In the video, we see a boy walk up a shaded front patio in Ivins, Utah. He is 12 but appears younger; his thighs are sticks, his knees knobby. After ringing the doorbell, he retreats toward the street, and by the time the door opens, he is almost out of view, swallowed up in sunlight. “I was wondering if you could do two favors?” he asks. “Taking me to the nearest police station? Well, actually, just one’s fine.”
Before the Washington County Attorney’s Office released this August 2023 doorbell-camera footage to the press, it blurred the boy’s face — an unsurprising choice, as the video depicts a minor who was the victim of a crime. But the boy’s identity was already well known online. Fans had been watching him and his five siblings since he was a toddler on “8 Passengers,” the YouTube channel of his mother, Ruby Franke, which at its height had more than two million subscribers and brought in as much as $100,000 a month. His escape from a house owned by Jodi Hildebrandt — a counselor and life coach whose teachings Franke subscribed to — made national news. Franke and Hildebrandt had abused Franke’s two youngest children, denying them food and water and binding them with rope; each was charged with six counts of felony aggravated child abuse and, six months later, sent to prison for up to 30 years.
The Hulu documentary “Devil in the Family: The Fall of Ruby Franke” recounts this story, but it is striking that viewers never see Franke’s younger son’s face or hear his name. Whenever the boy appears in footage filmed by Franke and her husband at the time, Kevin, his face is blurred; if anyone says his name, not only is the audio censored, but mouths are blurred to prevent lip reading. The documentary similarly conceals the identities of the three other Franke children who are still minors. The only Franke children whose identities are not protected are the two oldest — Shari, 22, and Chad, 20 — who appear in interviews as well as videos and outtakes from the channel.
“Devil in the Family” is the second docuseries this year to adopt this approach. The other is HBO’s “An Update on Our Family,” about Myka and James Stauffer, an Ohio couple whose YouTube channels once had about one million subscribers. The Stauffers’ viewership grew substantially in 2016 and 2017, as they posted a 27-video series detailing their adoption of a toddler from China, whom they renamed Huxley. Huxley soon became the channel’s main character; the Stauffers even featured him in sponsored content, like a spot for Dreft baby detergent. But in May 2020, fans turned on the Stauffers when they revealed that they had dissolved Huxley’s adoption because of their difficulty in managing his developmental disabilities.
In “An Update on Our Family,” every child’s face is blurred. Huxley is altered even further: In a clip where Myka shares images of the boy at an orphanage in China, scribbled rotoscoping animation covers his face and body. He remains penciled out through the rest of the series — a visual echo of the way the Stauffers’ own channels began to make videos of Huxley private before the couple announced that he was no longer their son. (He has since been adopted by another family.)
For seven years, their children’s lives were ruled by feeding the YouTube algorithm.
The blurring is a gesture at restitution: In concealing the identities of these children, the documentarians are attempting the ex post facto application of a privacy that was stripped away long ago. But the gesture feels shallow. The Frankes and the Stauffers invited viewers into their children’s most personal moments, from tantrums to puberty milestones; they grabbed attention with a mirage of idealized family life and profited handsomely. The documentaries expose the dark realities behind that mirage, with a similar goal.
Ruby Franke and Myka Stauffer uploaded plenty of talking-head content narrating their lives, but what really drew viewers was their children. “8 Passengers” first went viral with a 2015 video titled “BABY climbs out of crib!!!” depicting the youngest Franke child — the girl who would later be found emaciated in a closet — rappelling out of a lime green crib. The Frankes incorporated 8 Passengers Productions L.L.C. soon after. For seven years, their children’s lives were ruled by feeding the YouTube algorithm. The documentary shows Ruby telling the children that they’ll get $10 for each video they “help with”; over footage of girls with blurred faces cleaning mirrors and baseboards, Shari explains how the home “felt more like a set than a house.”
“An Update on Our Family” tries to think through the ethical dilemmas of monetizing someone’s childhood this way. Toward the end, the journalist Stephanie McNeal, who wrote about the Stauffers for BuzzFeed News, talks about how such scandals might have prompted a broader discussion about family vlogging. Instead, she says, “people just yelled about the Stauffers on the internet and sent death threats — which, OK, but that didn’t help any other children. Let’s put some laws into place. How can we make this safe for kids?”
According to Shari Franke, you can’t. “I want to be clear that there is never, ever a good reason for posting your children online for money or fame,” she told the Utah Senate in testimony last October. “There is no such thing as a moral or ethical family vlogger.” Three months later, Doug Owens, a Democrat who represents Salt Lake County, introduced a bill in the Utah House of Representatives that would establish protections for the children of content creators, requiring that parents who earn $150,000 a year or more from social media featuring their minor child set aside 15 percent of the child’s earnings in a trust for the child to access upon turning 18. The legislation also includes a provision that children can have content featuring them removed from the internet when they reach adulthood — a step well beyond blurring their faces. Similar legislation has been signed into law in California and Illinois, but its introduction in Utah was significant: As Shari Franke explained in her testimony, the state is a hotbed of family content creation.
In February, Kevin Franke also testified in support of the bill — though his remarks, too, suggested that it did not go far enough. “Vlogging my family, putting my children into public social media, was wrong, and I regret it every day,” he said. He also read a statement from his 16-year-old daughter, detailing her experience of growing up on YouTube. “You’re selling your life, your privacy, your body and stories to the entire world,” she wrote. “And as a child, you’re involuntarily giving up all of that. You’re selling your childhood.” The bill passed, and it was signed into law on March 25.
“Devil in the Family” has nothing to say about such legislation, or the broader ethical hazards of family influencing; it is focused on Ruby Franke’s individual acts of evil, collecting behind-the-scenes footage of how poorly she treated her children. For years, people turned to this channel, and others, for intimate glimpses into how other families lived; they became invested in the daily lives of the children they watched growing up onscreen. Those children’s faces might be blurred this time, but they still serve as content: People want to know what happened to them. The blurs and scribbles of “An Update on Our Family,” too, hint that the team behind the series struggled with how to tell Huxley’s story without doing much the same thing his adoptive parents did. The attempt to excise all these children from footage already watched by millions suggests a queasy truth: We shouldn’t have seen them in the first place.
Kristen Martin is the author of “The Sun Won’t Come Out Tomorrow: The Dark History of American Orphanhood.”
Source photographs for illustration above: Reed Kaestner/Getty Images; Amos Morgan/Getty Images.
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