Essay
Comment
Identity
Politics
7 min read

Outsourcing our identities: the corrosive effect of political tribalism

Political identities need to connect with core identities, Andy Flannagan reflects on how political disagreement can distort the lives of participants.
Across the heads of a roadside crowd, men wearing orange sashes and military band uniforms march along.
An Orange parade in Larkhall, Scotland.
Ross Goodman, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

I spent the first 24 years of my life in Northern Ireland. I am incredibly proud to say that it is my homeland. I am still a regular visitor. I love it. I love the people. However, that doesn’t change the fact that my beautiful, yet broken home provides a disturbing case study in what can happen when two communities live in the same space, but separately.  

That is sadly what is happening in the USA right now, and increasingly what is happening in the UK too. What is at the root of an inability to co-exist with those with whom we disagree? There are many answers to that question. I am not saying that what follows is the only answer, but that perhaps some ancient realities underly our present-day struggles. 

When we hold too tight to an identity and someone pokes it, we get angry. But what shifts us from holding something healthily to grasping it with a clenched fist? 

It is difficult to have an academic discussion about where the border (if any) should be in Ireland. The hurt and history go deep. Reactions are visceral. You only have to note the violent responses to a green, white and gold flag flying on a civic building, or an unwelcome red, white and blue kerbstone appearing overnight to realise that something deeper is being triggered. Similar to the ‘culture war’ issues that plague our present, these coloured symbols illicit emotional reactions because they challenge our very identity.  

When we hold too tight to an identity and someone pokes it, we get angry. But what shifts us from holding something healthily to grasping it with a clenched fist? In the political realm these tribal identities may be conservative, progressive, brexiteer, remainer, Democrat, Republican, or many others. 

We all need what I would call these ‘secondary identities’ to survive and get things done in this world. We need a sense of belonging to a tribe. But without a strong primary identity, we cling to these secondary identities so tightly that we are unable to engage healthily when someone challenges them. I’ll put my cards on the table. I believe that the primary identity of every human (whether we believe in a deity or not) is that we are made in the image of God. We have divine DNA in us. It’s the common thread of our humanity, designed to represent (or image) the kind, just leadership of God to the world. 

This is our core identity. This is the thing that people should see if they bite into us like a stick of rock. But if we lose connection with that core, we will still find our identity elsewhere. Our God-given desire to get a sense of who we are and where we fit in continues to operate.  

The problem with idols is that once you give your primary allegiance to them they exact an increasingly large price from you, without you even noticing it. 

The ancient scriptures also give us a useful language for what happens when we give over too much of our identity to a cause or group. The nation of Israel were experts at doing this. In their bones they wanted to worship something or someone, but rather than the hard yards of a mystical journey with a God who was often playful or invisible, they chose the more tangible, internet-speed version and created an idol from what they already had and what they already knew. Cue golden calves and strange statues. 

This grasping for simplicity, and tangible immediacy, helps to explain why Brexit or wokeness have become an idol. And why Trump has become an idol too. In Northern Ireland, the Irish flag has become an idol, as has the Union Jack. And the problem with idols is that once you give your primary allegiance to them they exact an increasingly large price from you, without you even noticing it.  

We often talk about shifts in culture without recognising that the word culture is derived from the same root as the word cult. ‘Culture’ provides invisible, uncontested leadership – it is that which we presume to be true, without stopping to question it, as we would not question a cult leader. 

This is about avoiding the outsourcing of our identity to things that may be good, but that shouldn’t control us. 

In my work with Christians in Politics, bringing Christians together from across the political spectrum, I have become fairly good at spotting when folks start to lose touch with their primary identity. You notice it from the visceral, speedy reactions on social media, subliminally prioritising their immediate emotional state above the emotions of others.  

Sadly, this accelerated during the COVID lockdowns, when it was all too easy to spot the radicalisation of previously fairly centred people. More time than usual on social media, more fear than usual from living through the global pandemic, all leading to them spending more time down algorithm-induced rabbit holes. 

This is not about the elimination of emotion. Nor producing an anodyne, academic, rational public square. After all, many who believe that they are made in the image of God also follow the human who they believe perfected that image, and he spent plenty of time raging against injustice and turning over tables.  

This is about avoiding the outsourcing of our identity to things that may be good, but that shouldn’t control us. Such things should influence us, but they shouldn’t forge us.  

The term idol is useful as it is now in popular usage thanks to TV shows like American Idol. Something in us knows that such here-one-minute-gone-the-next celebrity is not exactly bad for us, but also that such celebrity does not exist without a large number of people giving inappropriate amounts of time and attention (proportional to their talent) to these celebrity lives. 

There is a reason people try to keep religion and politics away from polite dinner table discussions. 

The challenge is that the most toxic idols are often actually really good things. Money. Food. Sex. These are good things. But as many of us know, if they start to control us rather than serve us, our happiness, waistlines, and marriages may be in trouble. With this understanding we can affirm someone’s political activism and enthusiasm as a good thing. We can affirm a political ideology as broadly helpful, but critique it when it has clearly become an idol in someone’s life, commanding time, energy and in real senses – worship. 

There is a visceral quality to our present debates that goes far beyond the discussion of policies. The enraged offence and wild language thrown at the other side speak of a deep and unhealthy suffusion of our identities to these tribes. 

The reactions we see on social media are the reactions of a child when their iPad is taken away. It is primal. Bearing in mind the toxicity of the social media-scape, it is easy to see how tribes are needed for protection, but if our responses to every situation are the knee-jerk reaction of our tribe, then we leave no space for breath, reflection or even prayer. And there is certainly no time to consult some ancient wisdom. There is a reason people try to keep religion and politics away from polite dinner table discussions. Nobody likes their identity being questioned. But rather than avoid these subjects, could we instead be so rooted in our primary identity that a disagreement doesn't have to lead to the end of fellowship and embrace? 

Tom Wright often points out that in life we will always need progressive (things need to change) moments but at times we also need conservative (things need to stay the same) moments. History is littered with both being significant. To pretend that one is always more important than the other is intellectually vacuous.

Our 'othering' of them renders them less human in our eyes and we are then able to countenance appalling things happening to them,

The same is true of parenting. There are times when a progressive response is required (okay you can start eating solid food now) and times when a conservative response is required (no, we still don't pour milk on the laptop). On a more serious note, discussions around parenting styles that sit on a spectrum between earth-motherly co-sleeping and Gina Ford military drilling are another good example of when disagreements within and between families get visceral. Again, it is because we don't just feel that this is a theoretical discussion. So much of our identity is unhealthily tied up in our insecurities around parenting that we feel that our very person is being attacked. The political and parenting spectra are eerily similar. 

Failing to remember that we are all made in the image of God and all part of the one human family also leaves the door open to the next level of ugliness – it leaves us able to dismiss' those we disagree with. They become people who are easy to label, mock, and dismiss. Our 'othering' of them renders them less human in our eyes and we are then able to countenance appalling things happening to them. They may become people we would rather see removed from proceedings than have reconciled to us. We forget the words of theologian Vinoth Ramachandrara, who said that:  

"when you stand face to face with another human being, made in the image of God, you are standing in the presence of a vehicle of the divine".  

Yes we need to be part of earthly tribes, but we also mustn't lose our identity to the tribe.  

Article
Comment
Ethics
Politics
War & peace
5 min read

We must invest in defence, fast - it’s the only moral thing to do

The responsible use of force today precludes pacifism

Emerson Csorba works in deep tech, following experience in geopolitics and energy.

Amid a bombed alley, a victim is helped to walk by a rescue worker
Aftermath of a Russian drone attack, Odesa, Ukraine.
Dsns.gov.ua, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

In May 2016, I was hiking the Southwest Coast Path in a group, trudging through dense forest between Lyme Regis and Weymouth, when a distinctly unsettling event occurred. As we moved along a narrow trail, a buzzing sound began—we assumed we had disturbed a bee’s nest. We quickened my pace, but the buzzing continued. Eventually, we emerged from the woods and looked up. The sound had not come from bees, but from a drone that had been following us.

I will never forget that sound; the eerie sense of something pursuing you, but unseen. In a recent BBC special on the war in Ukraine, a journalist documents the now-pervasive use of drones, the journalist and Ukrainian soldiers hiding under the cover of forest as a Russian drone scans the area, before escaping to their car in which an AI voice says ‘Detection: multiple drones, multiple pilots, high signal strength’ as they journey overground. This is the new era of covert warfare, where the enemy strikes without being easily identified. You hear the hum, but the source is elusive.

In the coming years, this kind of psychological warfare will make its way into Western cities. Terrorist attacks will shift from in-person confrontations—like the Novichok poisonings in Salisbury—towards remote, anonymous assaults: drones drifting from overseas into coastal cities to target civilians, or swarms carrying out mass attacks in dense downtown cores. The aim will be psychological trauma at scale. Civilians will grow hesitant to leave home, hyper-sensitive to the buzz of anonymous drones in their own areas. Iran recently declared that no US, British, or French base is safe from retaliation in the emerging Israel–Iran war. It is not difficult to imagine Western cities soon being viewed as legitimate targets.

We are entering a time of intensified conflict, with national security becoming the dominant framework for policymaking. The watchword of UK government policy is ‘security,’ and—writing now from Montréal—the recent Canadian election was framed around which party and leader could best protect Canadians from external threat. In this context, even domains once governed by cooperation are transformed into zero-sum contests, because national security framing by its nature shifts focus from reciprocity to limitation of the other. 

Free trade, for example - fundamentally the mutually beneficial exchange of goods and services as part of the creation of value - becomes, in a security-focused world, a question of containment. Trade, in a security-focused world, is turned on its head, free trade becoming trade wars. Fairness (in which the pie is grown and shared across multiple people) is replaced by interest, whether the interest of countries or communities and individuals within them seeking to protect themselves. As US–China competition escalates, we can expect human relations—among both states and citizens—to become even more zero-sum. 

In such an environment, do morals still matter? When the enemy grows more ruthless and more innovative in an era of national security, must we match them in kind? Or is it still possible to uphold principles while defending ourselves?

Restraint and humility are still critical virtues—but must not be mistaken for weakness.

In a recent Times column, Juliet Samuel suggested that gestures of non-aggression—such as Finland’s 2015 destruction of its one million landmine stockpile—now appear dangerously naïve. Ukraine, for its part, has rightly disregarded the Ottawa and Oslo (banning cluster munitions) conventions. Its survival depends on ingenuity, rapid technological development (for instance through the work of funds such as D3), and collaboration with its allies to prototype and deploy advanced systems.

Reinhold Niebuhr, in Moral Man and Immoral Society, contends that to be moral, one must possess the capacity for force—‘power must be challenged by power.’ That power, however, must be exercised with responsibility, humility, and moral purpose. Nigel Biggar, my former doctoral supervisor and a key figure in the Niebuhr tradition of Christian realism, argues in In Defence of War that war can be justified on balance when it meets the criteria of jus ad bellum: just cause, legitimate authority, right intention, proportionality, and reasonable prospect of success. 

War, in this reading, can express a ‘kind harshness’—a form of judgment exercised in defence of victims. Like Niebuhr, Biggar grounds his argument in Augustinian realism: the world is fundamentally good, yet broken. Because evil persists, the moral use of force becomes necessary to uphold what is right. I believe this to be true, and directly applicable to the national security-focused world in which we find ourselves. 

What does this mean then for Western countries as national security reasserts itself as the central organising principle of governance?

It means significant and urgent investment in defence and deep technology, including for instance emerging capabilities like cognitive warfare and neuroadaptive systems (wearables that enhance soldiers’ performance in live combat), counter-drone systems for urban, rural, and maritime environments, and next-generation electronic warfare and geospatial intelligence.

If drone attacks intensify at sea—such as those carried out by the Houthis to disrupt global shipping routes—counter-drone systems will be vital to ensure safe passage. In a world of manipulated narratives and disinformation, geospatial intelligence will serve as a source of truth, helping establish what is actually happening on the ground. And as agentic AI grows increasingly capable of manipulating users—through sycophancy, persuasion, and other techniques—oversight technologies like Yoshua Bengio’s new LawZero project will be essential for maintaining objectivity and integrity.

The responsible use of force today precludes pacifism, averting violence altogether. It means maintaining—and advancing—the capability for overwhelming force, so it is ready if needed. Morality in an era of national security demands investment in defence technologies at speed, to stay several steps ahead of adversaries. A ‘whole-of-society’ approach, as recommended in the recent UK Strategic Defence Review, means preparing citizens with such a mindset. Restraint and humility are still critical virtues—but must not be mistaken for weakness. Western nations must be prepared to act swiftly, decisively, and with the deterrent power that peace requires.

This is the world we are entering: one in which governments and civilians alike must be ready for unexpected threats. The hum of a drone overhead is more than a sound—it is instead a warning, reminding not only Ukrainians but those currently in peaceful situations, to prepare ourselves for potential conflicts to come. The appropriate response is not retreat, but the responsible and moral exercise of power: a necessary duty if we are to preserve peace, freedom, and justice in a world increasingly intent on contesting them.

Support Seen & Unseen

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief