Luigi Mangione is escorted by police to his arraignment at the Blair County Courthouse in Hollidaysburg, Pa., Dec. 9. (RACHEL WISNIEWSKI/The New York Times)

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Like many Americans, I’ve been reluctantly drawn into the spectacle surrounding Luigi Mangione, the alleged killer of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson.

It’s the kind of story that combines true crime, corporate intrigue and social media absurdity into an irresistible, albeit troubling, cultural moment. We’ve all seen the footage and have closely followed the sequence of events — the horrifying act itself, the dramatic manhunt and his eventual capture at a McDonald’s in Altoona, Pa. But what fascinates me most isn’t the crime; it’s the public’s reaction. Somehow, Mangione has become an anti-hero — a modern-day Butch Cassidy — lauded as a rebel sticking it to corporate greed. Somehow, men and women on the internet stopped fighting each other over culture wars and crowned Mangione as their homecoming king. And here’s the kicker: A significant number of people of color are embracing Luigi as one of them.

Let’s pause and consider the facts. Luigi Mangione is not an underdog. He is not oppressed. He is certainly not one of us — and by “us,” I mean the people who have spent our lives navigating systemic inequities. Luigi Mangione is the epitome of privilege. He was the valedictorian of his 2016 graduating class at Gilman School, an elite private boys’ school in Baltimore. He is the grandson of Nicholas Mangione, a wealthy real estate developer with a portfolio that included nursing homes, country clubs and a radio station. Luigi graduated cum laude from the University of Pennsylvania, earning both a bachelor’s and master’s degree. His cousin is a Republican delegate in Maryland. This is not the resume of an outsider.

Yet, the internet has picked Mangione as their new boyfriend. Social media is awash with memes celebrating his supposed genius (he reportedly has an IQ of over 130), his six-pack abs and quirky relatability. He reads! He makes irreverent jokes over his private parts! He cried over a dead pet fish! Women and men alike swoon over his intellectual charm and sardonic wit. This adoration is absurd enough on its own, but it’s downright mystifying when people of color join in, positioning him as some kind of relatable rebel.

To my fellow BIPOC folks, let’s get one thing straight: Luigi Mangione is not our hero. He is not a symbol of resistance or rebellion. He is a white man who thought he could take another person’s life and get away with it. That’s not revolutionary; it’s privilege. The kind of privilege that comes from a life where “no” is rarely heard and consequences are an abstract concept. Let’s stop pretending he’s an ally or an icon. He is neither.

Mangione’s supporters have even crowdfunded over $30,000 for his legal defense. It’s galling. While families of color struggle to raise money for funerals or legal battles against wrongful convictions, here we have a killer benefiting from the kind of financial and cultural support that only someone like him (a white man) could command. The memes and money trivialize a horrific act and overshadow the real story: a family lost a father and husband. Brian Thompson’s loved ones are grieving, yet their pain has been drowned out by jokes and hashtags.

Yes, corporate greed is infuriating. Yes, many of us have battled health insurance companies that denied claims. I’ve screamed into the void myself after receiving one of those bland rejection letters, written in bureaucratic code that boils down to: “Not our problem.” I remember paying $4,000 out of my own pocket for my son’s injury that my health insurance didn’t want to cover. But frustration with a system does not justify violence. There are legal, productive ways to protest. Killing someone isn’t an act of resistance; it’s a crime.

The broader fascination with Mangione reveals something uncomfortable about our culture. We’re desperate for heroes — even flawed, fictionalized ones — to rail against institutions we feel powerless to change. But we must choose our symbols carefully. Elevating someone like Mangione doesn’t challenge the status quo; it reinforces it. He is the status quo, wrapped in a veneer of rebellion that crumbles under scrutiny.

As the memes fade and the trial looms, I hope we’ll recalibrate our collective gaze. Let’s save our admiration for the real underdogs: the activists working to dismantle systemic inequities, the families fighting for justice in a rigged legal system, the ordinary people who resist every day without resorting to violence. When I look around Minnesota, I see real heroes doing the hard work every day to create an equitable, just and vibrant community.

Luigi Mangione is not a hero. He’s just another privileged white man who thought he was above the law. And we’ve had quite enough of those, thank you very much.