Ideas, Moderation, And The Rectification Of Names

It's sad when a community goes downhill.

Most users nowadays cannot remember the age of BBS's, FIDONET, and USENET. The Wild West indeed.

I remember being handed a list of completely illegal phone numbers (to have) back in the old days. Much geek glee was to be had. I wrote my own code, and bashed my own boxes together. For the most part, an informal code of conduct was followed, since the community was so small.

Then, in the early nineties, eternal September hit (the USENET term for a fresh wave of newbies). It has not stopped since. The internet went to a retail experience.

Most new sites are moderated from the start, so little friction occurs socially. Most of these sites are narrowly focussed, so social disruption is limited.

But on certain topics, there can be no peace. Politics and Religion are the old examples. Mac vs PC is the commonly understood "holy war". What usually happens is that a site schisms into competing venues.

But what happens if a previously unmoderated site, open for years, is suddenly forced to conform to moderation? Who defines the norms? What is acceptable conduct?

Tears are the usual result. A small number of posters can impose a tyranny of the minority. Or, content is so dry, and dead, that the forum dies.

It's rather like trying to fix a broken/failed society. Nation-building, anyone?

Some posters may leave. Others may stay, and attempt to carry on. What happens is usually a slow decline into senescence. No dramatic martyrdoms, or outraged "final posts" will make a difference at all.

Some of the outcasts may attempt to form a utopian community. I will leave it as an exercise for the student as to what happens to most utopian settlements. The Utopians (or the Remnant at the original forum) may attempt a "Rectification Of Names"; an exact definition of everything. This attempt is usually well intentioned. It also normally ends badly, as life is messy.

Social groupings are organic. They come to life, and live, then die. They may pass their DNA along, if there is value for future survival. Usually, this is done through outcasts, or small practical groups held together by common need.

When my father died, a world ended. When my eyes got too bad, my aviation dreams died. When I could run a business, but not make more than I could working for someone else, another dream died.

But new worlds opened up. I'm happier and better off than I ever thought I would be, standing at the cold November gravesite of my father at Jefferson Barracks. I have a home, and a life.

Theres an old lesson from Basic Training, when you graduate, you get to leave, and the dreaded TI's have to stay.

I get to move on.