At least once a week, I censor my peers.
This is an aspect of my job as editor of Vox Populi, the staff blog of the Voice, that I rarely question. Inappropriate comments, like those that include slurs or offensive language, always catch my attention as if they have flashing lights attached to them; I click a few buttons, type a few words, and I’m done.
Then, Kelly Baltazar was arrested, rumors about her personal life overwhelmed a post about the arrest, and I deleted an entire thread of comments.
In the midst of last week’s coverage of Baltazar’s arrest, which came only days after Charles Smith (SFS ‘14) and John Romano (COL ‘14) were arrested for operating a so-called “drug lab” in their Harbin Hall dorm room, I struggled to consider how the reaction to the story would affect Baltazar’s life. I focused on the facts—her name, her background, and the charges. Hours later, I realized the consequences of reporting those facts.
Vox has always enjoyed lively and entertaining comments from readers. In-jokes about University administrators are common, and some commenters choose to adopt the personalities of Hollywood stars and radio rock front men. But on the night of Baltazar’s arrest, a new kind of commenter overpowered the traditional Vox stalwarts.
Some anonymously called for her corporal punishment. Others spread unsubstantiated rumors about Baltazar’s history. Few attempted to encourage reasonable discussion. And I was stuck in the thick of it all.
For the first time, I considered the impact of my censorship. Is it acceptable? Should I apply the fact-checking standards of blog content to readers’ comments? Do libel laws apply to anonymous comments?
After considering these questions, I censored the most egregious comments. There simply wasn’t enough time to seriously discuss the moral implications of censorship, so I began to edit.
I was wrong.
As I sat in front of my laptop, more and more commenters maligned Baltazar. A few hours into the evening, the server that hosts Vox crashed under the weight of 15,000 page views; readers were reloading the page again and again to see the more than 150 comments left on the post. The comments built up faster than I could edit them.
Vox’s comment policy lays down specific guidelines about editorial authority; editors can delete any offensive, threatening, hateful, or excessively crude comments. Still, I felt uncomfortable deleting entire comments.
I believed that readers’ comments should reflect the various attitudes that exist within Georgetown. Editors have the authority to remove the offensive bits, I thought, but not foolish or unverifiable claims. Vox is widely read in large part because it elicits conversation between commenters and readers, even when they’re conflicted or vindictive. Before I wrote about Baltazar’s arrest, I never imagined I would need to delete entire comment threads.
By the next morning, however, a flood of complaints arrived. Many argued for deletions, if only because the comments reflected poorly on the University. I neither buy this argument nor consider Georgetown’s image concerns a valid reason for censorship. But, one criticism particularly hurt.
“Almost 4,000 miles away is not [too] far away to be incredibly disappointed in the Georgetown Voice,” one of the Voice’s Twitter followers wrote.
Was it wrong to keep the comments open on the post? Should I have been stricter, or was it appropriate to give commenters the opportunity to prove themselves capable?
I doubted my decision. Although readers deserve the opportunity to comment on blog posts, I had ignored my responsibility to monitor both content and comments. The unique circumstances surrounding the comments, which included a whirlwind of rumors and hearsay, convinced me that a tougher reaction was necessary to restore standards of decency in our comments.
I removed all of the post’s comments, left an explanatory note, and closed the comment section.
The anonymity associated with blogs tends to frighten news pundits and traditional journalists. Despite my experiences, I still believe that anonymity is a reasonable sacrifice if it encourages conversation. As more and more readers look to blogs for their news, though, there needs to be an equally increased vigilance against rumormongering.
I’ve written my share of anonymous comments online. Hell, I’ve even written some hateful words about other people after losing my composure. Being a censor, however, taught me the golden rule of the Internet: nobody wins a flame war.
Here’s one voice that thinks you made the right decision the day after the initial post. You’re right: it got completely out of hand