“Open and Shut”: The State’s Case Against Mangione, Part II

A diary becomes doctrine

Correction (7/14/2024)

When this post was first published, it included a sentence that incorrectly attributed a phrase to the state’s filing. That language does not appear in the filing. I mistakenly included during the editing process and it has now been removed. I sincerely apologize for this error.

While Bartleby on Trial was never meant to be a daily Substack, I know the lull between posts this month was quite a bit longer than usual. Thank you for your patience as I handled some deadlines, book-related stuff, and family matters. To those of you who are still reading and/or supporting as paid subscribers, I appreciate you. To those who gave up on me, believe me, I get it.

As promised some weeks ago, this is Part II of my look at the Mangione defense team’s omnibus motion and the prosecution’s response. Part I focused on the what, why, and how. Most of us following this case know enough about high-profile cases to understand that it’s often pretrial filings that tell us where the battle is really being waged. People v. Mangione is no different, as we’ve seen the filings transcend the confines of mere legal arguments and become potent narrative weapons.

In this follow-up, I want to focus on three aspects: the state’s more questionable rhetorical moves; the “manifesto,”; and whether the prosecution’s early reveals have strategically helped or possibly hurt either side. As with absolutely everything else in this history-making case, legal tactics are not just speaking to the court. They are also speaking to the court of public opinion.

As ever, NAL. (I’ve instructed my family to engrave Not a Lawyer on my headstone)

Rhetorical Risks

Have you seen the great Spencer Tracy vehicle (and brilliant play) Inherit the Wind? If you have, you’ll understand what I mean when I say that, based on its response to the Defense’s omnibus motion, the State is preparing its William Jennings Bryan act. (If you haven’t seen Inherit the Wind, watch the movie yesterday.)

political cartoon poking fun at notorious windbag and self-promoting politician William Jennings Bryan. would absolutely have volunteered to prosecute Luigi Mangione.

The State’s response to the defense’s omnibus motion was less legal brief, more press release written by a very offended law school scold. While the press release vibe is not unusual in high-profile cases, there was something particularly theatrical about the way the prosecution leaned into ideology here. At times the State appeared less concerned with the admissibility of evidence and more with bolstering its broader narrative of radical domestic terrorism.

Take the repeated invocation of the phrase “ideologically motivated assassination,” which appeared so frequently they should just give it an acronym. IMA appears in this document multiple times before the court has even ruled on the admissibility of the red notebook (or “manifesto”). Say the red notebook is not admissible. Then on what evidence will the prosecution base its claim on IMA? This isn’t just an argument; this is stagecraft for an audience beyond the courtroom.

I also found it interesting that the State basically ignored some of the defense’s procedural challenges (including excessive security measures and alleged attorney-client privilege violations) by pivoting to Mangione’s “dangerousness” and “delusional thinking.”

In other words, let’s trade legal clarity for moral certainty, which will be difficult if the contents of the red notebook are not admissible. If the prosecution hopes to anchor its case in the alleged content of a so-called “manifesto,” it will eventually need to engage more fully with questions of authentication, intent, and scope, none of which are convincingly addressed in this response.

The Red Notebook

The word “manifesto” is tossed around with abandon. A couple of weeks ago, immediately after the brutal assassination of the House Speaker of my own state, Minnesota (Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark Hortman), law enforcement sources told reporters of a “manifesto” found in the abandoned car left at the scene.

Later, media outlets had to correct this characterization of what was essentially a long list of political targets.

Calling the red notebook found during the search of Luigi Mangione’s belongings in Altoona a “manifesto” was a deliberate choice, not a documentary description. The term is loaded with political and social resonance, evoking images of wild-eyed loners and hinting at ideological purity.

Manifestos can be short and concise (The Declaration of Independence) or long and rambling (too many to count), but they are usually coherent, if not in content, then in structure. Manifestos usually contain entire systems of thought, fully fledged belief systems, and clear action goals achievable by a group. They are meant to disrupt the equilibrium of a society, often promoting what are seen by that society as extremist views and extreme approaches.

But what’s actually in the red notebook, at least as disclosed in the state’s filing, tells a more calculated and curated story.

i’m not entirely sure what Barry Blitt was getting at with this weird, sexist New Yorker cartoon from late December 2024, but it features a 1776-era “manifesto” scroll, so I thought “why not”? also, those in the know understand the fries should *acktually* be hash browns

According to the State, the notebook includes explicit references to assassinating a CEO of a major health insurance corporation as a strategic and surgical act. Though not stated as such in the prosecution’s response, the author does not promote indiscriminate violence to further his political beliefs, but instead proposes to himself something that would “make the point self-evident” in headlines. Mangione also allegedly references the Unabomber, critiques bombings for their chaos and inefficiency, and justifies his decision to carry out a direct attack instead.

The selective quoting is worth noting. The prosecution highlights lines like “It had to be done.” But without context, it’s impossible to tell whether these are the ravings of someone unwell, the rhetorical flourishes of someone trying to mythologize themselves, or the actual operational planning of a killer. Perhaps that is the point.

But there is a difference between a diary and a blueprint, and any jury will understand this. Until the entire document is made available, and its admissibility litigated, the notebook remains as much a symbol as a piece of evidence.

I will venture to say the following, with full understanding that I’m only working off what the prosecution has made available to the public: as an avid reader of manifestos (it’s true), this doesn’t read to me as a manifesto. It’s a planning document. A staging ground for ideas that includes scraps of political philosophy and bits of tactical self-talk. It’s messy. Phrases are disjointed. The language is uneven and at times reads as hurried. Many of us have read Mangione’s writings available online from the years leading up to the events of December 4, 2024, and the difference in style, diction, tone, even syntax, is striking.

I happen to think Mangione has a healthy, if conflicted, ego. If he wanted to write a manifesto, I have no doubt he would’ve put quite a bit more thought and attention into it than is evident from the scribblings in the red notebook. If he indeed is the person who murdered Brian Thompson and if that is, in fact, his writing in the notebook, I could see him being very annoyed that those scribblings have been termed his “manifesto.”

Ultimately, what amounts to a “manifesto” is a matter of framing. The excerpts we’ve seen from the red notebook are ideologically charged, but also fragmentary and heavily curated by the State. Only the entire notebook can provide the necessary context. Since it remains unavailable, the notebook functions more as a narrative device than a piece of evidence. At least for now.

Who Has the Upper Hand?

At first glance, the State may appear to have the upper hand. The press has, of course, run with the red notebook and continues to promote the narrative of an ideologically driven killer. The Defense now finds itself in the position of having to decide whether to continue to challenge the diary’s admissibility head-on — this time on the grounds of authentication, prejudicial effect, or mental health context — or to downplay it entirely in the hopes it’s ruled inadmissible or loses traction.

But the move is not without downside for the prosecution, in my non-lawyer opinion. By introducing the notebook early and aggressively, the prosecution may have created new vulnerabilities What if it is ruled inadmissible? What if its credibility erodes under scrutiny? Then the state will have expended considerable narrative capital on a foundation that no longer holds. Worse, if a judge concludes the state’s pretrial disclosures were designed to sway public opinion rather than adhere to evidentiary rules, it could taint other aspects of their case.

Then there’s the question of “emotional saturation.” If the most damning material circulates months before jury selection, the eventual trial may feel like old news to the public. And that’s not a position this particular prosecutorial team wants to be in, not in this political climate.

I’ve always argued that this will not be just a legal proceeding. The Mangione trial will be political theater. Indeed, the show has already started, with company actors like Eric Adams and and Jessica Tisch have already been warming up the crowd. Evidence has already become symbolic in an attempt to flatten complexity. The tropes emerge, with prosecutors framing personal scribblings as ideological screeds, defense teams forced into reactive postures, and media repeating state (and corporate) language without interrogation.

The question now is whether the early and deliberate deployment of the “manifesto” narrative will endure the scrutiny of a courtroom, or merely serve its purpose in the public imagination before being quietly redacted. Either way, the state's strategy suggests that it’s not just about what happened. It’s about who gets to name it.