I was on the train the other day and couldn't help but overhear a discussion about a new TV show. It was a documentary, true crime, one I'd been meaning to catch up on as soon as a screen became available on the much coveted single device familial Netflix account.

“I had to turn it off after the first episode, it was boring,” said one passenger. “Aye,” replied the other, “kept thinking it would pick up but it just dragged on and on”.

That “boring” documentary involved the real-life brutal and senseless murder of a woman, and to hear it being discussed so casually and with such flippancy was more than a little jarring.

I can't seem to get this conversation out of my head, as in mere seconds it crystallised thoughts I've been having for a while now about the true crime genre, and the way it's changing our perception of brutality.

I really enjoy true crime, the combination of compelling narratives and documentary style storytelling often not only serves as a historical record of crimes and those who commit them, but it can also offer victims and survivors a public and sympathetic voice.

I do, however, wonder if we’re becoming desensitised, and sometimes forget that behind the sensationalisation and drama, there are very real people and families whose lives have been irreparably damaged, or ended.

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I'm certainly not the only fan of the genre, crime (of both fictionalised and true varieties) regularly tops bestseller book charts, as well as “most watched” lists on streaming services. Scotland even has its own international crime writing festival, Bloody Scotland, where writers and their fans get together annually in Stirling to celebrate crime fiction in all its gory glory.

True crime is so popular it's even begun to appear in pop culture, with shows like Only Murders in the Building and Based on a True Story incorporating true crime fans and their favourite media in their stories as a meta reflection of the cultural zeitgeist.

Perhaps it’s the juxtaposition of horrific, graphic and terrifying details with the relative safety of consuming it from within the comfort of our homes, but it seems we as a society have ever more time, for crime.

The commodification of violence, of murder, is nothing new. Think Psycho, CSI, or Silence of the Lambs, society can't help but dip its toes in spilt blood, but true crime brings with it a whole new set of ethical dilemmas.

To cater to the growing demand for content, true crime YouTube channels have become increasingly popular, with millions of viewers tuning in every day to learn about the most tragic, depraved and gruesome cases, free and on demand.

This content is a lot cheaper and quicker to produce, and since there is certainly no shortage of stories to be told, there is a seemingly endless source of content ready to be created, shared, and monetised.

In place of the typical interview style of documentaries, there is usually a lone presenter retelling the story based upon research they have compiled from various primary sources. Since a lot of storytelling relies on visual stimuli, what do these You Tubers offer as a substitute? Many do their make-up in the background, or participate in mukbangs, a trend originating in South Korea where audiences watch someone consume meals, often eating extremely large quantities of food.

Jeffrey DahmerJeffrey Dahmer (Image: free) If you’re not used to it, the combination of grotesque murders and glam make-up, or dismemberment and delicious food is incredibly jarring. So too, are the adverts that pop up in the middle of videos, where our host might take a break from discussing heinous acts to remind us that if we use their affiliate code, we can get 10% off a phone case, or a free six-month free trial of a VPN, then immediately resume the story of someone’s tragic death.

Perhaps I sound too harsh, after all many social media platforms will preclude sensitive content from generating royalties, and content creators of all genres often take brand deals and paid product placement as a means of offsetting this loss of income. Is it so different to the advert breaks of traditional media, where even serious and sensitive subjects might be broken up with mattress promotions and special offers from travel agencies?

When it comes to crime content, my main issue lies with those creators - both on You Tube and working for the big studios - who not only fail to honour the victims’ families or survivors themselves, but go against their stated wishes.

Losing a loved one or experiencing traumatic events is hard enough, but imagine seeing yourself or someone you loved being discussed as part of a mukbang or a make-up tutorial, or completely misrepresented on the silver screen.

For his series on Jeffrey Dahmer, writer and producer Ryan Murphy said he contacted the surviving family of Dahmer’s victims, and when none responded to him he decided to go ahead with a series dramatising the brutal torture, murder and dismemberment of their loved ones.

This narrative contradicts what the families themselves say about the creation of the series, making it clear not only were they never contacted, but allegedly their names and likenesses were used with no financial compensation.

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The series made Netflix millions and came under fire for its portrayal of Dahmer in a way that, to many, was perceived as sympathetic. This isn’t the only time Murphy would capitalise on crime, as his recent series focusing on the Menendez brothers, both of whom are still alive and not happy - understandably as among other fictionalised aspects of their lives, Murphy included references to incest between the brothers, who are currently serving life sentences for the murder of their parents.

This depiction is particularly insensitive as Lyle and Erik Menendez have, for many years, reported that they were sexually abused by family members. His reaction to the Menendez brothers' stated disapproval of their characterisation was to say he thought they were “playing the victim card”, and that “they should be sending me flowers”.

Whether we like it or not, true crime content is here to stay, and it’s proving itself as an indestructible, and incredibly lucrative industry. More often than not the victims aren't here to tell their story, control their narrative, or the way their life, and death are shared with the world, and we need to ensure that that doesn’t get forgotten.

I often wonder if there should be some kind of obligatory offer of involvement or financial compensation given to survivors and the families of victims, a portion of the astronomical profits brought in by those capitalising on the trauma of others, and how that might inform the way people, and their stories are treated.

At the heart of all true crime content are the true stories of people, all of whom deserve respect, in life as in death.

Len Pennie is a poet and Herald columnist. She is a Scots language and mental-health advocate. Her collection of her poetry Poyums is published by Canongate Books