As someone who has spent almost the entirety of the last decade writing online, I've dedicated vast amounts of time trying to find a way to make the comments section of The Fix the sort of edifying conversation I always imagined it could be. And I am here to report that, at least when it comes to politics, comments section are not now (and likely won't be any time soon) anywhere close to that ideal. In fact, eliminating comments entirely -- a prospect I have always blanched at -- may well be the best thing that could happen for the average reader of political news.

Consider this from WaPo columnist Anne Applebaum on the corrosive nature of commenting online:

Multiple experiments have shown that perceptions of an article, its writer or its subject can be profoundly shaped by anonymous online commentary, especially if it is harsh. One group of researchers found that rude comments “not only polarized readers, but they often changed a participant’s interpretation of the news story itself.” A digital analyst at Atlantic Media also discovered that people who read negative comments were more likely to judge that an article was of low quality and, regardless of the content, to doubt the truth of what it stated.

To combat that trend, Reuters recently got rid of comments on articles. "Much of the well-informed and articulate discussion around news, as well as criticism or praise for stories, has moved to social media and online forums," the editors wrote in explaining their decision. "Those communities offer vibrant conversation and, importantly, are self-policed by participants to keep on the fringes those who would abuse the privilege of commenting." Vox, the site run by former WaPo-er Ezra Klein, doesn't have comments at all. The New York Times heavily curates its comments sections.

Ten years ago, I was called to pastor my first church. At the ripe old age of twenty, and with zero pastoral experience, I moved to possibly the most beautiful area in all of Texas—San Saba. I had looked forward to this day since I was eight years old. I was attending Criswell College during this time, preparing for the ministry and was very eager to walk in the path of my calling. Finally my dream was a reality—I was a pastor. However, the dream that was blue skies and chipper birds quickly faded into the grim reality that God had called me to pastor a church at war. Like kids who clean their rooms, the church hid their mess well. I had no prior knowledge that there was an internal conflict wedging the church in two.

Needless to say, I did not survive long. They did not run me off or let me go, but the stress and the burden was unlike anything I had experienced before. Ultimately, I resigned due to the condition of my health. Physically and spiritually I was withering away. During my nine-month stint, the church more than doubled in size. We saw many people come to Christ, but unity and harmony were always missing. Most of the discord was found within the committees of the church. There was a committee for everything and some members held multiple chairs. This worked to their advantage on the council, for they then had multiple votes. From committee meetings to deacon meetings, unity in Christ was never found.

The events of the past few months have brought the subject of race back to the fore of national conversation. But listen to the conversation and you won’t hear many accusations of “racism”. Instead, you’ll hear references to “white privilege.”

In many ways, “white privilege” is a re-branding of “institutional racism.” No one sees themselves as racist or even benefiting from racism. White privilege is a concept that allows whites to recognize that they personally benefit from the system without having to take personal responsibility.

The term “white privilege” originated in the 1960s whenTheodore W. Allen began work on “white-skin privilege.” But it did not receive wide-spread use until the 1990s. Today, it is used by writers more often than “racial injustice” or “institutional racism.”

One reason for the widespread use of “white privilege” was a 1988 essay by Wellesley professor Peggy McIntosh (excerpt here). This essay describes privilege as “as an invisible package of unearned assets that I can count on cashing in each day.” The power of the essay comes in its tutorial on dozens of ways privilege plays out in our daily lives. McIntosh lists statements that a reader can use to assess their own privilege, such as

• I can worry about racism without being seen as self-interested or self-seeking.

• If a traffic cop pulls me over…I can be sure I haven’t been singled out because of my race.

• I will feel welcomed and “normal” in the usual walks of public life, institutional and social.