Identity

A little over thirty years ago, as the Soviet Union was crumbling, my mother shared with me her family history. She said that some lines of her ancestors had quite possibly originated from the Komi-Permyaks, who are a small ethnic group with Finno-Ugric roots living in the Ural Mountains. They are different from the Komi-Zyryans, who have their own administrative entity in Russia, the Komi Republic. At that time, various forms of separatism were in vogue, and finding more viable foundations for these was becoming increasingly difficult. The idea of separating from humanity altogether based on Komi-Permyak identity intrigued me for a while. I even tried to read up on Permyak mythology, but it was either insufficiently studied or underdeveloped; I found nothing inspiring there, but more interesting matters soon came along because in the years since then, I've discovered things about myself.

I'm a cisgender white man, a representative of the educated middle class, a carrier of imperial consciousness, a Gen-Xer (and maybe even a Boomer), a ‘creakl’ (a parody word which referring to people in creative industries), a liberal, a hipster, an agnostic, and God knows what else. I couldn't have imagined that all these different identities could coexist within me, but they seem to be apparent to the beholder. Perhaps it's time to remember my Komi-Permyak roots—they’re certainly no less important than other qualities that describe me.

According to the American political scientist Francis Fukuyama, my story is not unique. Over the past thirty years, almost everyone in the world has discovered something about their identity that they didn't realize before. In some ways, this has proven to be more important than having democratic rights and freedoms, the separation of powers, and market economics—the basic principles upon which Western civilization was built and which the entire world was more or less ready to embrace by the time the Soviet Union collapsed. Fukuyama reached the peak of his fame precisely when the Soviet republics were declaring their independence, Eastern European countries were abandoning socialism, and my mother and I were discussing the Komi-Permyaks. In 1989, Fukuyama published an article titled ‘The End of History?’, in which he posited that the end of the Cold War and all its accompanying processes marked the ‘final point in the ideological evolution of mankind’. Western-style liberal democracy had triumphed all over the world, the conditions giving rise to conflicts and wars were disappearing, democracy and the market was ensuring peaceful prosperity for all, and the final credits were rolling. Looking around, it's easy to see that none of this actually happened. In his 2018 book, Identity, Fukuyama provides an answer to his own unfulfilled prediction: so, what went wrong?

As it turns out, humanity is more complex than it seems through the lens of liberalism. People and nations are driven not only by the rational pursuit of prosperity and well-being (why go to war when we can all prosper together?) but also by entirely irrational forces like anger, fear, and pride. In addition to the goal of improving their ‘quality of life’, individuals (nations, states, or any social community) also seek recognition, particularly in the aspects that define their identity. This recognition is what constitutes an individual's or community's identity. Each of us is more than just a photo in a passport with a name and surname: we belong to our country, nation, race, religion, and gender roles, and we construct our inner selves through these various identities. Our sense of worth is intricately tied to how much recognition we receive within this fundamental set of identities.

It's precisely these emotions of anger and pride related to our identities that drive individuals to engage in warfare and protests, bring leaders to power, and even topple dictators. Today, this dynamic is the most influential historical force and a significant threat to liberal democracy, an ideology that Fukuyama continues to hold in high regard.

It is important to remember that a ‘universal humanity’ doesn't simply emerge from these identities; on the contrary, they often divide humanity into incompatible segments. Moreover, identities can be constructed and reconstructed, and collective feelings of anger and resentment can easily be manipulated. Interestingly, this manipulation, as a political strategy, has proven to be more effective than relying on traditional liberal-democratic values. Leaders such as Trump, Erdogan, and Putin are examples of this phenomenon.

The term ‘identity politics’ usually implies the struggle of marginalized minorities for their rights, and these movements, including feminism, Black Lives Matter, and the LGBTQ+ movement, are highly visible. The theory of intersectionality 1¹Intersectionality theoryAn analytical framework that examines how individuals' diverse social, political, and physical characteristics/identities create distinct intersections of discrimination and privilege. teaches us that individuals can face discrimination in various ways based on their unique identities—whether it's being a woman, an African American, a person with disabilities, and so on. However, Fukuyama broadens the concept and applies it to phenomena far removed from disadvantaged minorities.

In a sense, both African Americans burning police cars and the Russian political elite attempting to distance themselves from international institutions are driven by the same emotion: resentment that stems from the belief that they have not been accepted, understood, or recognized as equals. Fukuyama's idea of the ‘revolt of identities’ encompasses most of the significant trends of the past thirty years, ranging from psychotherapy aimed at preserving individual inner selves and protecting against external trauma to ISIS recruiting second-generation migrants who felt they didn't fit into established societal frameworks. Social media platforms—where users often divide into opposing camps for all kinds of reasons including historical grievances that fuel resentment and the desire to ‘turn back the clock’, or the fear of ‘the other’ (be it migrants, the LGBTQ+ community, et cetera)—contribute to the fires of collective grievance and the identities that emerge from them.

This process isn't merely a quirk or the result of malicious intent—it's a side effect of the ongoing course of history. In the wake of the fall of the Berlin Wall, rather than stopping at the zenith of liberal ideals, the world entered a phase of turbulence and uncertainty. Economic crises, mass migration, and inter-ethnic conflicts have left people feeling adrift, prompting them to seek stable communities. However, these communities are often bound together by shared emotions of anger and pride, and they are grounded in common beliefs about what to take pride in, whom to resent, and who is to blame for their predicament.

What should we do about this? According to Fukuyama, feeling a sense of belonging to something greater is a fundamental human need and is no less powerful than the desire for wealth and health. Keeping this in mind, it's essential to nurture healthy forms of identity like a national identity (as opposed to an ethnic or a religious identity). Fukuyama's middle ground is rational civic nationalism, which provides people with a sense of security, encourages officials to work for the common good, and widens the circle of trust in society, all without stoking grievances aimed at oppressors, non-believers, or simply neighbors on this planet. His fundamental is: since emotions and passions bind people, let's ensure that they're positive ones (hard to argue against!), like a shared love for constitutional governance and equality.

Interestingly, Fukuyama's colleague Martha Nussbaum, an American political philosopher, arrives at similar conclusions in her recent book Political Emotions. She suggests that we shouldn't just acknowledge democratic institutions, but we should also love them and foster a passionate attachment to them. The way in which we can ignite this sentiment, however, remains an open question. Still, the idea itself is intriguing: Western thought, which has historically derived the ideal of political organization from rational principles, has suddenly realized that reason alone is insufficient. Without love, nothing can be achieved.

It's reasonable to ask whether this ideal has been achieved anywhere and whether anyone has managed to build a civic identity founded on respect for democratic principles. Fukuyama's answer is yes, and in his view, the United States of America serves as this positive example. This raises questions. The entire spectrum of ‘irritated identities’ and their associated ideas—right-wing populism and neoconservatism, figures like Trump, movements like Black Lives Matter, and ideas like critical race theory, radical feminism, and queer theory—all blossomed in the United States. Emotionally charged communities on other geopolitical fronts have formed almost entirely around resisting American hegemony and Western values. Is the United States genuinely an example of overcoming the problems Fukuyama writes about, or might it be a source of those problems? Could all the dramatic clashes of the past thirty years have occurred, at least in part, because US elites, following Fukuyama's thinking, believed in their own system as the final goal of history and a universal model for all of humanity at the end of the Cold War? Perhaps the flourishing of more specific identities and their accompanying resentments are merely the logical consequences of attempting to impose a common identity on everyone.

You can also view this story from a different perspective. Fukuyama references the concept of ‘thumos’ from Plato's The Republic. Thumos represents the spirited part of the soul that seeks recognition and experiences emotions like anger and pride, fueling the development of identities. According to Plato, thumos is primarily associated with warriors who risk their lives in pursuit of glory. The distinction between ‘us’ and ‘them’, as well as feelings of animosity toward some and recognition from others, are crucial to them. In Plato's vision of society, different castes exist.

From the viewpoint of an ancient philosopher, these times might be the end of an era dominated by merchants who believed that ‘universal humanity’ could be found in the values of their class, considering it a natural disposition of the soul. Instead, they are a time for warriors with their unique virtues and passions to come to the forefront. It is certainly not an era for philosophers, that's for sure.