I have beyond an abiding interest in an amalgamation of true crime, conspiracy theory, and unexplained mysteries — I hesitate to describe it truly as “true crime,” because my interests go beyond the genre, but for the purpose of this article, I will describe this broad passion as true crime, to make things easier. Far too often, I stay up until the early hours of the morning, reading the odd Wikipedia page about an unexplained disappearance or watching documentaries about famous murders. Roughly half the podcasts I listen to fall into this category, and this number increases if you include series like “Serial” or “Radiolab” that are more difficult to classify. Over winter break, I ate up Jon Krakauer’s new quasi-true crime book, “Missoula: Rape and the Justice System in a College Town”. So, like any good true crime junkie, I’ve been absolutely fascinated by Netflix’s new documentary series, “Making A Murderer.”

For those who have not seen “Making A Murderer,” the series follows a Wisconsin man named Steve Avery who was wrongly convicted for assault, rape and attempted murder in the 1980s, served nearly two decades in prison before being exonerated of all charges based on DNA evidence and then was arrested for murder shortly before he was supposed to receive monetary damages from the state and county. According to the directors, Avery was first arrested because local law enforcement had beef with him, as Avery was in a fight with a distant cousin who was married to a local police officer, and the murder charges were orchestrated to keep him from holding local agencies responsible, with key evidence both planted and destroyed in both cases. 

According to local officials, Avery still might be guilty for his original arrest. Evidence points to him as the murderer, and the filmmakers purposely ignored evidence that painted Avery in a bad light — he had been arrested for animal abuse in the past, and his DNA was found all over the victim’s car. As a viewer, I honestly fluctuated between believing that Avery was innocent and a victim of a conspiracy and questioning if his family, defense attorneys and supporters were actually the crazy ones and were trying to help a murderer get off. 

After all, as a small spoiler, his lawyers claimed the county removed his blood from a sample vial with a hypodermic needle and then planted it over acres of his property, which, in my book, is up there with lizard people as a reliable theory.

Regardless of Avery’s guilt or innocence, one thing bothers me about “Making A Murderer,” and it is something that bothers me about most of the true crime media I’ve absorbed, be it a show like “Forensic Files” or a silly podcast about what really happened to the Princes in the Tower. Often, these stories are sensationalized, painted in broad strokes of black and white. The murderer is evil, the victim good, the forensics never lie, and justice is always served. And in these broad claims, everybody gets dehumanized. Of course, the perpetrator is the most obvious person to face this treatment, and often, it is deserved. But the victim and their family, the bystanders who arguably are most hurt by these crimes, are also dehumanized. We never get to hear from them, beyond a few “we are so grateful our child/spouse/sibling/friend’s killer faced justice and is behind bars” lines thrown in at the end. Both perpetrator and victim are shown in the abstract only, as ideas rather than real people.

I love true crime, as I’ve defined it, and I doubt I’m going to stop watching “The Hunt with John Walsh” or stop listening to “Generation Why.” However, every time I do, I feel a twinge of discomfort, as if I am looking into the most private and painful moments in strangers’ lives, for that is exactly what I am doing. It makes me wonder: how ethical are these shows, these documentaries, these podcasts? How unbiased are they, and does it matter if they heavily lean in support of the legal system or against it? Is it more ethical to enjoy true crime that is hosted or created by someone like John Walsh, who lost his son Adam to a serial killer, than a podcast hosted by some friends in Portland or Kansas City? Is it wrong to find fascination and gain amusement from death, often in its most brutal form? Is true crime, as a broad concept, even ethical?

These are questions I am forced to reckon with each time I open up Wikipedia and type in “unexplained disappearances” in my search bar, each time I log onto Netflix and go to the crime section of the documentary category, every time I update my podcasts. I wonder if the effects of true crime spill over onto real world decisions; since most true crime shows are overwhelmingly pro-prosecutor and pro-criminal justice system, does Nancy Grace screeching on HLN make it more likely that someone who does not meet the reasonable burden of guilt get sent to prison? Or, with “Making A Murderer,” will the trend swing the opposite way, with juries questioning local officials more and holding them to higher standards?

 Or will we have more OJ Simpsons, where someone who is so clearly guilty is able to get off, in part because of press perceptions? And does it even matter?

Maybe, the best solution is just to be a skeptical viewer, always cynical. At least, that is what I’ve started doing.