The Ethics of True Crime
Image Description: A collage of true crime shows on Netflix with a titled justice scale on top.
According to a 2024 study, 84% of Americans consume true crime content. The statistic, coupled with the success of series like “Inventing Anna,” podcasts like “Crime Junkie,” and movies like “Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil, and Vile,” makes it difficult to deny the increasing pervasiveness of true crime, but the rise of the genre has been accompanied by an onslaught of pointed criticisms questioning its morality.
The debate around the ethics of true crime media boils down to a relatively simple question: does our entertainment come at the expense of someone else (i.e. the victim)? In a discussion with Milwaukee Public Radio, UWM psychology professor Stacey Nye explained that the compulsion to consume media describing violent crime stems from a desire to dissect the nature of evil, which most find foreign. In other words, consumers are typically drawn to true crime not because they derive pleasure from another’s suffering, but out of relatively innocent curiosity. In fact, a key component of true crime’s popularity is related to self-defense.
The vast majority of true crime enthusiasts are women, who are nearly twice as likely to consume the genre as men. Researchers postulate that women gravitate towards these stories because high rates of gender-based violence leave them with ingrained anxiety about becoming victims of crime. Many women feel that consuming media about true crime alerts them to warning signs of manipulation and abuse, preparing them with potentially life-saving knowledge in case they find themselves in the position of the stories’ victims. In these instances, rather than creating entertainment out of suffering, true crime acts as a valuable resource for women seeking ways to protect themselves from violence.
Though there are certainly benefits to a rise in true crime’s popularity, the sensationalism that accompanies many modern attempts at the genre makes it easy to forget an important detail: true crime stories are true. This makes coverage of true crime incredibly delicate, and the miscarriage of discussions concerning cases with real victims has the potential to create serious harm.
When examining the ethical complexities of true crime, it is important to first recognize one of its most prominent deficiencies: the genre historically highlights the stories of certain victims over others. Most true crime media focuses on white, cis, female victims. As Whitney Phillips, a University of Oregon communications professor, explains, this builds a subconscious public consensus that only one type of victim exists and only stories surrounding such victims deserve acknowledgment. As a result, cases of victims who do not fit the white cis female victim archetype receive far less media attention despite the reality that women of color — specifically Black and Indigenous women — and transgender people are targeted at disproportionate levels. This inconsistency perpetuates deep-rooted white supremacist rhetoric which trivializes the pain of women of color, deeming them unfeeling or unworthy of care and acknowledgment. This concept, along with the stereotype of “strong Black women,” has been weaponized since the antebellum period to justify cruelty towards women of color.
The inherent sensitivity of true crime stories, combined with their newly accelerated proliferation, also leads to inevitable shortcomings, with many recent projects facing public backlash as a consequence. While indignation towards certain productions — such as outrage at the charm with which Zac Efron portrays serial killer Ted Bundy in a 2019 film — has been quelled by testimonies from survivors, other projects’ clumsy romanticization of dangerous killers and tragic cases raise serious questions about the viability of widely disseminated true crime media.
Ryan Murphy’s “Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story” is a prime example. Despite its initial streaming success, “Monster” has received an onslaught of criticism and several scathing reviews since its release due to what many view as a gross mishandling of its subject matter. The Guardian’s Stuart Heritage, author of one such review, went as far as to call the series “almost pathologically incapable of finesse.” The reviewer claims that “Dahmer is undoubtedly fetishised” and that lack of insight and failure to reclaim the lives of victims makes the show the year’s “most exploitative.” Heritage’s criticisms are backed by Anne E Schwartz, the journalist who broke the Dahmer story in 1991. She expressed her disdain for the series in an interview with The Independent, calling it “overly dramatized” and inaccurate. The most important criticisms “Monster” amassed, however, come directly from the families of victims portrayed in the show. Not only does this series focus on Dahmer’s cruelty without sufficient efforts to humanize his victims, it also uses the names and stories of real, surviving family members of victims without consultation or compensation. Rita Isbell, the sister of 19-year-old victim Errol Lindsey, whose court statement was recreated for “Monster,” called the series “harsh and careless.” Her cousin, Eric Perry, tweeted that their family was only made aware of the show after its release and was re-traumatized by its portrayals.
One of the most insidious attributes of Dahmer’s case was his intentional targeting of members of communities outcast by society — many of his victims were Black, gay men. By producing and promoting this show without any contribution to the families whose lives it has monetized, Netflix has managed to profit off of a tragedy that struck an already historically underserved community. Netflix found in Dahmer’s brutality the opportunity to further exploit this community post-production, placing “Monster” under the site’s “LGBTQ” category. Though Netflix’s categorization of “Monster” was amended after widespread outrage, this choice is a reflection of modern true crime’s cardinal pitfall. Just as categorizing content into “LGBTQ+” or “Latinx” or “Black Stories” sections is not and never has been about uplifting marginalized communities, corporations pouring funding into thoughtless true crime adaptations is not and never has been about empowering victims. These choices are made with the sole intention of co-opting public sentiment in the name of financial gain.
The solace that true crime offers many seeking protection from violence cannot be ignored, but neither can the totality with which overcommercialization of real cases strips true crime content of merit. Conscientious, constructive true crime cannot exist in conjunction with corporations that prioritize profits over care. It is clear that the retelling of true crime cases serves important roles in our society — storytelling has always been central to survival. However, the rising popularity and resulting commercial viability of the genre mean that the success of modern true crime projects demands uncompromising compassion for and reclamation of the lives they are based around.
