I believe that some communities need managers (or facilitators or moderators — there are a few different flavors to this role). I also believe there are ways to hold that space respectfully, in a way that takes care of everyone, while still being very strong. As promised, I want to offer you some of the “moves” I’ve learned over the years in this role, with hopes that you can use them to help guide your own community spaces.
There’s just one problem. Every time I try to write this blog post, it keeps growing to the size of a book.
So here’s what we’re going to do: we’re going to let it be a series. Last week I gave you the prologue. Now here’s Part 1: “Aikido Moves for Online Community Management: The Basics,” complete with even more intro material for context. There will be a Part 2. I promise.
I’ve been building websites since ’97 and have held the reigns on a number of community-rallying projects. There are two in particular, though, that I can attribute most of my lessons to. They are:
The Writ – An online writing workshop and publication that had 2,000+ members and an ever-changing staff of volunteers. It started in 2003 and was just officially closed a few months ago, because it was time.
Genderfork – A community expression blog about gender variance that has 10,000+ readers a month. It’s run by a staff of 10 volunteers who all have clear responsibilities for maintaining the site. The broader community contributes through submissions and response comments. It’s been around since 2007.
I built both of these spaces from scratch, with the help of friends and community members who wanted to see it succeed. And it’s important to note that in both of these communities, our goals were to:
- make as many people as possible feel welcome and comfortable, especially newbies.
- stay focused on a specific topic.
- collaboratively create something bigger than we could build as individuals.
- nurture and encourage quality storytelling and art.
- inspire and guide community members to support and help each other.
- represent ourselves in a positive way to the rest of the world.
So pretty much all of my advice comes from advocating for this culture. There are lots of other community cultures that are just as relevant, but I can’t speak about them from experience.
What’s an online community and when does it need a manager?
I’m happy to report that I answered this question in detail last week. If you’re not 100% clear on what I’m about to talk about, please go read it. What follows is the beginning of an advanced discussion. Last week’s post is the 101-level introduction.
Aikido is a martial art that involves a lot of rolling around on the floor. I’ve taken a few classes, I’m not an expert, and if you’re interested in going deeper than the light metaphor I’m offering here, I encourage you to — there’s a lot to learn from it. But for our purposes, let’s just look at a few basics. When practicing Aikido, you…
- blend with the motion of your attacker and redirect their force, rather than opposing it head-on.
- protect your attacker from injury as you defend yourself.
- stay in control with minimal effort.
- remain balanced and focused.
- roll with the punches.
I find this an incredibly useful metaphor for online community management.
And a few more disclaimers…
1. The thoughts below are limited in scope and context. They are not comprehensive, and you should not assume they will all apply to your situation. They might not. Sorry.
2. I wish I could tell you I’m coming at this from a place of stability. I’m not. Even as I write this, a discussion is underway in the Genderfork community that might push to have my curation guidelines and original mission statement completely restructured. This is actually okay.
3. I’m also aware that a lot of people will have plenty of reasons to disagree with me on some of my points. Go for it — I’m always up for hearing how things can be done better. (Just, you know, be nice about it please. Thanks.)
Okay, ready? Here are what I consider to be important foundational moves.
1) Don’t punish people for stuff they haven’t done.
Be careful about comment and moderation policies, and make sure they’re addressing real needs rather than pre-emptively striking against imagined ones.
I anticipated that Genderfork would get a lot of hate mail, and I strongly considered turning on the “you have to be pre-approved to leave comments” setting to guard against it. If you’ve ever left a comment only to see a “now waiting for moderation” message, you know what a slap in the face that setting feels like. Fortunately, I decided to wait and see if I really needed it. 70,000+ total visitors later, we still don’t get a single shred of anti-queer hate in our comments. ZERO. NADA. GOOSE EGG. (Okay, well there was that one day, but it was super-isolated, and there was a miscommunication, so I say it doesn’t count.) I now have it set up so that people can even comment anonymously — no name or email address required — because I know they appreciate the option, and they respect the privilege. Still no hate. Magic.
2) Set the tone, and the tone will maintain the tone.
Okay, so lack of hate isn’t really “magic” — it’s the tone we set from the beginning.
Have you ever shown up to a conversation that was already in progress? What did you do? You listened to what was going on, how people were interacting, and where they were in the discussion before you joined in. You drew all sorts of conclusions about expectations and protocol just by taking a quick inventory of the situation, and then you went with the flow, adding your perspective in a way that seemed to fit.
That’s what people do when they show up to online communities, too. They take a brief scan around, they pull in whatever cues they can gather, they decide if they want to join in, and then they do so in a way that fits all the factors. Think of the quality of comments on Flickr versus YouTube. Flickr takes community management very seriously, and people have gotten the message over time (whether consciously or unconsciously) that being respectful in comments is important. On YouTube, the expectation is more or less that people will be idiots. So people are idiots.
Take note of what kind of conversation people are experiencing when they show up to your site. If you monitor it carefully enough in the beginning, it will begin to (mostly) monitor itself.
How do you set the tone? By contributing in the style that you’d like others to contribute. By offering some simple, clear guidelines on how people should treat each other and why. By suggesting to the people in your inner circle that they engage in a certain way. By showing up and being personally involved to positively redirect things when someone goes off course.
3) Stay detached from emotional conversations.
If your job is to keep the community healthy, then your “at ease” stance needs to be slightly above any emotional discussions. You’re at your most helpful when you’re keeping a bird’s eye view on things and can understand everyone’s perspectives.
This might make you feel like the community’s not really yours. That’s right. I’m sorry. It’s not. It’s theirs. You are the steward and caretaker, and when you’re hanging out there, you’re on duty. Like a bartender at a good club, you get plenty of perks from being in the room, but you still need to stay behind the bar. (And, preferably, sober.)
If you find yourself emotionally involved in a challenging situation, that’s your cue to go find someone else to advise you — someone who understands the community but isn’t involved in the drama. You can’t hold the Smite Buttons and be angry at the same time — that’s just not fair.
But even if you are angry, and you are getting advice from someone more balanced, you still probably need to keep your venting off the Internet. People need to trust you, and blame-heavy ranters are hard to trust.
So go off and kick trashcans, let a friend keep an eye on things while you’re gone, and come back when you’re ready to be sane again. You just saved yourself from a mutiny.