You’ve seen the thumbnails: a foggy mugshot, grainy footage of a suburban neighborhood, maybe a sinister child’s toy on a swing set. The episode title is something like The Curious Case of…, Deadly Followers or What She Did Next. You click. You watch six episodes. You go to bed unsettled but entertained.
This is the new golden age of true crime—and not just murder stories anymore. Streaming platforms have expanded the genre to cover everything from influencer exploitation to con artists to bizarre psychological experiments. And we, the audience, eat it up.
If Christians are supposed to care about justice, healing and human dignity, why are we so comfortable turning other people’s trauma into binge-worthy content?
In the last few years, true crime docuseries have quietly become the engine of platforms like Netflix, Hulu and Max. Netflix alone has released over 80 original true crime docuseries and films since 2017. Hulu’s The Girl from Plainville, The Ashley Madison Affair and God Forbid offer tales of scandal and dysfunction wrapped in prestige-TV packaging. Max has taken it even further with titles like Crazy, Not Insane, a deep dive into criminal minds, and Chimp Crazy, an unsettling exploration of chimpanzee fanatics who go to unfathomable lengths to connect with the creatures. Even shows like The Curious Case of Natalia Grace turn trauma into spectacle, encouraging audiences to debate whether a vulnerable child is actually a sociopathic adult in disguise.
According to Nielsen, true crime was the second-most streamed nonfiction genre in 2023, behind only celebrity documentaries. Parrot Analytics reports that audience demand for true crime content has increased by more than 60% in just three years—and that doesn’t even include the endless ocean of shortform breakdowns on TikTok, YouTube or Reddit.
The problem isn’t that these stories exist. It’s how they’re being told—and why we can’t seem to look away.
We’re not watching to understand—we’re watching to be entertained
Most true crime docs want you hooked on one thing: the mystery. Who did it? Are they lying? What’s the twist? By framing the narrative like a suspense thriller, the viewer is trained to focus on the whodunit—never the why.
The deeper, systemic questions—the ones that actually matter—are usually buried or never asked. Like why these tragedies keep happening in the same broken neighborhoods, in the same failed systems, to the same kinds of people. Why mental health support is nonexistent until it’s too late. Why abuse reports go ignored. Why the justice system protects power instead of people.
Take Don’t Pick Up the Phone, where fast food workers across the country were coerced by a scam caller. The doc leans into shock value, but what’s more revealing is the environment that allowed it to happen—workplaces driven by compliance, shame and fear. Or look at Bad Influence: The Dark Side of Kidfluencing. The headlines are disturbing, but the documentary barely grazes the deeper issue: how tech platforms and legal loopholes allow children to be exploited for profit without oversight or protection. These aren’t just one-off stories. They’re symptoms of something bigger.
Instead of investigating the roots of injustice, most series are content to deliver a tidy ending and a dramatic final voiceover. And that’s part of the danger. These stories don’t encourage action. They encourage speculation. Viewers aren’t left grieving. They’re left theorizing in Reddit threads, waiting for the next weird case to drop. It’s not engagement. It’s consumption.
And here’s what research tells us about that. A 2022 study in the Journal of Criminal Psychology found that frequent exposure to violent true crime content can lead to something called moral disengagement—essentially, a gradual loss of empathy for real-world victims. Viewers report becoming more desensitized, more fearful and more emotionally detached. That should matter to us. Especially if we follow a Jesus who interrupted suffering, who humanized the forgotten, who told us not just to know the truth, but to live it.
Yes, storytelling can be powerful. Some documentaries do raise awareness or amplify voices that deserve to be heard. But let’s be honest—most true crime content today isn’t about justice. It’s about metrics. It’s not designed to teach you anything. It’s designed to keep you watching through the end credits.
Isaiah 1:17 doesn’t say, “Stream the full season and then move on.” It says, “Learn to do right. Seek justice. Defend the oppressed.” If the stories we consume don’t lead to compassion or action, then maybe we’re just becoming spectators of other people’s suffering.
Curiosity isn’t a sin. But when it doesn’t lead to care, it becomes hollow. So keep asking questions—but make sure they’re the right ones. Not “Did he do it?” or “Was she lying?” but “Who was failed here?” and “How do we stop this from happening again?”
Because when injustice becomes just another genre, we risk forgetting that behind every bingeable moment was a real person, a real family, a real loss. And caring—not consuming—is what we’re called to do.
Want to turn curiosity into action? Check out groups like RAINN, Equal Justice Initiative and The Sentencing Project for ways to advocate for real change.
