Does everybody have a right to read true crime content?

When does journalism become true crime?

I am bumping the second installment of True Crime Fiction goes to London to next week (you can read part 1 here) to share some brief thoughts on a mini-scandal roiling the true crime chattering classes of late, also coming out of Britain.

I first caught wind of this brouhaha through a tweet¹ from a London-based journalist reporting that British readers couldn’t access a May 13th New Yorker article² by Rachel Aviv asking serious questions about the investigation and trial of Lucy Letby, a nurse convicted of the murder of seven newborn infants, and the attempted murder of six more. Here’s where I say I knew nothing about this case, and have not read the article.³ But the specifics of this particular crime are not what interest me here. Apparently British readers are unable to access any “reporting and commentary that could prejudice legal proceedings” because such writing is illegal under a 1981 contempt-of-court law. Basically, you can’t talk about active trials. Because the case against Letby has been reopened for one (attempted murder) charge, the article falls under this prohibition.

First of all, this is perhaps the first media cycle I’ve come across in which the problem is not enough true crime content being available to consumers. Second of all, whenever I hear that someone is *forbidden* to read something, my ass begins to twitch.⁴ I mean, what, is the New Yorker now, the periodical version of the Lambada? But at the same time I don’t want to imply that America’s no holds barred policy on crime reporting somehow results in well informed and sophisticated coverage of complicated cases.

Case in point (reddit)

And I suppose I understand the logic behind the ban. It’s meant to (according to my reading of this Washington Post article discussing the block) prevent jurors from encountering prejudicial coverage of a defendant. But, as the article points out, in this case almost all of the coverage is attacking the defendant as irredeemably wicked. Perhaps a well-reasoned critique of the way the case was prosecuted, and it seems there are serious problems, could balance out this narrative and make the process more fair rather than less.

All of this produces interesting questions not only about whether American publications are subject to such a ban, but also highlighting the dubious efficacy of a “geo-block” in a digital media environment. To wit: there are many accounts of British readers accessing the story from the magazine’s mobile app with no trouble. But I also think it highlights a question of generic logistics germane to this newsletter: when does journalism become true crime? Is there even a stable difference, and would it matter in the context of banning “reporting and commentary” to protect the integrity of criminal proceedings?

I would say there is a difference, though maybe not a stable one, because I think there is a distinction between a contemporary account of or report on a particular crime and a piece of writing that aims to situate a discrete instance of lawbreaking within a larger sociopolitical context or critique of the criminal justice system, i.e., prejudicial in a good way. From what I’ve gleaned, Aviv’s piece does look at the specifics of the case, but it also investigates the ban itself, looking at the uneven ways it was enforced in legistlating “reporting and commentary” about Letby’s, allowing one version—the prosecution’s version—of the crime to proliferate. Seems like a problem worth reading about!

The saying goes that journalism is the first draft of history, and I think its also the first draft of true crime.⁵ And I can’t help but be bothered by the thought of the criminal justice system, very institution that is invested in promoting one narrative of a case above another, deciding which “reporting or commentary” is unacceptably prejudicial.

1. An X? I honestly don’t know what we call posts on the site formerly known as Twitter these days.

2. Linking for what it’s worth, though the paywall is high and strong.

3. You don’t even want to know how far behind on New Yorkers I currently am. Much like the number of open tabs on my browser, the number of unread issues stacked by my desk would cause some of my type-A readers to break out in hives.

4. Can any of my dear readers name that Obscure Movie Reference?

5. We’ll save the distinction, if any, between true crime and history for another day.