[dropcap style=”font-size:100px; color:#992211;”]U[/dropcap]sed to describe the proliferating claims of differentiation from the mainstream, the term âidentity politicsâ was first coined in the 1970s.
The preceding designations of âraceâ and âethnicityâ were, at the time, giving way to more fractured social forms. With time, identity politics became a catchall term describing the aspects of a person which did not need justification or explanation. Hence, the people who made greatest use of it were those with some small claim of difference, using it to resist cultural conformity. The term allows people be what they âareâ, in defiance of wider âjudgementâ, and thence goes on to insist upon respect for different views and lifestyles.
Eventually, this identity becomes a primary association, a standardised and directly 
communicable way of being which can usefully preface â- âand therefore shape the contours ofâ – âany conversation: âAs a gay Irish manâŠâ âAs a womanâŠâ, before the identity itself is substituted for thought altogether. Thus: âAs a socialistâŠâ âAs a feministâŠâ âComing from a military familyâŠâ âEtc⊠etc⊠etcâŠâ. In each case, a claim of identity is made as a placeholder for argument. It is as if by claiming an identity one is simply outlining the perspective which necessarily accompanies it.
For a long time this worked just fine. Identity became a standard terminology for certain groups of people, or certain social interests, claiming space to be what they wanted. The technique was adept at forcing homogenising social processes to back off and allowed for a great proliferation of free association. But the process stillâ -â importantlyâ – identifies one as being at one remove from the mainstream. Even now it is rare to hearâ identity claims like: âas a married father of twoâŠâ or âbeing a truck driverâŠâ âan insurance salesmanâ or (heaven forbid) a âhousewifeâ. These, still, arenât identities as much as limitations thereon.
Discovering and embracing your true identity almost never means joining the army, or doing shift work to make ends meet. It absolutely never means making sacrifices for the benefit of your family, or eschewing drugs or infidelity. The terms assigned to those are denial, oppression, conformism. But it also has odd (if predictable) effects; accountants buy Harley Davidsons for weekend rides, tattoos from the South Seas grace the limbs of Canadian doughnut shop workers. Everybodyâs got to be something, and the universal requirement is that it be ânot boringâ.
Nevertheless, many people are quite boring. They lead regular lives, they go to church, perhaps go bowling once a week. They try to keep a good home, strive to instil respect in their children, even have children because of their sense of duty to the past rather than for reasons of personal fulfillment. These are the kind of folk who âdo their bitâ, help out, mow their lawn, respect the law. They believe that living is sometimes not as important as living up to something, and, amazingly, they vote Republican. These are the people who didnât know they even had an identity, until they noticed everyone was laughing at them.
To this, comes Trump, a figure they recognise from TV. A politician saying things they agree with, finally! Alright, heâs a showman. He sports comical comb-over hair, a paunchy golfer’s girth, but heâs one of the guys. He’s the one who made it, and heâs buying the drinks. Brassy he may be, provocative even, endowed with a colourful past, but, hey, heâs âone of usâ! Criticise him all you want, heâs âon our sideâ. In the age of identity politics, thatâs the only thing that matters.
Reason? Hold the door.
Douglas Bulloch was born in Canada, grew up in the UK and lives in Shanghai. He spent many years working on the financial reporting side of the oil business before returning to academia to write a political-theory heavy PhD in International Relations. His two young children leave him little time to think, but give him many reasons to
