Paul Carr is trying to stop the hate:

You simply can’t have a system which rewards nastiness over niceness and which offers no consequences for those who commit cowardly anonymous attacks and then act surprised when people don’t know where to draw the line.

I’m never sure what to think of the vitriol of the online world. There’s a bit in me, unshakable, the bit that donned a green mohawk in high school, smashed around in pits and fought cops, who threw rocks at the windows of midwestern skinheads and wrote manifesto’s in every notebook he ever head, that will not let the more civil bastard in me win. Passion, above all things, he says, is a sign you’re doing something right. Even when it’s something horribly wrong.

It’d be nice if passion only inspired positive reactions. If all the good it caused could be distilled, the bad it’s done removed. But they’re a pair. A set of conjoined twins; Kill one, you risk the other.

When I read bits like Carr’s column, or about why-in-the-fucks like Arrington’s spit take and death threats, there’s the bit in me, civil and educated, that stares slack-jawed at the stupidity of clearly loony people.

But, while I abhor the death threats, that stupid kid in me cheered the guy who spat. Something in me loved the protest of it, the simplicity of the action and all that it said. It wasn’t violent, no one’s life put at risk, but it was honest and fast, and probably said everything the man wanted to say. It was passionate.

And a bit of me excused him for that.

In Carr’s list of “utterly reasonable demands for a more civil universe”, he requests:

If you’ve ever considered spitting on someone because you don’t like something they’ve said online, kill yourself. Seriously. Do it now. The world will be a better place without you.

And there’s this bit of me that thinks that if you’re not willing to spit on someone, maybe you’re doing something wrong.