Across Ontario, and particularly in small communities, Facebook groups have become the new town halls. They are where residents debate council decisions, question policies, share news, and test ideas. In many ways, these digital spaces now function as our most immediate form of civic engagement.
But unlike traditional town halls, these forums are not governed by procedural rules or neutral chairs. They are privately administered spaces where authority rests in the hands of individuals. When disagreement arises, the line between moderation and personal control can blur quickly. What begins as a policy discussion can devolve into something far more personal and far more revealing. I was recently reminded of that reality.
When Moderation Becomes Personal
In one public community group discussion recently, I raised concerns about what I believed crossed into defamation. My intent was straightforward: to caution that repeated personal attacks could expose individuals, and potentially the group itself, to legal and reputational risk. The message I posted was formal and direct. It focused on standards of conduct and responsible moderation. Something our township needs to be aware of going into election season.
Within minutes, the discussion shifted away from the substance of moderation and toward attacks on credibility, motives, and political identity. Instead of debating whether comments met acceptable standards, the exchange became a contest over authority. Insults replaced arguments. Positions hardened. When discussions move from behaviour to belief, people stop listening for accuracy and start defending identity. I became guilty of this in my own post and reactions. I started reacting with emotion because it is the human thing to do. It was in this moment I realized, “This, this is it. This is the human condition we are facing with so much of our social media having control of the narrative in our politics.” I later apologized for my tone.
The individual with whom I had originally disagreed returned to the discussion and apologized for making his remarks personal. He acknowledged that the tone had crossed a line. I accepted the apology. We had a brief, respectful exchange. The conflict resolved itself without intervention, it seemed. Shortly afterward, I was removed from the group by the admin team.
The initial dispute had been corrected by the participants involved. Civility had been restored. The only remaining issue appeared to be control of the space itself. That sequence raises an uncomfortable but necessary question: when resolution occurs organically, yet authority intervenes regardless, what purpose is being served? Is the goal civility or dominance? The narrative is a powerful thing to control. It is the most common thing that is hijacked and controlled first. We see it every day.
The Psychology Behind Digital Conflict
This is not about one individual or one group. It reflects a broader structural tension in digital communities. Psychologists describe a phenomenon known as the “status threat response.” It describes a situation where someone perceives their authority or standing as challenged, and the brain then reacts as though it is facing a personal threat rather than a procedural disagreement. It is often projected in different ways: defensiveness rises, language sharpens, nuance disappears, and all is compounded with it being being read and simply interpreted differently. Someone can write the most positive thing ever and still have it be read negatively by someone in that headspace. In such moments, maintaining control can feel more urgent than examining the issue itself.
In privately administered online groups, this dynamic is amplified. Unlike elected officials or formal chairs of public meetings, moderators operate without procedural oversight. Decisions are immediate and often opaque. The power to remove participants is absolute. When identity, political, ideological, or personal, becomes intertwined with administrative authority, disagreement can feel like defiance rather than dialogue.
Compounding this is what researchers call the “online disinhibition effect.” In simple words. “the common keyboard warrior.” Behind screens, people speak more bluntly, react more quickly, and display less restraint than they would face-to-face. Social cues are muted. Tone is misread. The absence of immediate physical presence reduces empathy. In polarized environments, this effect intensifies. Supporters rally behind administrators. Dissenters are labelled. Expulsion becomes easier than mediation.
The Impact on Small Communities
In small communities such as North Frontenac and others across the province, these dynamics carry real consequences. Digital exchanges influence offline relationships. Council meetings reflect online tensions. Neighbours who once disagreed respectfully can become adversaries. Trust erodes not because disagreement exists, but because disagreement is handled poorly. I can’t be more clear when I say we are allowed to disagree on something and still be friends and have respect as neighbours. We can still wave when we pass each other on the road, we can still give a nod at the gas station, and we can interact with social media.
It is tempting to frame this as a simple conflict between “overreaching moderators” and “unreasonable critics.” The reality is more complex. Power without accountability tends to drift toward control. Criticism delivered without emotional discipline tends to escalate. When both occur simultaneously, conflict becomes inevitable. The more troubling trend is how frequently moderation now resembles ideological gatekeeping. In increasingly polarized spaces, administrators may feel responsible for protecting a particular narrative or identity. Dissent, even when factual, can be perceived as disruption. Removal becomes a way to maintain clarity and cohesion within the group.
From a psychological perspective, this is understandable. Humans are wired for belonging. Groups form around shared identity and create an echo chamber. When I say that, it’s not a dig at people in that group; it is literally an algorithm that makes sure that like-minded and similar ideas are propagated to everyone in that group. Join an Alto discussion group? All of a sudden more Alto posts start popping up in your feed. This is how the algorithm works, and it is the basic principle operating structure of social media. Challenges to that identity create an environment where holding competing ideas becomes discomforting. And the conversation shifts from a discussion with minds to pitchforks and torches to shut up dissent. If you think the powers that be of the world have not noticed this phenomenon, think again. Even our own MP’s during ROMA had a whole conference about it. When the narrative becomes moderated, this shifts the public from enforcing and raising standards of conduct to enforcing alignment of opinion. When this happens, community dialogue narrows. Echo chambers strengthen. Accuracy becomes secondary, and the algorithm eats it up.
A Personal Lesson
There is also a personal lesson here. My own misstep in reacting emotionally after being insulted demonstrates how quickly anyone can move from measured critique to reactive escalation. Emotional discipline is not automatic. It requires intention. we have all seen examples of this play out locally from petty neighbour feuds and public attitude. Heck, we just had a councillor be replaced because of this topic. It deserves to be discussed. The apology I offered did not alter the outcome, but it clarified something important: preserving integrity matters more than winning exchanges. especially in a small town.
Moderators, too, bear responsibility. Transparency in rule enforcement, consistency in application, and restraint in personal exchanges are not signs of weakness. They are foundations of trust. Administrators who model calm and neutrality strengthen their communities. Those who personalize disputes risk fragmenting them.
It is also fair to acknowledge that many group administrators serve voluntarily and face genuine challenges, spam, harassment, and bad-faith actors among them. Moderation is not simple. But the complexity of the task makes clarity of principle even more essential.
The Future of Digital Civic Life
The deeper issue is about the evolving nature of digital civic life. As online platforms increasingly function as community squares, we must confront the reality that these squares are privately owned and personality-driven. The health of our discourse depends not only on what is said, but also on how authority is exercised.
If our digital town halls are to strengthen rather than fracture our communities, both participants and moderators must adopt higher standards of communication. That includes self-reflection. It includes an apology when warranted. It includes resisting the temptation to equate disagreement with disrespect. In an era of heightened polarization, disciplined communication seems to be evolving into a civic responsibility.
We cannot prevent every online conflict. But we can choose not to amplify it. We can insist on issue-based dialogue. We can recognize when power drifts toward control. And we can remember that behind every screen is a neighbour, not an enemy.
That begins with each of us.
Below is the first part of my series addressing fear in the public and how it affects us as a society and individuals. Below that is an editorial on how NFNM was banned and attempted to be silenced.
COMMUNITY VOICES: Art Hannigan – Understanding Fear: A Tool for Survival or Control?
Editorial: Council Isn’t the Problem. We Are.
