The way we respond when tragic things happen to real people seems indicative of a culture of consumption. When confronted with stories about horrific crimes like murders, disappearances, frauds, rapes or cybercrimes, our first instinct is often to demand more details — and we look to others to put the pieces together for us.
Internet sleuths, livestreamers and psychics descend on the crime scene, often with little regard for the victim or their family. Social media influencers push their theories to audiences as large as millions, with minimal evidence to support their often outlandish claims. Ordinary people claim involvement in the process of seeking justice, and the worst day of someone’s life becomes our mystery, entertainment and often a source of profit.
In many ways, it’s our consumption of true crime content that makes us respond this way.
According to an Edison Research report, 84% of the U.S. population aged 13 and older are consumers of true crime. This content, which ranges from podcasts to documentaries to social media posts, uses a narrative structure to examine the details and motivations of real-life crimes. But often, they prioritize sensationalism over ethical and accurate storytelling.
Mary Angela Bock, a journalism professor who is a supporter of citizen journalism, argues that increased access to content about crime online doesn’t mean that information is helpful, quality or ethical.
“Yes, there are some folks who do know what they’re doing and do care,” Bock said. “And there’s folks who just think that because they’ve been watching police procedurals their whole life, they’re going to be able to solve the crime in half an hour, and it’s much harder than that … I think more voices (are) good, but I am also really concerned about a glut of people who do not care and are not committed to journalistic ethics.”
Being bombarded with information about the worst and therefore most “entertaining” crimes can make us see criminality and intrigue everywhere. In reality, crime in the United States has fallen in recent years, and the crimes that do occur don’t always align with the sensationalist narratives we’ve normalized. Not every story is a gripping whodunit; often, crime is ugly, ordinary and simple.
But that doesn’t satisfy the true crime itch, and the story of the victim and their family is often lost in this sea of demands and speculation.
Kate Dawson is a journalism professor of practice and a true crime podcaster. She argues that people might turn to true crime content out of a distrust of authority, but these sources often lack sensitivity.
“You have to think about putting the victim first,” Dawson said. “It doesn’t matter what genre, what group you’re talking about, the victim has to come first. You really have to consider not glorifying the killer.”
Satisfying our morbid curiosity is tempting, but it’s important to remember that it often comes at the expense of people enduring real tragedy. It’s essential that our consumption of true crime content doesn’t impact the way we treat victims.
Robert Quigley is a journalism professor of practice who has experience both teaching a class on the ethics of true crime and producing true crime podcasts. He has struggled with the ethical implications of the genre and worried that his own projects might do more harm than good.
Yet, he maintains that true crime media, when done right, can amplify the stories of victims who have been overlooked by the justice system.
“All I ask is that people stop for a second and think, ‘What if I knew (them)?’ … What if I were like, ‘This is my family.’” Quigley said. “How would you feel? And it doesn’t mean that you’ve got to say, ‘Well, I would feel like I don’t ever want to consume this content again.’ Maybe you are. But I just want you to say, ‘Would I celebrate this? Would I act like this is fun?’”
Passively consuming true crime content doesn’t just change the way we view crime; it impacts our empathy. It’s essential that we think about the larger implications of our media diets, center empathy in our discussions of crime and remember that victims are real people — not characters for our consumption.
Tuscano is a government sophomore from Round Rock, Texas.
