Media Law for the Real World: Cameras in the Courtroom
Why this still sparks debate: A case study
We’ve reached a point where a murder trial can trend on TikTok before a jury is even selected. Clips go viral, edits turn defendants into characters, and the internet picks a winner long before the verdict.
But.
Courtrooms aren’t supposed to have fan bases, trials aren’t supposed to have highlight reels, and witnesses aren’t supposed to become memes. Yet here we are, in a world where a courtroom can feel more like a live-streamed event rather than a pursuit of truth.
And that raises a much bigger question: can a trial still be fair when millions are watching?
Sheppard v. Maxwell: The Original Warning Sign
In 1954, Dr. Samuel Sheppard’s wife, Marilyn, was murdered in their home. Almost immediately, newspapers and broadcasters began speculating that Sheppard was the killer. Coverage focused heavily on his alleged affairs and painted him as guilty long before the trial even began.
The courtroom itself was tiny (only 26 by 48 feet), yet 20 reporters were allowed inside. They filled the space, roamed freely, and sat close enough to overhear private conversations between Sheppard and his defense counsel. The judge imposed no safeguards, and as a result, 11 of the 12 jurors were exposed to prejudicial pretrial publicity. Sheppard was ultimately convicted of second-degree murder.
He spent 10 years in prison before his new attorney challenged the verdict, arguing that the circus-like media environment had violated Sheppard’s due process rights under the Fourteenth Amendment. The U.S. Supreme Court agreed, holding that Sheppard had been denied a fair trial. At his retrial in 1966, he was found not guilty.
Sheppard fundamentally changed how courts think about control and media management. It established that a judge has a duty to protect the defendant’s right to a fair trial, and that uncontrolled publicity can make a trial unconstitutional.
The following pop-culture examples show how media attention, and now social media, can challenge the balance that Sheppard tried to protect.
California v. O.J. Simpson: Televised Trial to Public Entertainment
The O.J. Simpson trial marked a turning point in how Americans experience courtroom proceedings. It transformed what had long been known as a newspaper frenzy into a broadcast spectacle.
Like Sheppard, the case attracted enormous media attention, but it taught us a new lesson: cameras don’t necessarily have to violate fairness in order to shape narrative.
The shift began with the Bronco chase, which 95 million people watched live. From that moment, the case stopped being ordinary news — it became national entertainment.
But, televising the trial didn’t make it unconstitutional. It didn’t deprive O.J. of a fair trial the way Sheppard was deprived. But it did something else — something just as consequential for the future of courtroom transparency:
It turned a criminal trial into a cultural phenomenon, one where the public felt like participants rather than observers. A trial became a story, evidence became episodes, and the line between truth and entertainment got thinner.
Depp v. Heard: Social Media as a Courtroom
Public perception of the Depp v. Heard trial did not always align with the legal standards for defamation. Depp’s attorneys and PR team strategically reframed the case into a domestic violence narrative, even though, in actuality, it was a defamation claim based on an op-ed that didn’t even mention his name. The trial thrived in the court of public opinion, and that strategy worked.
Yes, this was a civil case and Sheppard v. Maxwell was a criminal case. But does that distinction matter as much as we think? In a criminal trial, someone’s freedom is on the line; in a defamation case, someone’s reputation is on the line. And who is a man without his reputation? Those stakes are different, but not necessarily lesser.
In the age of social media, cameras don’t just document a trial — they help shape the narrative around it.
TikTok essentially became a shadow courtroom. Millions of users clipped testimony, edited evidence, mocked witnesses, and created memes. Many of these videos skyrocketed into the billions of views. Online, the trial looked less like a legal proceeding and more like a fandom, complete with favorite lawyers, villain arcs, and trending audio.
Gender and narrative bias also played a major role. Social media often cast Depp and Heard into simple “hero” and “villain” roles, especially regarding domestic violence.
This case raises a new question: Does the public become a kind of “13th juror” when the trial is subject to the media?
California v. Menendez: Narratives Outliving the Trial
The Menendez case shows how televised trials can create narratives that last long after the verdict. Pretrial publicity and the Beverly Hills backdrop turned the brothers into instant media characters — either “rich kids who killed for money” or teenagers trapped in a violent home. Emotional testimony aired, and public sentiment swung depending on which narrative viewers connected with.
What makes this case especially important is that it played out twice. In the first trial, cameras captured every aspect, every moment, from beginning to end. The jury hung. In the second trial, cameras were banned, and the brothers were convicted. Few cases illustrate this contrast so starkly: cameras didn’t decide guilt or innocence, but they undeniably shaped how the story was understood.
And the story didn’t end there. Decades later, the case is still being reinterpreted through Netflix docuseries, TikTok commentary, and Gen Z true-crime fandom. People who weren’t even alive during the trial, including me, became fascinated by it. The Menendez brothers are a perfect example of the afterlife of a televised trial.
New York v. Luigi Mangione: Modern Social Bias
The Mangione case shows just how dramatically social media can distort public perception. On TikTok, clips of the defendant circulated at lightning speed. And not because of the legal facts, but because people found him young and attractive. That alone became the narrative, and algorithms rewarded it. Comments romanticized him, and fan edits emerged. Suddenly, the conversation was about a persona created online.
This is modern bias in real time. When a defendant goes viral, the public is responding to a curated, edited version of reality stitched together by strangers. TikTok’s structure turns defendants into characters and audiences into participants. Virality becomes its own kind of defense team.
This case is the perfect warning sign for what social media can do to the justice system: A defendant can gain millions of supporters or critics without the public ever hearing a single piece of admissible evidence.
In today’s world, an online narrative can overshadow everything else.
Do cameras help or hurt in a courtroom?
If you’re Johnny Depp, cameras help. If you’re Samuel Sheppard, cameras hurt.
Cameras can help when …
building transparency and trust in the justice system
the media holds the government accountable
the public is educated on proceedings and the law
Cameras can hurt when …
they influence juries
viral clips distort facts
participants perform for the audience
Cameras aren’t neutral. They can do a good deed, or they can destroy it in the process.
So, what does the law actually say?
Sheppard v. Maxwell made one thing clear: the media’s right to a free press does not override a defendant’s right to a fair trial. When the two collide, we look to the judge to protect fairness.
Here’s what that looks like in practice:
The First Amendment does not guarantee a right to televise trials.
In Chandler v. Florida (1981), the Supreme Court clarified that the public’s right to attend trials does not include a presumptive right to cameras.
Judges have broad discretion to decide if cameras are allowed, and how many, where they can be placed, and what they can record. They can prohibit filming of jurors or vulnerable witnesses altogether.
In the U.S. Supreme Court, cameras are never allowed during proceedings.
In federal criminal courts, cameras are completely banned.
In federal civil cases, some Circuit and District Courts may allow cameras, but only in select proceedings, with the consent of parties, and always at the judge’s discretion.
State courts vary — some allow cameras, others restrict or prohibit them.
Judges are supposed to take steps to prevent prejudicial publicity.
In other words: public access is not the same thing as broadcast access. The difference is the heart of the entire debate.
Transparency matters, but so do fair trials. The First Amendment was built on sunlight. The Sixth Amendment was built on fairness. Cameras sit right at the edge of both.
You might be left thinking “What should we, as Americans, be doing to ensure the balance of the First Amendment and Sixth Amendment?”
Here’s what you can do:
Pay attention. Be aware of how our courts balance transparency and fairness. Watch trials with context.
Practice critical thinking. Ask where information comes from, how it’s framed, and what might be missing.
Think before you share. Viral clips are powerful, and the repost button is tempting. Make sure you understand the weight of what you’re passing along.