Often there is a soundtrack of true-crime in my ears as I commute to work, run errands or clean the house. There’s long been a wave of podcasts, documentaries, shows, books and films on the subject of true-crime. But is this collective true-crime obsession healthy?
Firstly, I think not all true-crime content is created equal. Some is unnecessary, unkind or worse. But, it can be done well, by excluding gratuitous detail, focusing on the dignity of victims, and not creating infamy around atrocities. It can inform, prevent, and in some cases, true-crime content has even led to justice being served.
Secondly, I think that it’s difficult to determine our own motivations. When consuming true-crime, it’s worth asking, ‘why?’ Am I using a victim’s misfortune or a perpetrator’s perversity as escapism? Does the comparison of severe hardship make me feel better about my own challenges? Perhaps the perspective check of that comparison is not a bad thing, on the other hand it might be cruel to use the misfortune of others to lessen our own discomfort.
Things are rarely black and white. There’s probably elements of true-crime that are helpful and even healthy, and then other aspects that speak to the bad side of human nature. While acknowledging the darkness, I have found some light in true-crime content:
I’ve been reminded to appreciate peace, safety and freedom. One of the most poignant reminders of this came from hearing about how a woman, after years of captivity, marvelled at the way people rush through their daily lives without taking the time to look up at the night sky, or appreciate drinking a glass of water.
I think about this from time-to-time and it motivates me to cultivate a deep and constant gratitude, to be prayerful for anyone suffering, and to mindfully enjoy life to its fullest.
I’ve also been compelled to warmly acknowledge everyone I come across. I heard one story of a disturbed young man who was described as having not one friend in the world, playing an insignificant role in the lives of others and essentially going throughout life completely unnoticed. After he eventually took the life of a young woman, and then his own, the victim’s young sister apparently wrote to the perpetrators family asking: ‘Why didn’t you play games with him?, Why didn’t you ask him how his day was?’.
These innocent questions ring in my mind. Someone like this man may commit a crime for many sinister reasons, or they may be mentally ill. But you never know what difference you might make in the world by simply bringing the dignity of attention to those you encounter.
So, in terms of engaging with true-crime content, I try to be discerningly picky, to have limits, to ask myself real questions about why I am engaging, and to look for the light it can shed.
