Trigger Warning: Violent Crime
In the wake of the recent murders of four University of Idaho students, it is vital to reflect on how the public’s response has negatively reflected on the true-crime genre. Full disclaimer, I have been interested in the crime genre for most of my life. I frequently listen to the podcast, Crime Junkie, and I love shows like “Criminal Minds.” However, how the community behind the genre mishandled the conversation surrounding this tragedy begs the question of whether true-crime is doing more harm than good. Further, what can we do to put this community back on track to raise awareness and keep people safe without making a spectacle out of victims and murderers alike?
On November 13 in Moscow, Idaho, Ethan Chapin, Madison Mogen, Xana Kernodle and Kaylee Goncalves tragically lost their lives to a homicide in their off-campus house. The media was left shocked and horrified. However, as many people saw all over their TikTok feeds in the weeks following, that horror was quickly checked at the door and swapped out for speculation, sensationalism and false accusations directed toward grieving loved ones. Jack DuCoeur, Goncalves’ ex-boyfriend, initially received the brunt as millions of strangers began to speculate that he was the culprit. Armed with only the fact that Goncalves spammed him with calls minutes before the attack, he became guilty in the eyes of hundreds of thousands of people. Although police immediately cleared him, countless internet pseudo-detectives would not stop their relentless harassment.
After the killer was found and the probable cause affidavit that led to his arrest was released, the community seemed to turn their attention from DuCoeur to one of the surviving roommates. The affidavit stated that she had seen the intruder after opening her door to investigate a noise, froze with fear and reclosed her door. Immediately, the internet began an intense critique of how long it took her to call the police and why she didn’t do more in the moment. There is no such thing as a correct way to react in a life-or-death situation like that. No amount of ridicule from strangers on the internet can undo the crimes committed or help anyone affected. This is common sense, so how does a genre meant to inform the public and tell the stories of victims devolve into a community that harasses victims’ loved ones?
While I do not blame the genre of true-crime as a whole for one sub-sector’s horrific reaction to this tragedy, I have to wonder whether the way popular true-crime creators go about telling these stories has contributed to the intense desensitization and lack of empathy displayed this past fall. In my opinion, this case should not have been discussed to the extent that it was before someone was apprehended and the families had time to grieve. It is human nature to be fascinated by things we cannot fully understand, but it is crucial not to lose sight of the human beings behind these stories.
The long history of documentaries and dramas focused on monsters like Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy has desensitized us to the plights of the victims robbed of life and instead centered a focus around the shocking nature of these crimes, immortalizing the culprit. The recent ‘Dahmer’ series on Netflix is a prime example. Netflix effectively (and graphically) dramatized, in detail, the murders of young men without permission from their families and made 196.2 million dollars in the first week alone. According to Rita Isbell, sister of Dahmer victim Errol Lindsey, the families never saw any of this money.
At what point did true-crime become about us? A tragedy strikes; a family’s worst nightmare comes true, and the public turns it into an open game of whodunit. Big companies buy the rights to these stories to make millions, and often we collectively retraumatize those most closely affected by these horrors. To remedy the level that true-crime has sunk to, we must consciously filter what media we consume surrounding these stories. Before subscribing to someone, clicking a podcast or following a true-crime TikTok influencer, ask yourself whether they bring awareness to the victim’s story or tell the tale like it’s an urban legend to scare and excite us.
For example, Ashley Flowers, the creator of my favorite podcast Crime Junkie, also runs a non-profit called Season of Justice (SOJ). SOJ is a nonprofit which gives money to law enforcement and the families of victims to help solve cold cases and further the advancement of DNA evidence. Additionally, in telling the stories of victims, Flowers centers the stories around the investigation and the families, often interviewing them.
There is nothing wrong with having a fascination with these crimes as millions do, myself included. Instead, it means that when we choose what medium we are consuming this media through, we should stay vigilant. True crime can keep people alert and aware of their surroundings and tell people’s stories respectfully and with empathy. It’s up to everyone who enjoys true-crime content to decide who they will support. At its worst, true-crime can ignore victims, make matters worse, interfere in open investigations and falsely accuse strangers as though they are in a fictional murder mystery. At its best, the genre can inspire detectives to reopen and find justice for cold cases and raise money for the surviving loved ones of those affected.