Technology is now moving at such velocity that it is possible to feel nostalgic for the early years of a facility barely twenty years old. I’m referring to the World Wide Web – that sprawling anemone, whose tendrils reach hotels, cafes, bars and homes from the Sinai desert to the Arctic wastes.
Remember the way it used to be? Dialing into a screaming, wheezing modem, fingers crossed that a connection could be made and maintained for at least ten minutes. Watching the clock as minutes were added to the phone bill, and staring into CRT monitor as a graphics-heavy page loaded like a raindrop down a window?
True, it wasn’t a particularly convenient way to access the internet, but it did feel quite exciting; in the way our grandfathers were excited by the delicate process of tuning through the radiogram, anticipating the moment voices or music would crackle into the room.
And when one finally arrived on the information superhighway (and there's a term you don't hear any more), you found websites. And I mean simple, straightforward, websites. Like comics, books, magazines or brochures, you looked at them - and that was it. You didn't meet other users, you didn't download rich media, and other than writing on very basic forums, you didn't upload anything either.
However, somewhere around 2004, and coinciding with domestic broadband, the term 'Web 2.0' started to be bandied about, alongside phrases like 'user-generated content'. This was the genesis of the bottom half of the internet, the arrival of the comments section. Essentially the idea was sound. Unlike the print media, which required readers to send thoughts on an email or letter, from which a handful were chosen for publication, users of news sites were now granted instant access to the page. Beneath the formal content, we now had the opportunity to register a sentence or two of praise, confusion or incandescent rage. Hooray! The democratisation of journalism had arrived. Articles were no longer static pieces, but open debates. When a column went live, it was just the start of an ongoing conversation; reaction could evolve into intriguing sidebars and a deeper explorations of the topic. At least that was the theory.
There may have been a fleeting window when those posting opinions were rational, reasonable and well-balanced human beings, compelled to contribute to the accumulated wisdom of modern civilisation. If that was the case, then it was an incredibly brief interlude - because, for as long as I can remember, and with very few exceptions, the comments section of any serious online publication has been a morass of ill-informed, misconceived and ludicrous nonsense. What's more, these mental dribbles are almost always misspelt and badly constructed.
This then, is my question: why do we pretend the bottom half of the internet is adding anything to the experience? A professional site selects its writers carefully, and publishes content that has undergone an editorial process to ensure its quality. Once a piece is live, however, it is opened to a slew of brickbats from any passing doofus who fancies a bash. That's insulting to the author and the serious reader. It's rather like unveiling a new painting, by a talented artist, and inviting the public to throw mud at it.
Of course, there's always the 'moderation' option. Employees (or more usually volunteers) filtering out the more extreme submissions, do knock some of the rougher edges off the noise. But it's rare for a moderator to measure relevance, rigour or insight. As long as the obscenities are kept to a minimum, libel avoided, and threats of physical violence swerved, all manner of tripe gets through, swamping any instance of useful feedback. For what? A seemingly mandatory platform for digital dunderheads and their runaway ramblings.
As is so often the case, the mighty dollar is lurking in the background here. For editorial sites, profit is derived from advertising. And if there's one thing online advertisers love, it's traffic. You want the big bucks from the big brands? Show them the traffic. Better still, show them hordes of visitors babbling away on your pages. Show them 'engagement' - something else digital advertisers are nuts about, and a very good reason the big sites are so keen on their bottom half. Always follow the money.
A couple of years ago, for a short period, we allowed comments under pieces on The Rocking Vicar. Pleasingly, we did receive a modest amount of intelligent opinion. Although, more often, the messages were dull or came from visitors who clearly hadn't read the article in question. And, inevitably, the trolls eventually found their way to us. So we removed the facility. Interested and interesting readers had always headed to Twitter for a chat and we decided that suited us perfectly.
I'm not against interaction between writers and their audience, per se. In fact, at its best, it's rewarding and inspiring. Nevertheless, there's something too instant, too easy, about the traditional comments area. It's too tempting to pile in without due consideration, or anything enlightening. Sometimes, a few hurdles are no bad thing.
The demands of advertisers notwithstanding, I propose it is time to sharpen the shears and trim away the bottom half of the internet. I doubt we'd miss it.
Remember the way it used to be? Dialing into a screaming, wheezing modem, fingers crossed that a connection could be made and maintained for at least ten minutes. Watching the clock as minutes were added to the phone bill, and staring into CRT monitor as a graphics-heavy page loaded like a raindrop down a window?
True, it wasn’t a particularly convenient way to access the internet, but it did feel quite exciting; in the way our grandfathers were excited by the delicate process of tuning through the radiogram, anticipating the moment voices or music would crackle into the room.
And when one finally arrived on the information superhighway (and there's a term you don't hear any more), you found websites. And I mean simple, straightforward, websites. Like comics, books, magazines or brochures, you looked at them - and that was it. You didn't meet other users, you didn't download rich media, and other than writing on very basic forums, you didn't upload anything either.
However, somewhere around 2004, and coinciding with domestic broadband, the term 'Web 2.0' started to be bandied about, alongside phrases like 'user-generated content'. This was the genesis of the bottom half of the internet, the arrival of the comments section. Essentially the idea was sound. Unlike the print media, which required readers to send thoughts on an email or letter, from which a handful were chosen for publication, users of news sites were now granted instant access to the page. Beneath the formal content, we now had the opportunity to register a sentence or two of praise, confusion or incandescent rage. Hooray! The democratisation of journalism had arrived. Articles were no longer static pieces, but open debates. When a column went live, it was just the start of an ongoing conversation; reaction could evolve into intriguing sidebars and a deeper explorations of the topic. At least that was the theory.
There may have been a fleeting window when those posting opinions were rational, reasonable and well-balanced human beings, compelled to contribute to the accumulated wisdom of modern civilisation. If that was the case, then it was an incredibly brief interlude - because, for as long as I can remember, and with very few exceptions, the comments section of any serious online publication has been a morass of ill-informed, misconceived and ludicrous nonsense. What's more, these mental dribbles are almost always misspelt and badly constructed.
This then, is my question: why do we pretend the bottom half of the internet is adding anything to the experience? A professional site selects its writers carefully, and publishes content that has undergone an editorial process to ensure its quality. Once a piece is live, however, it is opened to a slew of brickbats from any passing doofus who fancies a bash. That's insulting to the author and the serious reader. It's rather like unveiling a new painting, by a talented artist, and inviting the public to throw mud at it.
Of course, there's always the 'moderation' option. Employees (or more usually volunteers) filtering out the more extreme submissions, do knock some of the rougher edges off the noise. But it's rare for a moderator to measure relevance, rigour or insight. As long as the obscenities are kept to a minimum, libel avoided, and threats of physical violence swerved, all manner of tripe gets through, swamping any instance of useful feedback. For what? A seemingly mandatory platform for digital dunderheads and their runaway ramblings.
As is so often the case, the mighty dollar is lurking in the background here. For editorial sites, profit is derived from advertising. And if there's one thing online advertisers love, it's traffic. You want the big bucks from the big brands? Show them the traffic. Better still, show them hordes of visitors babbling away on your pages. Show them 'engagement' - something else digital advertisers are nuts about, and a very good reason the big sites are so keen on their bottom half. Always follow the money.
A couple of years ago, for a short period, we allowed comments under pieces on The Rocking Vicar. Pleasingly, we did receive a modest amount of intelligent opinion. Although, more often, the messages were dull or came from visitors who clearly hadn't read the article in question. And, inevitably, the trolls eventually found their way to us. So we removed the facility. Interested and interesting readers had always headed to Twitter for a chat and we decided that suited us perfectly.
I'm not against interaction between writers and their audience, per se. In fact, at its best, it's rewarding and inspiring. Nevertheless, there's something too instant, too easy, about the traditional comments area. It's too tempting to pile in without due consideration, or anything enlightening. Sometimes, a few hurdles are no bad thing.
The demands of advertisers notwithstanding, I propose it is time to sharpen the shears and trim away the bottom half of the internet. I doubt we'd miss it.
