Truth Is the Ultimate Spin
What a Healthcare CEO's Death Reveals
Nearly fifty years ago, Peter Finch's cry in Network—"I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"—resonated with a frustrated nation. Today, that same fury erupts not from fictional broadcasts but from emergency rooms, oncology wards, and social media feeds, where Americans confront a healthcare system built on profit, not people.
The violent death of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson forces us to confront painful truths about a healthcare industry that, to many, seems more focused on shareholder returns than saving lives. The arrest of an alleged shooter—a 26-year-old Ivy League graduate—adds another tragic dimension to this crisis. Let me be clear: violence is never justified, and the widespread online celebration of this killing isn't just morally repugnant—it erodes the very foundations of civil society and undermines legitimate efforts for reform. Yet this moment isn't random—it's the byproduct of a system that has left too many Americans feeling powerless, ignored, and enraged.
Yet this moment isn't random—it's the byproduct of a system that has left too many Americans feeling powerless, ignored, and enraged.
As a leadership advisor who's spent decades guiding organizations through crisis, I know the first step to rebuilding trust is acknowledging failure. But instead of self-reflection, the healthcare sector has responded by increasing executive security. Corporate security firms are inundated with requests to fortify executives behind walls and bodyguards, an approach that only deepens the divide between leaders and the public they claim to serve.
Statistics tell a damning story: Thompson earned $10.2 million in 2023—approximately $196,000 per week—while millions of Americans rationed medications or forwent treatments they couldn't afford. Medical debt remains the leading cause of bankruptcy in the United States, a phenomenon almost unheard of in other wealthy nations.
Thompson earned $10.2 million in 2023—approximately $196,000 per week—while millions of Americans rationed medications or forwent treatments they couldn't afford.
Americans pay $12,914 per person annually on healthcare—the highest in the world—yet consistently rank poorly in outcomes like life expectancy and maternal health. By contrast, Norway ($7,217) and Denmark ($6,645) provide universal healthcare at nearly half the cost, and their systems rank among the best globally. In Japan, where annual spending per capita is just $4,150, life expectancy is the highest worldwide, thanks to preventative care and capped medical expenses that protect families from financial ruin.
Yet we must confront an uncomfortable truth: all healthcare systems, including universal ones, require resource allocation—insurance, whether private or public, inherently involves rationing care. The crucial difference lies in how that rationing occurs. In the U.S., access to care often depends on the ability to pay, creating a two-tiered system that breeds resentment and despair. Other nations ration based on medical need and evidence-based protocols, maintaining public trust because their decisions serve public health rather than profit margins. Their citizens understand that resources are finite but believe the system allocates them fairly and transparently.
The U.S. system, by comparison, is a moral failure. When executives take home multimillion-dollar paychecks while patients skip life-saving treatments, we face our "let them eat cake" moment. This disconnect threatens the very foundation of our healthcare system.
Was Thompson an evildoer? No, although his income and position indeed symbolized an inequitable system. But his death forces a larger reckoning: when corporations prioritize profits over people, they erode the trust and stability their long-term success depends on. The healthcare industry must recognize that public anger isn't just a public relations issue—it reflects systemic injustices that demand urgent action.
Was Thompson an evildoer? No, although his income and position indeed symbolized an inequitable system.
Other countries offer a roadmap. Germany balances universal access with private innovation. The Netherlands keeps healthcare affordable with strict price controls and government oversight. These systems don't just work—they inspire public trust. Their executives don't need bodyguards because their systems prioritize patient well-being over profit.
Leadership requires courage—stepping out from behind boardroom walls and facing public frustration head-on. It means rethinking executive compensation, advocating for systemic reform, and addressing the root causes of inequity. Authentic leadership isn't about hiding from anger but transforming it into meaningful progress.
The death of Brian Thompson should not be reduced to another grim statistic in America's healthcare crisis. At our core, we all want the same things: to live longer and live better. Yet our current healthcare system often works against both these aspirations, perpetuating cycles of despair that divide us when we most need unity.
The path forward isn't about us versus them—it's about recognizing our shared humanity and the dignity inherent in every life. Recasting the entire healthcare ecosystem is the only way to serve shareholders and stakeholders alike.
All great stories result in change, and the transformation we must seek is in service to all American's well-being so that no one—not a corporate healthcare CEO, an elderly hospice patient, or a sick child—should ever die again because of rage or greed.
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Robbie Vorhaus advises boards and global leaders on reputation, crisis management, and corporate communications, helping organizations align vision and purpose with meaningful change.