This New York Times piece Monday reflects a growing chorus of resentment among newspaper website managers against the “barroom brawl” atmosphere so many of them have ended up with in the comments sections on their sites.

They blame anonymity. If only they could make people “sign their real names,” surely the atmosphere would improve!

This wish is a pipe dream. They are misdiagnosing their problem, which has little to do with anonymity and everything to do with a failure to understand how online communities work.

It is one of the great tragedies of the past decade that so many media institutions have failed to learn from the now considerable historical record of success and failure in the creation of online conversation spaces. This stuff isn’t new any more. (Hell, this conversation itself isn’t new either — see this Kevin Marks post for a previous iteration.) There are people who have been hosting and running this sort of operation for decades now. They know a thing or two about how to do it right. (To name just a few off the top of my head — there are many more: Gail Williams of the Well. Derek Powazek of Fray.com. Mary Elizabeth Williams at Salon’s Table Talk. Caterina Fake and her (ex-)Flickr gang.)

The great mistake so many newspapers and media outlets made was to turn on the comments software and then walk out of the room. They seemed to believe that the discussions would magically take care of themselves.

If you opened a public cafe or a bar in the downtown of a city, failed to staff it, and left it untended for months on end, would you be surprised if it ended up as a rat-infested hellhole?

Comment spaces need supervision — call them hosts or moderators or tummlers or New Insect Overlords or whatever you want, but don’t neglect to hire them! These moderators need to be actual people with a presence in the conversation, not faceless wielders of the “delete” button. They welcome newcomers, enforce the local rules, and break up the occasional brawl — enlisting help from the more civic-minded regulars as needed.

Show me a newspaper website without a comments host or moderation plan and I’ll show you a nasty flamepit that no unenforceable “use your real name” policy can save. Telling Web users “Use your real name” isn’t bad in itself, but it won’t get you very far if your site has already degenerated into nasty mayhem. The Web has no identity system, and though the FBI can track you down if the provocation is dire enough, and if you get editors mad enough they can track you down, too, most media companies aren’t going to waste the time and money. So you’ll stand there demanding “real names,” and your trolls will ignore you or make up names, and your more thoughtful potential contributors will survey your site and think, “You want me to use my real name in this cesspool? No thanks.”

No, anonymity isn’t the problem. (Wikipedia seems to have managed pretty well without requiring real names, because it has an effective system of persistent identity.) The problem is that once an online discussion space gets off to a bad start it’s very hard to change the tone. The early days of any online community are formative. The tone set by early participants provides cues for each new arrival. Your site will attract newcomers based on what they find already in place: people chatting amiably about their lives will draw others like themselves; similarly, people engaging in competitive displays of bile will entice other putdown artists to join the fun.

So turning things around isn’t easy. In fact, it’s often smarter to just shut down a comments space that’s gone bad, wait a while, and then reopen it when you’ve got a moderation plan ready and have hand-picked some early contributors to set the tone you want. If I were running a newspaper with a comments problem, that’s how I’d proceed. Don’t waste your time trying to force people to use their real names in hope that this will improve the tenor of your discussion area; build a discussion area that’s so appealing from the start that it makes people want to use their real names.

Why didn’t newspapers do this to begin with? I think part of the problem is that a lot of them had only the vaguest rationale for opening up comments in the first place. Maybe some consultant told them it was a good idea. Or it looked like the right thing to do to the young members of the Web team, and the front office said “Go ahead and play, kids, just don’t spend any money.” And the comments got turned on with no one minding the store and no clear goal in mind, either on the business side or in the newsroom.

So, media website operators, I suggest that you ask yourselves:

When you opened up comments, was it really about having a conversation with the readers? Then have that conversation! Get the editors and reporters in there mixing it up with the public. Sure, there will be problems and awkward moments; there will also be breakthroughs in understanding.

Maybe, though, no one was ever really serious about that conversation. Maybe the idea was to boost ad impressions with an abundance of verbiage supplied gratis by the readership. In that case, stop complaining about the flame wars and accept that the more abusive your commenters wax, the more your crass strategy will succeed.

Whatever you do, remember that as long as you’re thinking “What’s wrong with those people?” and “What did we do to deserve this?” you’re not taking responsibility for a problem that, I’m sorry to say, you created yourselves.

Once upon a time, there was a Web company that was based not in Silicon Valley but in Santa Monica. It grew at a breathtaking rate. All of its content was created by its users, and though the pages those users created tended to look jumbled and messy, there was an enthusiasm embedded in all that busy-ness, and a fannish passion for pop-cultural pursuits. The company built up such a sheer momentum of traffic that a much bigger company was persuaded to acquire it for a massive sum of money at the height of a speculative Internet frenzy.

This story sounds like that of MySpace, the once-hot social-networking site for bands and their fans that Rupert Murdoch purchased in 2005. Once “the most popular Website in America,” as the title of a recent book had it, MySpace has been left in the dust by Facebook and Twitter in terms of innovation and growth. MySpace is in the news this week because Murdoch and his henchmen have just shown the door to the site’s founding duo, Chris DeWolfe and Tom Anderson, and replaced them with a former Facebook exec. It’s a recession out there, and Murdoch, who somehow believes that MySpace can be his entree to digital power, is eager to turn it around and demonstrate that it can become the online cash cow he has always dreamed of. Good luck there; I think that, even though Murdoch got MySpace for what many considered a bargain price (of around $500 million), it will prove an albatross around his corporate neck.

In fact, though, MySpace isn’t the company I was thinking of in that first paragraph. I was telling the story of Geocities — the MySpace of 1997-1999. Geocities was the most successful of the “build your own website” companies of the mid-90s (there were others, like Angelfire). Before there were blogs, there were Geocities pages, which were sort of like blogs except without the software to manage your content. Geocities pages were easy to build and really difficult to maintain. As a result, Geocities was populated fast — and nearly as quickly became a vast wasteland of abandoned digital real estate. It must have looked good on paper to the bizdev people at Yahoo in 1999, though, because they paid an astonishing $2.87 billion (in bubble-inflated Yahoo stock) for the ramshackle enterprise.

A decade later, Yahoo’s current management — facing tough times and after many rounds of layoffs — has decided to shut Geocities down. I don’t think there are too many people who will cry for this relic of a bygone era.

What I’m thinking is, there’s every reason to think MySpace will follow a similar trajectory, no matter how many executives huff and puff to try to reinflate its sagging appeal. If that’s the case, look for News Corp. to turn off its lights sometime in 2015 — about a decade after Murdoch’s ill-advised acquisition.

BONUS LINK: Harry McCracken surveys the top 15 Web properties of 1999 and asks, where are they now?