I am not the kind of person who rushes for a highly talked-about television show, feature film, or music album. Over and over again, experience has taught me that in most cases, all that sensationalism and euphoria surrounds an ordinary project. So, I have learned to tread carefully and patiently, avoid them, and stick to experiencing the least talked about or ignored narratives. Therefore, do not be surprised or shocked to know that I am watching Prison Break for the first time, over a decade since it premiered, despite the hype it bears. Some people rate it highly. Others think it is the best television show that has ever been produced. In reiteration, time has proven that the most talked-about show is an ordinary show.

I am not going to talk about the quality of the show. Neither is this write-up an assessment of it. I am more concerned with ethical and moral concerns emanating from it and their implications on the audience. Prison Break addresses several themes grounded in philosophical debates that have troubled ancient and contemporary thinkers. For instance, when the storyline makes heroes out of socially deviant criminals, what is the implication for the audience? What are the filmmakers, directors, or producers trying to achieve? Characters such as John Abruzzi, Dave Apolski, C-Note, Sucre, Theodore Bagwell (whom I am more concerned about), and Michael Schofield are all criminals by legal definitions, jailed for crimes that you and I believe warrant their incarceration.

Despite this, the storyline is occupied with enabling their escape from a high maximum-security prison, and all other characters who exist on good moral standings are primarily used to aid their escape. The problem (because I find it so) is that we all watch the show, glued and rooting for these criminals. From one episode to the next, we support them, demonstrate solidarity with their escape plans, and feel relief when they succeed at the end of the season. Even when they are fugitives, we still vouch for them, praying or wishing they never get caught. Why and how do films or shows make us fall in love with criminals and villains? How do they manage to get into our conscience and manipulate it so that we agree with actions, which obviously oppose in the real world? Is there an ethical line that filmmakers and directors cross as they manipulate our psyche and minds to sympathize with villains who are threats to our principles, values, and beliefs?

As you ponder over these questions, I take you back to my earliest awareness of Prison Break. Back in 2012, when I first came to Nairobi, the Kenyan metropolis, one of my fascinations was the urban matatu (passenger service vehicle) culture. The matatu (or nganya) culture in Kenya is without a doubt a global icon, popular, and famous. A simple Google search would tell you what I am talking about. These public service vehicles (PSV) not only ply various urban routes with passengers but also transport popular culture mainly through graffiti art and pictures of celebrities (actors, musicians, politicians, among others), loud booming music and videos, and sophisticated pimping of the interior and exterior of the vehicle to brand themselves. The culture entertains, educates, and, of course, pays (for the artists and the technicians who pimp the matatus).

This is where I met Theodore Bagwell and other cast members of Prison Break. What is important is that T-Bag was given prominence in this particular matatu, with his image outnumbering others and being more visibly larger than the rest. To put it simply, the matatu has made a hero out of T-Bag, like many followers and lovers of the show do. This is despite T-Bag, in my view, being the most despicable criminal in the show. Prison Break presents him as a serial killer with a record of multiple murders, a paedophile, and a rapist, where these are some of the offenses that lead to his incarceration. Even in jail, he continues his murdering spree, sodomized a young inmate (a juvenile), and is responsible for his suicide. In other words, there is nothing likeable about his character. He is loathed by fellow inmates and escapees, who believe his crimes are grave and unforgivable.

Therefore, I find it disturbing that such a character would be rewarded with graffiti of his images flaunted by the Kenyan matatu spaces. Perhaps I am wrong to conclude this way. Maybe the Kenyan matatu culture is simply appreciating Robert Knepper for his exceptional and extraordinary delivery of T-Bag character. In 2014, Knepper showed his appreciation to the Kenyan nganya in a social media post after an image of a nganya with his graffiti went viral. According to The Standard, he captioned the Kitengela-route bus, ‘Apparently, this is a bus in Kenya.’ I assume that as a professional, Knepper recognized that his talent and art wowed the artists behind the graffiti and not the attributes of the character T-Bag depicted in the show.

I could also be overthinking, for grilling a fictional character and holding him accountable for his portrayed actions, which are as fictive as him. All these in consideration, I still find it difficult to look the other way. There is an inherent tendency of human beings to defy authority or systems, or sympathize with and support those who beat the system. In particular, there are shows premised on Robinhood philosophy where the character commits a crime and the proceeds of the crime (or results) help the weak, marginalized, or the poor. Such shows would find support from the audience, especially the consequentialists.

Film producers and directors, I believe, are aware of this psychological fact, or philosophical argument. They are conscious of our vulnerabilities, our capacity to ‘break bad’ and go against our principles, and show solidarity with those who defy system, laws, culture, or authority. This is what they exploit, and there have to be ethical considerations for it. Prison Break is not a Robinhood-premised show. Neither is La Casa de Papel (Money Heist), which narrates the story of a group of criminals robbing a bank for their selfish needs.

What makes these shows sympathetic to the audience is that the scriptwriters present characters with personal stories that we can relate to. This way, we feel for them and guarantee them our support even if they commit the most heinous crimes. Take Joker as another example. Just because the antihero protagonist has a difficult childhood and complicated adulthood does not justify his actions. Yet, most of us bear a sympathetic feeling for him, even when he coldly murders a group of men in a subway train. That, for me, is a problem.

T-Bag embodies all the wretched attributes of anti-human behavior. There is an inherent moral breach and unorthodox ethical line crossed when filmmakers and directors manipulate the audience to sympathize with and support such characters. When a culture is committed to heroizing and glorifying such characters, the moral function of creative productions has not been achieved. Art and creative works, in my view, are to morally educate the audience first and then entertain.