Comment Policies and Abusive Comments

I read a lot of blogs written for and about women. They receive a lot of bullying and abusive comments. I've been thinking recently about what the authors/moderators should do with bullying and abusive comments left in the comment space.

Here is a recent example of a post that got a lot of negative response. Cratesandribbons.com posts about the famous LIFE magazine picture of a sailor and a nurse kissing in Time Square after Japan surrendered at the end of WWII. The author points out the nurse (who was actually a dental assistant)indicated in the interview the kiss was non-consensual and the picture therefore is a snapshot of a sexual assault (though the dental assistant does not consider it a sexual assault herself, she makes it clear it was against her will) 

I find the discussion on the following blog post interesting.
I found that link in the site policies section of captainawkward.com
And I also find this post about comment moderation to have been made with good intentions, but before such a thing became necessary, a bit naive. The author has since apparently taken to moderating, at least a bit.
My favorite discussion of comments is ongoing on Alas, a blog

It really got me thinking about what the purpose for a comment space is, which of course varies from blog to blog. For many feminist blogs, it is at cross purposes to allow bullying and abusive comments to remain, because the point of the blog and comment space is to foster discussion and problem solving about the problems engendered by the patriarchy. Bullies do not contribute to this.

If they bring up a "point" that the intended audience would like to address, this can perhaps be done by making it into a separate post. This strips the abusive commenter of his/her agency and redirects the conversation in way in which the author and the intended audience have control.

Friday

As I sit at my desk, staring down at my feet, trying to motivate myself to push past the despair to reply to some of my 97 unanswered emails, I notice that I am wearing the same shoes, tights, and skirt that I wore to my uncle's funeral, and I think to myself, "this skirt has seen the worst parts of life over and over," and I fervently wish it were Friday.