elected Democrats, with the goal of reshaping the country through fear and bloodshed. Yet, despite the premeditation, ideology, and terroristic intent, media outlets and legal authorities have largely avoided using the term “terrorist” to describe him.
Contrast that with Luigi Mangione, a 27-year-old Ivy League graduate with no criminal record who shot and killed UnitedHelathcare CEO Brian Thompson, someone who made millions off denying coverage to vulnerable Americans. Mangione reportedly acted alone, with no intent to harm bystanders, and framed his act as a protest against corporate greed and systemic exploitation. Within hours, the headlines branded him a domestic terrorist, and the Justice Department echoed that language in its initial filings.
Why the difference?
In theory, terrorism is defined by the use of violence to instill fear and achieve political or ideological aims. By that measure, Boelter, with his elaborate plans to kill dozens of Democratic elected officials, fits the textbook definition. His actions directly threatened democracy and the rule of law. But in America, terrorism isn’t defined by the scope of violence or its political purpose. It’s defined by who feels threatened, and more importantly, who holds the power to shape the narrative.
Mangione’s victim was a billionaire CEO. The kind of man who hosts fundraisers with senators and sits on panels about “healthcare innovation” while raking in profits from rejecting claims and denying procedures. To target a member of that elite class is to strike fear at the heart of America’s ruling structure, not just the political establishment, but the corporate architecture that funds and sustains it. And that, it seems, is the ultimate red line.
Boelter, on the other hand, targeted lawmakers. But not senators or billionaires. He went after Democratic state officials and abortion rights advocates, the kind of people regularly threatened in today’s polarized political landscape. His violence, while extreme, doesn’t register as exceptional in a country that has normalized mass shootings, especially when the victims are Democrats, women, progressives, or people of color. The legal and media apparatus doesn’t rush to label such acts terrorism, because doing so would require confronting the fact that political violence has a growing home on the American right, and that would make too many powerful people uncomfortable.
This discrepancy isn’t just a matter of semantics, it’s a reflection of whose lives and fears our institutions value. It reveals a system where justice is not blind, but highly reactive to social and economic status. Where violence against the powerful becomes terrorism, and violence against the marginalized is just another Tuesday.
The lesson here is chilling: In America, terrorism isn’t about ideology, it’s about hierarchy. It’s not about whether your actions are meant to coerce a population or destabilize society, it’s about whether those actions threaten the people who run it.
And until we confront that truth, we’ll continue living in a country where billionaires are protected by words like “terrorism” and “national security,” while the rest of us are left to endure the violence, the hate, the broken systems, and the silence that follows.
Also, Epstein didn’t kill himself and Trump is on the list.