LIESE-SPENCER: True crime: Commodification of human suffering
We often marvel that executions once drew enthusiastic spectators and served as public entertainment. But was the mentality surrounding such consumption much different than the one that persists today? Humans have always been fascinated by depravity and brutality. Only now, this curiosity can easily be satisfied from behind a screen in the privacy of our homes, where readily-streamed stories of murder and violence offer sanitized opportunities for viewing.
True crime has an enthusiastic audience yearlong, but such content is heavily promoted and often released near Halloween when viewers look for a good scare. In keeping with this trend, Ryan Murphy's Netflix show, "Dahmer — Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story," was released September 21, 2022, and a second season about the Menendez brothers was released this September, nearly a month before Halloween.
True crime appeals for the same reason: a thunderstorm can be delightful from the safety of one's home. A taste of real danger feels exhilarating when we are comfortably removed from the situation. But in a world attuned to trauma, it can be uncomfortable to admit to using someone else's trauma for cheap thrills, so true crime fans often hide behind other justifications for their hobby.
One such justification is that the human psychology of a killer is merely interesting from an intellectual standpoint. Others claim that exposing oneself to true crime reduces the likelihood of being caught unprepared like the unfortunate victims discussed on their favorite podcasts.
But how realistic is true crime, and how well can it truly prepare us or shape our understanding of human society?
In reality, this is unlikely. True crime can evoke unnecessary paranoia and distrust about the outside world. While it usually centers on stories of psychopathic monsters lurking in the shadows, women are most often killed by intimate partners, family or someone they know.
True crime also creates an inaccurate perception of who is most at risk of violent crimes. The majority of true crime enthusiasts are white women. To appeal to this demographic, the female victims portrayed in this content are also disproportionately white women, although Indigenous women are three times more likely to be murdered, and thousands of Indigenous women are reported missing every year.
Additionally, stories of white women often receive significantly less attention when the victims are sex workers or otherwise do not fit the profile of an "innocent" victim.
Even the victims who receive coverage are afforded very little humanity. By design, true crime is plot-driven, and victims' lives are reduced to the worst thing that happened to them. In comparison, the killer tends to garner an in-depth analysis and complex backstory. Most people have heard of Ted Bundy and know at least one fact about him. But how many of his 30 victims are household names?
The "watchability" of true crime hinges on good storytelling, so certain elements are inevitably exaggerated or details are added to fit a narrative. For example, "Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story" hints at a sexual relationship between Erik and Lyle. The brothers, who murdered their parents in 1989, claiming their father was sexually abusive, have denied these rumors and experts on the case have also determined a sexual relationship to be unlikely.
Murphy's Dahmer show, in particular, has been criticized for its inaccuracies and sensationalization of the infamous cannibal who murdered 17 people in the late 1900s, most of whom were Black and LGBTQ+ men. The show's most vocal critics have been families of the victims, who claim that the show retraumatized them without permission.
Eric Perry, who lost his cousin, Errol Lindsey, claimed, "We're all one traumatic event away from the worst day of your life being reduced to your neighbor's favorite binge show."
I cannot imagine how horrifying it must be to spend one's entire life trying to recover from the trauma of a loved one's murder, only for millions of people to watch it acted out and dramatized for entertainment a few decades later.
Unfortunately, disregard for the victim's humanity and their family is all too common in the true crime community.
I remember being horrified approximately a year ago when I came across the story of Zav Girl, a YouTuber with 89,000 subscribers at the time, who charged people $3 to see autopsy photos of a murdered 11-year-old boy. The boy's father described this as "retraumatizing" and "evil," especially considering this happened two months after the trial.
Zav Girl insisted that she could understand peoples' concerns but personally found the photos "interesting and informative" in a "scientific detached way." And yet, the ability to view the murder of a child in a cold and detached manner is hardly a good thing and illustrative of how dehumanized victims become when their trauma is milked for content.
Others more subtly capitalize off of tragedy in ways that extend exploitation. This is most commonly achieved through the creation of insensitive catchphrases and merchandise.
As humans, we are simultaneously fascinated and terrified by death, and I would not argue that such fascination is unnatural or immoral. Neither would I suggest that making a documentary about something gruesome is always inherently bad. When produced ethically, such films can even bring more attention to a case, especially one that has remained unsolved or garnered little attention, helping the victim's loved ones to feel seen.
That said, when it comes to content about real individuals' trauma, it is important to ask: What is the purpose? Is exposure aimed at correcting misconceptions about a case? Does it provide insight into how the social or political climate led to the crime, as well as the aftermath and treatment by the media?
Or is it simply a recounting of gruesome details with fictionalized flourishes for the casual entertainment of a content-addicted audience with little regard for the humanity of those involved?
Beatrice Liese-Spencer is a first-year Mason Gross School of the Arts student majoring in art and design. Liese-Spencer’s column, “What’s the Verdict,” runs on alternate Wednesdays.
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