Luigi Mangione’s supporters return to court, now armed with press credentials.
On Monday morning, a judge presiding over the New York state case involving the murder of the UnitedHealthcare CEO decided that certain evidence gathered by law enforcement would not be presented to the jury.
But that wasn’t the only headline from the hearing. Outside the courthouse, a reporter captured video of several attendees making provocative statements to the media. One attendee, Lena Weissbrot, remarked that the children of Brian Thompson, who was fatally shot in December 2024, were “better off without him” and needed to “learn to not be like their dad.” Another attendee, who identified themselves only as Ashley, added, “I’m standing on business. Screw Brian Thompson. I don’t care that he died.” They went on to criticize the U.S. for-profit healthcare system and the lives lost due to lack of necessary medical care.
Typically, this would be a minor tabloid story, similar to past coverage of Luigi Mangione, the man accused of killing Thompson. I had previously seen and interviewed these attendees at earlier hearings while covering the case. They, along with other supporters of Mangione, have become regulars at the courthouse in lower Manhattan. However, this time, the comments sparked a different kind of media frenzy: these attendees were wearing press credentials.
Local journalists expressed concern over the city granting press passes to these three supporters, who operate social media accounts under the name “The Mangionistas.” Former New York City Mayor Eric Adams labeled them as “reporters” and criticized the current administration for being “reckless” in its credentialing process.
To obtain a city-issued press pass, applicants must provide six examples of on-the-ground reporting, which can include traditional formats like articles or broadcasts, but also allows for more unconventional submissions. The city defines a member of the press as someone who “gathers and reports the news” through various media channels. This raises questions about what distinguishes a reporter from someone who simply witnesses an event and shares their thoughts online. Is a personal blog post on par with a professionally reported article? How can one expect a reporter to separate their personal views from the stories they cover? This definitional confusion could impact news gathering beyond the Mangione case and potentially marginalize smaller outlets or independent journalists.
Moreover, there are practical reasons for the city to tighten its credentialing standards. Press passes are necessary to cross police and fire lines and attend city-sponsored press events. Even before the emergence of the Mangionistas, some local reporters had voiced concerns about the city’s credentialing practices. A right-wing anti-vaccine political candidate known as the “Sperminator” managed to secure a press pass during the Adams administration, but the city later blocked him from renewing it in 2025 after he was accused of impersonating a journalist. If anyone can claim to be “media,” the value of credentialing diminishes.
By the end of the day, it was reported that Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s administration was reviewing the press credentialing process, and on Tuesday, Mamdani stated that the three Mangionistas should not have received press passes in the first place. When contacted via email, the Mangionistas declined to comment. City Hall referred to Mamdani’s earlier remarks, indicating that the three individuals “don’t fall within [the] debate” regarding who should qualify for a press pass. Weissbrot appears to have started publishing updates from Mangione’s court hearings in September on a blog called The Bicoastal Beat, though there’s no indication that she is directly involved in organizing for Mangione; a message sent to her blog’s email address went unanswered.
“These individuals do not represent the views of Luigi, nor the tens of thousands who have shown their support from around the world,” stated Karen Friedman Agnifilo, a lawyer for Mangione, in an email. “The only people who speak for Luigi are his attorneys. We condemn these vile and irresponsible statements that have no place in the discourse around these cases.”
This incident is peculiar on multiple levels. It has become increasingly challenging to clearly differentiate between a journalist, an influencer, a critic, a fan, and an activist. Who determines what constitutes reporting, and who might be excluded if stricter regulations are implemented? The situation also highlights the divisions within the broader Mangione community and the complexities of turning someone on trial for murder into a public figure.
While this may be an unusual case, the questions it raises reflect broader shifts in our information landscape and changing media consumption patterns. Much of this stems from how people are engaging with news: through short videos, clips, or “news influencers” who summarize or react to events without conducting their own reporting. Institutions and those in power have also aligned themselves with personalities who deliver news to their audiences, even if they lack traditional journalistic standards: for instance, the Trump administration utilized content from MAGA-aligned influencers to justify immigration raids. Influencers have received exclusive briefings from the White House. Mamdani has also hosted events and press conferences exclusively for influencers, allowing them to interact with him and create content. It’s reasonable to expect a basic level of professionalism from everyone, whether they hold a press pass or not — but if the Mangionistas hadn’t made their controversial statements, would it still be an issue that they, as a group of Mangione supporters, had been credentialed? Suddenly, the mayor’s office finds itself in the position of determining which opinions or views are acceptable for this loosely defined press group. Revoking a press pass is not straightforward either; it requires a hearing with the Office of Administrative Trials and Hearings.
It’s fitting that we’re debating whether Mangione supporters should receive press credentials — his case revolves around narrative control. From the outset, the killing of Thompson has been less about the individuals involved and more about what they symbolize: the U.S. health insurance industry versus the public. Mangione’s supporters have long expressed frustration with how “the media” portrays them, often referring to sensationalist coverage that labels them as bizarre or extreme. Many supporters assert that they do not condone the violence associated with this case, instead using it as a platform to advocate for healthcare reform and a fair trial for the accused.
However, there are also tensions within the broader community of those closely following the case. When I spoke with supporters outside the courthouse in December, some expressed annoyance at other attendees — those who dressed “like they’re going to Comic-Con” or seemed more interested in the attention. This frustration stems from a belief that such behavior reflects poorly on all supporters and distracts from the individual actually on trial. (I also spoke with Weissbrot that day; she has attended many of the pretrial hearings in the New York case against Mangione.)
Indeed, some of the strongest criticisms of the Mangionistas’ remarks have come from within the Mangione support network. People Over Profit NYC, a healthcare reform group that has become a fixture outside the courthouse, issued a statement denouncing the comments. Some Mangione supporters questioned whether his legal team could prevent the Mangionistas from attending court or if Mangione could obtain restraining orders against them. Others accused the three women of intentionally undermining Mangione by making inflammatory statements to provoke negative public sentiment. This reflects the broader challenge of discussing the case: to supporters, Mangione is a mix of folk hero, symbol of the failures of the U.S. healthcare system, innocent man, and someone who is guilty in a literal sense but should not be by legal standards.
Navigating this complex landscape is nearly impossible in a case where public engagement has been a defining feature of its notoriety. Supporters have contributed over $1.5 million to Mangione’s legal defense fund, and he reportedly receives a flood of letters while incarcerated. The upcoming jury selection process is likely to be a spectacle, with potential jurors probably asked if they’ve shared any Luigi memes in the past year and a half. This is the challenge of being the internet’s favorite defendant, where fervent support can turn into a recurring media narrative. Eventually, someone will say something regrettable, and you’ll have to deal with the fallout.
