Understanding the Identity Game (Part II): Am I a Hypocrite?

I started my last post with a finger pointed at me.

Understanding the Identity Game (Part I): Am I a Hypocrite?

My friend Paul Bloom accused me of being a hypocrite for deriding identity politics on the one hand and for the way I called out Jew-hatred on the other. My first response to my friend was that, because identity politics is the currency of the day, I was simply playing by those rules, even if I needed to hold my nose while doing so. But the more I thought about it, that response didn’t sit well with me. I don’t think I was only using identity politics cynically. Did I appreciate some aspects of identity politics after all?

To reflect further, I tried to describe what I meant by identity politics. To do so, I conceived of identity politics as a game—the identity game—with a set of explicit rules. I am sure my set of rules is incomplete, but I hope it’s a start. I then steelmanned the game, trying my best to discuss them with charity. Here, too, I am sure I came up short. I hoped it could at least get a conversation going.

After playing nice, it’s time to be me again. Here, in Part II, I delve into where I think the identity game goes sideways and where the rules can be and have been exploited. Here is a list of the rules as a reminder.

Rule 1. See identity first

Rule 2. Respect and authority depend on identity

Rule 3. Authority through adversity

Rule 4. Speaking authority comes from identity

Rule 5. Standing is earned through acknowledgment and allyship

Rule 6. Accountability is enforced through public criticism

People First, Not Identities

Rule 1, see identity first, tells us to approach people through the lens of their demographic label—Black, white, Indigenous, Muslim, trans, heterosexual—before we consider them as people. It’s as if our first task when meeting someone is to categorize them, put them on the field of identity, and assign their team colours before learning anything else. Despite all its talk of justice, the identity game reduces people to a series of demographic labels, ignoring the complexity and contradictions that make us human.

You don’t learn who someone is by focusing on their identity; you learn by listening to their experiences and ideas. I’m a lot of things—Jewish, male, mixed-race, Canadian—but none of those identities come close to summing me up. I’m also a father, a brother, a first-generation college-student, short, abrasive, loud, impulsive, forgiving, planful, and remorseful. When we make identity the primary lens, we lose nuance. We lose the individual. Worse, it feeds the kind of stereotyping that we are trying to overcome. The mere categorization of people into identity groups can promote prejudice and discrimination, and a big part of prejudice reduction is to see the person as an individual, not to see them as members of a social category.

Are Jews White?

Why are we being encouraged to see people primarily in terms of their identities? I realize it’s now coded as prejudiced or conservative, but shouldn’t our society aim for color-blindness? I don’t mean ignoring disparities based on race or caste—these must be acknowledged and addressed. Perhaps by highlighting identities first, we build the foundation for a colour blind future. But I’ve now spoken to a few people who are tired of being reduced to their marginalized identities. They’re tired of feeling as though their marginalized identity is the only lens through which they can be seen or contribute. The question is: how do we make sure the process doesn’t become the end point, and that people are seen as whole individuals, not just as avatars of their identity?

Inverting Hierarchies Leaves Hierarchies Intact

Rule 2, which assigns groups value based on histories of oppression or privilege, doesn’t dismantle hierarchies—it just flips them. It’s like fighting fire with gasoline. While modern approaches to fighting racism often argue that we can only counter racism with anti-racism, this approach feels short-sighted. By creating a new hierarchy that grants moral authority based on identity, we risk doubling down on the divisive thinking that created the problem in the first place. Instead of breaking stereotypes, we’re encouraging new ones.

This can be insulting for everyone involved. For marginalized groups, it often leads to being on the receiving end of patronizing behavior. Research by Cydnee Dupree and Susan Fiske, for example, shows that white liberals dumb themselves down when talking to Black people, suggesting low expectations and subtle condescension. In the identity game, dismissing people outright because their identities are seen as privileged has become acceptable. Ten years ago, it would have been unthinkable to shut someone down by referring to their race; today, deriding someone as a white man is common. Even Asian people are sometimes slurred as white-adjacent. This kind of rhetoric isn’t leveling the playing field. I believe it mostly serves to foster resentment, and the political turmoil that resentment engenders (see, for example, the results of the last US presidential election).

Rule 3, where adversity grants authority, is another slippery slope. Being a victim of injustice or experiencing hardships deserves acknowledgment, but it doesn’t automatically make someone virtuous. Worse, the identity game incentivizes people to cynically exaggerate or fabricate hardships. We see this in the rise of unconfirmed claims of conditions like autism, or the loathsome phenomenon of Pretendians—where individuals like Buffy Sainte-Marie, Joseph Boyden, and Michelle Latimer fabricate Indigenous heritage for grants, jobs, and moral clout. It's like Lenin said: you look for the person who will benefit… and, well, you know.

No One Gets a Veto

Despite my admiration for Rule 4, that the authority to speak only comes from identity, I also have reservations. Look, I get it. There’s wisdom in amplifying voices from within a community. They’ve lived it, they know the nuances, and they should be heard. But when that amplification demands a full-on veto of anyone outside the group, we’re straying into dangerous territory. Please, listen to Jews-on-edge like me who are raising the alarm about Jew hatred. My perspective as a Jew matters. But we need to hear from non-Jews too, especially because some issues are complex and benefit from a range of perspectives.

Take the question of whether anti-Zionism is a form of antisemitism, the topic of a very interesting Munk Debate. Here’s a quick detour on that: Many Jews (though not all) believe anti-Zionism and antisemitism are essentially the same, while many non-Jews (though not all) see them as distinct. What most Jews think here matters, but ours is not the only voice that should have a say. Non-Jews bring valid perspectives, and their input should be welcomed, not dismissed.

Amplify the voices of those most directly impacted? Absolutely. But amplifying one group doesn’t mean silencing everyone else. Please, let’s not go overboard with identity-based gatekeeping.

Beware the Pitfalls of Allyship and Calling People Out

Rule 5, exhorting groups to form common cause, is tricky. In theory, it makes sense for high-status groups to support marginalized ones; standing up for justice is commendable. But blind allyship without examining a group’s agenda can lead to dangerous alliances. We see this when queer and trans groups ally with organizations like Hamas, Hezbollah, or the Islamic Republic, whose values directly contradict their own. While this might seem like a straightforward way to support Palestinians and oppose oppression, it overlooks the fact that these groups are repressive of their own populations and view many progressive causes as abominations. When we ally with groups without understanding their full agendas, we risk undermining the values we claim to support.

Finally, I am deeply concerned with Rule 6, a rule that incentivizes shaming our friends, colleagues, and neighbours. Calling out people has its place, but it should be a last resort. In Part I, I discussed how online shaming was used effectively in the #MeToo movement, and I stand by this.

The open science movement also involved shaming and calling out bad research practices, with the field of social psychology, for example, changing quickly and dramatically. For a few years there, Psychology Twitter was must-see TV with individual papers and people being called out on the regular. Thankfully we don’t see this much anymore, but you can still find it if you look hard enough. But I don’t think calling out individual researchers was wise or needed; I am not convinced that the field changed so radically because of it. I could be wrong, but I suspect change happened because scientists finally understood how badly they erred. This happened because scientists wrote eye-opening papers, provided incentives for good practice, and started admitting when they were wrong. Criticism is fine, needed even, but the open science movement included elements that were ugly too. The shaming, I believe, wasn’t needed. For all we know, it might have retarded progress, not accelerated it.

Rule 6 turns social accountability into a public spectacle where people gain standing by calling out opponents, often with little regard for dialogue or real understanding. Some have even suggested this call-out culture is at the root of dysfunction in progressive organizations, where staffers calling out each other and their bosses for ever smaller slights. If calling out is incentivized, it will happen more often, for less egregious things, and sometimes even cynically as a power play.

Am I Playing by These Rules?

Now, let me come clean about my own position in this game. Despite my critiques, I’m playing the identity game too. When I speak about Jew hatred in letters and in my neighbourhood, I’m following Rules 2 and 3 by highlighting my status as a Mizrachi Jew. By saying that I do not identify as white, I gain standing because the status hierarchy is now inverted, with non-whites now having an advantage. By mentioning that I am the product of refugees and that my family and I have experienced forms of antisemitism, I highlight my struggle, Rule 3. This adds a layer of credibility and moral authority to what I say, and yes, I might be cynically tapping into that authority. But my racial identity or victimhood shouldn’t matter when making my points. I’d simply be a person advocating for justice, and the colour of my skin, the kink of my hair (when I had hair), or the immigration status of my grandparents should be irrelevant. But here we are.

I’m also playing by Rule 4 when I argue that my experience as a Jew matters in conversations about Jew hatred. Just as Black Americans understand what it’s like to be racially profiled, Jews have a particular understanding of Jew hatred that outsiders cannot grasp. I think it’s reasonable to argue that Jews have a distinct perspective on anti-Jewish bigotry. However, I don’t believe this perspective should be treated as unchallengeable. While Jewish voices should be prioritized on antisemitism, we don’t have an exclusive claim to the truth.

And then there’s Rule 6. I’m guilty of calling out Jew hatred in my community, pointing out the antisemitism I see among colleagues and neighbours. But I’m not doing this to cancel anyone, score points, or shame them. Instead, I’m trying to raise awareness. I’m not hoping for applause; I’m hoping for understanding. Some people in my community live in fear right now, and that fear deserves to be seen. Maybe this is Rule 6, or maybe it’s Rule 3 again. Either way, it’s a difficult balance.

So, Am I a Hypocrite?

In the end, I’m left with Paul’s question about hypocrisy. I am still unsure of that, but I am sure that I played the game cynically, at least at times. When I accused a bagel shop in my neighbourhood of cultural appropriation because the owners are non-Jews, that was me playing the game cynically. I was not only calling out the bagel shop—despite my general disdain for Rule 6—I was accusing them of something I am totally fine with. With a few exceptions, I think cultures should borrow from one another and influence each other.

So, maybe this does make me a hypocrite. I was clearly a hypocrite with me calling out the bagel shop. Maybe it also shows that I’m okay with some parts of the identity game, but not others. I believe in hearing people out, recognizing when the deck’s been stacked against them, and respecting what they’ve lived through. Or maybe I think many of the rules are fine if used in moderation. Sometimes there really is no other way to change a system than to scream and shame. But I can’t get behind the parts of the game that reduce people to demographic labels, that silence debate, or that reward blind loyalty. So, am I a hypocrite? Maybe a bit.

But following a few rules doesn’t mean I’ve bought into the whole game. I’ll live with the contradiction. I’ll take what feels fair, and toss the rest.

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Thanks to everyone who came to our first-ever Drink and Regret live session, where we had a lively discussion about stereotype threat, open science, and knowing when to move on. I had so much fun meeting some of you. I’d like to do it again soon, but perhaps not till after I return from a 4-week visit to Japan—yeah us professors have it rough. If there are any readers in Japan, please reach out. In the meantime, let me know what you’d like to discuss for our next happy hour. Cheers!