In 2015,
the podcast entitled “Serial”
[and] docuseries like “Making a Murderer” and “The Staircase”
were the hottest topics in pop culture.
I was late to the "Serial" obsession,
but when I dipped my toe in a few months after its initial release,
I quickly dove headfirst into the exploding true crime world.
I was obsessed.
I have written a dissertation, articles, a book,
and after countless hours consuming true crime,
I'm still obsessed.
As part of my research and my obsession,
I attempted to quantify and categorize true crime podcasts,
just one tiny piece of the exploding true crime world.
As of April 2022,
I had identified nearly 5,000,
and that number keeps growing.
Our obsession with true crime isn't new.
While scholars generally credit Truman Capote's 1966 "In Cold Blood"
as the birth of true crime media,
it's easy to find examples that predate Capote by decades.
Consider the “Transatlantic Terror” inspired by Jack the Ripper
and H.H. Holmes in the 1880s and '90s,
or how Elizabeth Short's 1947 murder
inspired lurid media frenzy and the Black Dahlia lore.
It could even be argued that public executions in the Middle Ages,
the witch trials, even the Inquisition,
were early examples of true crime entertainment.
Then, as now, spectators would watch,
fascinated and horrified at the intersections of good and evil,
justice and injustice
played out before them in grim spectacles.
It seems there is something innate in us
that is drawn to crimes or perceived crimes
and the associated horrors.
While I have always enjoyed both true crime and crime fiction,
my real obsession took off with the zeitgeist.
I’m a multitasker, so podcasts felt made for me.
As I dove deeper down the "Serial" rabbit hole,
I began to expand my attention to other true crime narratives,
and I noticed a new pattern emerging.
While lots of creators were focused on entertainment,
others were focused on criminal justice reform,
on wrongful convictions,
on bringing attention to long-cold, unsolved cases.
I found this elating.
So much so that I changed my whole research stream
to devote my time to better understanding
this particular type of true crime entertainment.
But when I would have conversations with other people about my obsession,
especially people outside of true crime fandom,
the same questions would emerge.
Is this OK?
Doesn't this feel icky?
Are they laughing about murders?
I would shrug off those criticisms
or instead point them towards what I thought of as the good stuff:
to the creators and storytellers
who were solving cases, finding new leads,
drawing attention to long-cold cases and injustices.
That's the good stuff.
But when I would let myself look at the ugly side of true crime,
it was really, really ugly.
In 2018, I started interviewing storytellers, journalists, advocates
who were involved in true crime storytelling.
I wanted to know how they personally navigated this dichotomy.
I asked them to define true crime and to talk about its reputation.
Obviously, they would gush about the good stuff,
but other words kept coming up.
Exploitative,
salacious,
prurient,
murder porn.
And just like the famous quote about traditional pornography,
all of my interviewees told me
that while they couldn't define bad true crime,
they all knew it when they saw it.
So today I am here to offer those of you who, like me,
might be a little obsessed,
four questions to ask yourself
about the real-world implications of your true crime consumption.
I've based these questions from talking to people
involved in the storytelling,
but also listening to people who have been affected
by their tragic connections to these stories.
It is my hope that by becoming more mindful consumers
of true crime media,
we can direct our attention, our resources, our dollars
towards the people doing the good work.
So question number one, ask yourself:
"Why am I interested in this?"
There's no right answer to this question.
Multiple studies have shown that true crime fans, particularly women,
are drawn to the sense of community.
So many of us have been ourselves survivors
or know other survivors and victims of assault, harassment,
even murder.
Hearing the stories of others can be healing.
We can feel empowered to fight back and feel less alone.
On the other hand,
sometimes interest in a true crime story
is driven by horror or titillation or morbid curiosity.
While those feelings are natural and they're valid,
if that's the only reason that you're interested in a story,
it might be time to find something new.
Question number two:
"How does this make me feel?"
True crime fans know that true crime is rarely a feel-good story.
And yet, we still seek out that content.
For some people,
the excitement and the motivation are in learning about a new topic.
For others,
there’s what media psychologists call a “eudaimonic motivation.”
That is,
we are interested for reasons beyond pleasure or hedonic motivations.
For example, in my own listening,
I've known myself to finish a victim's story
not because it was well told
or even necessarily interesting to me,
but because I felt like I owed attention to this person's tragedy,
especially in the case of victims
who are less likely to receive coverage in mainstream press
like Black men or Indigenous girls.
On the other hand,
sometimes the interest is driven
because it's exciting,
because the story is thrilling,
it's well-produced, it's filled with fascinating characters.
While those hedonic motivations are not inherently problematic,
again, if that's the only reason you're interested in a story,
it might be time to reevaluate that consumption.
Question number three,
and this is a big one:
"How might the people involved in this story feel?"
This can be a complicated question.
Take, for example, the ubiquitous "Serial" case.
Advocates for Adnan Syed,
the man that many believe is a victim of wrongful conviction,
have written books, produced documentaries
and recorded hours and hours of podcast about the case.
They frame their arguments
in that they are searching justice not only for Adnan,
but also for Hae Min Lee,
the young girl whose death is at the center of the story.
And yet, while these are noble causes,
Hae's family is famously absent from the narratives.
And they've issued statements saying that there are deep wounds
that this remediation of her story opens.
Does that make telling Hae's story inherently unethical?
Not necessarily.
True crime storytelling, much like traditional journalism,
delves into painful subjects.
Sometimes that means private citizens' public lives --
or private citizens' lives become public information.
Sometimes that means wounds are reopened.
Criminologist Elizabeth Yardley has written extensively
about the ethics of crime storytelling.
She urges true crime fans to remember,
in the words of a Reddit post made by Hae Min Lee's brother,
"To us, it's real life."
Lee has criticized "Serial" producers
for leaving his family out of these narratives.
In that Reddit post, he goes on to say,
"To you, it's another murder mystery,
a crime drama, an episode of CSI.
You weren't there to see your mom crying every night.
Shame on you.
I hope that what happens to us never happens to you
and you have to have your story blasted to five million listeners."
When discovering new true crime narratives, ask yourself,
are the people in this story being hurt?
And if so, is there a justifiable reason to inflict that harm?
Can some good come from retelling the story?
Or is it just for entertainment?
If the answer is the latter, again,
may be time to find something new.
And finally,
my last question to ask yourself to make you more aware
of the real-world impacts of your true crime consumption is this:
"Am I motivated to act?"
In my experience, my favorites,
the things I consider the really good stuff,
things like “In The Dark”
and “Truth and Justice” and the inimitable “Undisclosed” podcast,
they leave listeners with a mission.
To donate, to contact a member of Congress,
to work within our own communities for healing,
for ourselves and for others.
On the other hand,
most of the true crime that I find really questionable
leaves me feeling helpless or afraid.
It focuses too much on the horrors or the injustices
and not enough on healing or solutions.
There's a world of difference between a creator who plays a 911 call
to horrify his audience with anguished screams,
and the one who plays a call in hopes that someone will hear a clue,
maybe a passing truck or rushing water
that helps find where a missing victim disappeared.
The ethical creators will draw these lines around their motivations.
They will remind their listeners
that looking through court transcripts could be helpful
but harassing victims, family members or suspects online is not.
While these four questions:
how does this make me feel;
why am I interested in this;
how might the people involved feel;
and does this motivate me to act;
cannot alone create a world
of less exploitative, more ethical true crime,
our individual consumption has impacts.
It is my hope
that by directing our attention to the people doing the good stuff,
that we can turn our time and our dollars and our resources,
we can use that ourselves as murderinos, as fans,
and amplify the potential for good in our true crime obsession.
(Applause)