‘True Crime’ Shows Exploit and Lie About Women Like Me

In the Texas prison where Olivia (whose name we have changed to protect her privacy) and I are incarcerated, personal televisions are prohibited. Two shared TVs broadcast four non-cable channels to 80 of us. Occasionally, we get to see commercials for “true crime” shows, but we can’t watch the full episodes. Yet, we still get play-by-play accounts of each new show from giddy prison teachers, guards, and religious volunteers—especially when one of us shows up on screen.

Not long ago, the prison dayroom TV advertised a show featuring the case of my friend Olivia. The actor portraying her resembled an obese Kevin Hart. Olivia is actually a doppelganger for Halle Berry. These “true crime” shows describe women like Olivia, victims of domestic violence who kill their abusers in self-defense as evil, manipulative, promiscuous, insane, and monsters. The prison staff who watched the episode recounted how the prosecutor called the actor portraying Olivia a violent psychopath. In real life, Olivia is one of many women who wakes the dorm screaming with night terrors. Her hair still covers scars from stitches on her nape. But on the screen, her prosecutor insists she tried to beat her murder charge with “the abuse excuse.” 

Living in a dorm for women who have been sentenced to more than 50 years in prison means I’m surrounded by women who are exploited on these shows. I have a front-row seat. It started the same way for each of my ten friends who appeared on these shows: with a pretty invitation letter. Soon, the camera crew showed up. Then the woman returned to the dorm with a face full of professionally applied make-up and reenacted the interviews for us, ecstatic she got to tell her story. Until she realized that anything she said that didn’t fit the show’s narrative was cut. 

I’ve overheard the phone arguments with families after these episodes aired. One episode neglected the inspiration and admiration a friend had for her mother, who’d been sober for decades, and instead portrayed her mom as an alcoholic. Another friend was the victim of a long history of abuse. The show deleted the abuse. After the shows aired, my friends’ families suffered deeply—both from social stigma and serious mental health struggles the episodes had triggered. I prayed and cried with these women.

Secretly, I was relieved it wasn’t me. I knew I would never participate in my own destruction by appearing on one of these shows. Until it was my turn. 

I was the subject of at least three “true crime” docudramas. In 2015, nine years after my conviction for killing my abusive boyfriend, I was contacted by a production company. In their first few letters, the producers seemed to suggest that, since I didn’t take the stand during my trial, this was my chance to tell my side of the story. When I didn’t reply, the next set of letters was menacing: We’re going to do the show with or without you. You should want to help others avoid your fate. Finally, I received a letter offering me $8,000 to appear. The law states I can’t profit from my crime. To get around this, the TV show would send the money to whomever I designated. They knew I was the sole provider for my three children. Although we desperately needed the money, I never replied. So they made the episode without me. 

The episodes were full of inaccuracies, racist remarks, and offensive statements. One show referred to me as “a mastermind whose evil stretches the limits of imagination.” In another, a prosecutor stated that my “levels of depravity are the top five I’ve ever known,” that I am “one of the most diabolical people” he’d ever dealt with, and that I am a “master manipulator.” 

Many people profited from my conviction. Amid the hate and stained, sexually explicit mail I received after the shows aired were letters from friends and family apologizing for their appearances on the docudramas. They needed the money. My family and children suffered too. They were all sullied by association. 

The goal of women’s “true crime” shows is to make us look like violent monsters instead of victims of violence. This media operates as the carceral state’s cultural minister—it manipulates viewers into believing we, as survivors of abuse, should be punished for being alive. 

These shows’ ubiquity once prompted my pen pal in Poland to ask: “Why are American women so brutal?” Of course, he can be forgiven for believing this, even though the vast majority of the world’s violence is perpetrated by men. This type of media overdoses viewers on racist, sexist stereotypes and negative images that are constantly regurgitated. 

I have lived in solitary confinement for the past eight and a half years. I began a writing career. I discovered my voice alongside an overdue revelation: We can choose to tell our stories to trauma-informed, reputable journalists. I say “we” because half of America has a family member who has experienced incarceration. If we unite in telling the truth about this multi-billion dollar “true crime” industrial complex, it will vanish. Hopefully, these producers will be replaced by people who prefer to end the carceral cycle instead of fueling it. 

In November 2023, I received another letter from that same production company requesting an interview for a different TV show to “present my story factually and with sensitivity.” I’m not willing to take the risk.

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