When Reality TV Uses Incarcerated People as a Plot Device, Real People Pay the Price

By David Lund

Kim Kardashian has built a second career on criminal-justice advocacy. She’s spoken about wanting to follow in her father’s legal footsteps, about studying for the bar, about helping people who are wrongfully convicted. And I’ve respected parts of that work. When someone with her platform highlights injustice, it moves public opinion.

But in the newest season of her Hulu show, she claims that “someone in prison” put a hit out on her. She describes investigators calling her, a close associate supposedly being involved, and a dramatic unraveling that ends with a vague revelation that the whole thing was a hoax designed to extort her.

Here’s the issue: there’s no evidence this event ever happened.

By invoking a nameless, faceless “incarcerated person” … she taps into the most damaging stereotype in the book

No agency statement.

No filings.

No public record.

No leaked court documents.

Not even a TMZ headline.

The entire narrative lives only inside a reality-TV storyline filmed months ago. Given the level of media attention someone like Kim has, any verified criminal extortion case or murder-for-hire plot involving her would likely produce official documentation or major news coverage, but I did not find such documentation in court records or in the media. I find that hard to believe. It can’t be verified because she never provides anything concrete to verify. And that’s where it crosses from celebrity drama into something more harmful.

By invoking a nameless, faceless “incarcerated person” as the architect of a murder-for-hire scheme, she taps into the most damaging stereotype in the book: that people in prison are inherently violent and waiting to lash out or engage in some scheme. She creates a boogeyman with no name, no identity, and no accountability. She may think that avoiding specifics shields individuals from harm. But the harm doesn’t fall on one person. It falls on all of us who are justice-impacted or working on reentry and reform.

For people rebuilding their lives, this kind of narrative reinforces stigma. It shapes how employers think. It influences how landlords respond. It affects how policymakers vote. It strengthens the public’s sense that incarceration equals danger, even when the data and lived experience say otherwise.

And when this storyline comes from someone who has positioned herself as a reform advocate, the sense of betrayal hits harder.

This isn’t “victim blaming.” It’s naming a power imbalance. She put incarcerated people at the center of a frightening narrative without giving the public any verifiable facts. That isn’t advocacy, it’s exploitation framed as personal adversity.

And this isn’t isolated. Earlier this year, she posted the photo of a completely uninvolved New York man and misidentified him as a Texas death-row prisoner. He wasn’t incarcerated at all. When you have her level of reach, being careless with facts has consequences.

Allyship Doesn’t Mean Immunity From Accountability

What worries me most is how quietly the criminal-justice community is expected to absorb this. There are national organizations, coalitions, and reform efforts that regularly elevate Kim Kardashian, partner with her, or praise her contributions. Many of these groups do life-changing, essential work. None of them have spoken up or wants to contradict this narrative. I’m here to say that supporting the cause doesn’t grant her permanent immunity from scrutiny.

Allyship isn’t something you earn once. It’s a practice. It shows up in how you speak about the people whose lives you claim to honor. It shows up in how seriously you handle their stories. And it shows up in whether you choose accuracy over sensationalism when the cameras are rolling.

When an ally spreads an unverified narrative that reinforces stigma and fear about incarcerated people, the organizations in this space have a responsibility to push back – not to punish, but to protect the standards we expect from anyone who claims to stand with us. If we say we care about dignity, humanity, accuracy, and second chances, then we must hold everyone to that standard, especially the people with the biggest microphones.

People who are incarcerated or formerly incarcerated deserve better than to be treated as background characters in someone else’s storyline. Our lives are not props. Our humanity is not a plot device. And if you claim to be on our side, your storytelling – especially the parts you broadcast to millions – has to reflect that.

David Lund is an Executive MPA Candidate at UW Evans School and currently serves as a Criminal Justice Specialist for the Civic Engagement Program at the Washington Secretary of State’s Office. This article is re-posted from LinkedIn with his permission.