As someone infamous once said (me, need you ask?), ‘The truth is not mediated by the identity of the speaker’. If it were, one could sidestep debate entirely by identifying the ultimate victim status and taking umbrage accordingly. Increasingly devoid of argument, the Critical Social Justice (or ‘woke’) left relies almost exclusively on this tactic. And while such behaviour perfectly explains the HS2-like expansion of the LGBTQwerty community, it does not excuse the vitriol accorded those who humbly suggest we have more pressing concerns than society’s perfect accommodation of genderfluidity and nonconformity. Regrettably, this is a hurdle the right is now failing to negotiate as well.

To say that the sin of identity politics is pervasive would be an understatement. Consider the general election campaign, from which we shall thankfully soon be freed. Rather than political ideas and stratagems, it is the commitment to ‘diversity’ which now poses as a flagship policy. We will be ‘the most working-class cabinet of all time’ coos the Labour Party, while Liz Truss’s Tory administration could be lauded as containing the ‘most diverse Cabinet in history’, as though the benefits of this were somehow self-evident. Even Reform UK is showcasing its ethnic minority candidates, albeit to counter accusations of racism.

Mistaking identity for substance is a dangerous game; not one which should be entertained by any serious individual—and certainly not by any heavyweight politician. When famously asked by Terry Wogan whether male MPs made any concession to the fact that she was a woman, Margaret Thatcher immediately responded: ‘No. Why should they? I don’t make any concession to the fact that they’re men.’ Similarly, Winston Churchill famously remarked that his speech impediment was ‘no hindrance’.

However, they are the exception to the rule. For modern politicians, the allure of playing the victim is almost irresistible. Even our current prime ministerial candidates can’t help it: the knighted multi-millionaire Keir Starmer makes a mountain out of his father being a ‘toolmaker’ and the billionaire Rishi Sunak boasts of his being the first British Asian PM. (Though arguably Sunak’s best performance of the campaign so far was his response to the racial slurs used against him by a Reform UK activist.)

Victimhood now colours every clash of ideas and egos to such an extent that it often supersedes the argument itself. And it was this tangled web of intersectional Top Trumps that overshadowed the recent row between the actor David Tennant and Equalities Minister Kemi Badenoch.

Picking up an award for ‘celebrity ally’ at last week’s British LGBT Awards, Tennant made the mistake of going off-script in his acceptance speech. Casting around for a suitably progressive topic, he chose to criticise Badenoch for her vocal opposition to trans women in female spaces and sports:

‘If I’m honest I’m a little depressed by the fact that acknowledging that everyone has the right to be who they want to be and live their life how they want to live it as long as they’re not hurting anyone else should merit any kind of special award or special mention, because it’s common sense, isn’t it? … However, until we wake up and Kemi Badenoch doesn’t exist any more—I don’t wish ill of her, I just wish her to shut up—whilst we do live in this world, I am honoured to receive this.’

That Tennant chose to spout this left-wing bile was predictable. That he clearly failed to see the irony of his words was, also, par for the course. But it was Badenoch’s response which concerned me more. Faced with such sneering contempt, she ought to have realised the sympathy vote was already in the bag, and preferably she would have opted for humour: ‘Perhaps the right honourable gentleman had had one regeneration/one Tennent’s Super too many, Mr Speaker?’ Alas, she decided to play him at his own game:

‘I will not shut up. I will not be silenced by men who prioritise applause from Stonewall over the safety of women and girls. A rich, lefty, white male celebrity so blinded by ideology he can’t see the optics of attacking the only black woman in government by calling publicly for my existence to end. Tennant is one of Labour’s celebrity supporters. This is an early example of what life will be like if they win. Keir Starmer stood by while Rosie Duffield was hounded. He and his supporters will do the same with the country. Do not let the bigots and bullies win.’

While it was only right and natural to draw attention to Tennant’s hypocrisy, choosing to challenge him in terms of identity politics was a gross miscalculation. Agreeing to play on the enemy’s turf legitimises their rules—and there is zero legitimacy to this Critical Race Theory (CRT) interpretation of how society ought to conduct itself. What are we to conclude? That Badenoch ought not to be challenged because she is a black woman, or that if Tennant self-identified as one, his argument would suddenly gain credibility? Tennant’s ‘rich, lefty, white male celebrity’ is the least of his problems; his demand that everyone he disagrees with ought to ‘shut up’ is the issue.

Sadly, Badenoch is not alone in misplaying her hand. Even the perennially sensible Douglas Murray let an element of identity politics seep into his piece on the matter: ‘It is hard to think of any other situation in which such intolerant and ugly language would be used, let alone of a black woman.’ Triaging the right to speak or to offend on the basis of identity is not a road we should be dragged down, even kicking and screaming.

Conservatives who consider it wise to play the game of identity are naïve in the extreme. They fail to recognise that the woke left entertains neither consistency nor accountability and that their rules are malleable. Certainly, non-white males are afforded immunity from criticism, right up until they express the wrong opinion; then, all bets are off: Priti Patel is the wrong kind of Asian because of her political views and, similarly, Kwasi Kwarteng is ‘superficially black’.

The danger for conservatives who fall into this trap is that not only are their victim statuses null and void the minute they enter the race, but they also make it harder for the rest of us to simply resist such nonsense. In the case of Badenoch, this is particularly damning—having established herself as a frontrunner for the Tory leadership in 2022 by speaking out against CRT, where does she (and what’s left of the Tories) go from here?

Related reading

Islamic identity politics is a threat to British democracy, by Khadija Khan

‘We need to move from identity politics to a politics of solidarity’ – interview with Pragna Patel, by Emma Park

Liz Truss, the nobody PM: review of ‘Ten Years to Save the West’, by Ralph Leonard

Race: the most difficult subject of all? Interview of Inaya Folarin Iman by Emma Park

Is the spirit of liberty dead in Scotland? by Noel Yaxley

The return of blasphemy in Ireland, by Noel Yaxley

Two types of ‘assimilation’: the US and China, by Grayson Slover

Young, radical and morally confused, by Gerfried Ambrosch

Quebec’s French-style secularism: history and enduring value, by Mathew Giagnorio

In the fight against authoritarianism, the culture wars are a distraction, by Kevin Yam

British Islam and the crisis of ‘wokeism’ in universities: interview with Steven Greer, by Emma Park

‘This rebarbative profession’ – Rory Stewart’s ‘Politics on the Edge’, reviewed, by Daniel James Sharp

The Marketplace of Ideas will always exist. The only choice we have is how to work with it. By Helen Pluckrose

Secular conservatives? If only… by Jacques Berlinerblau

White Christian Nationalism is rising in America. Separation of church and state is the antidote. By Rachel Laser

The post David Tennant, Kemi Badenoch, and the ugly sin of identity politics: a view from the right appeared first on The Freethinker.

There is a pattern that usually occurs when a senior politician resigns or is chucked out of their job. First comes the emotion-laden speech, during which they will wax lyrical about the privilege of serving in public office. Second, the much-needed sabbatical, where they can spend time with the spouses and families they have barely seen since they were elected. And lastly, the lucrative deal with a publisher to write and publish the memoir of their time in office. 

The political memoir is the most sordid literary genre out there. Disgraced and failed politicians are given exorbitant advances by publishers to write, or have written for them, mediocre and self-serving memoirs that few within the public will read—or have even the faintest desire to read. The memoir is the ultimate payday for the disgraced politician who has to put themselves out there in the market again to secure their professional future. A memoir ought to be fascinating, insightful, even moving. It should give readers an insight into the character and personality of the person behind the public persona, as well as just telling the author’s side of the story. And, of course, political memoirs should reveal the inner workings of politics: the backroom deals, the sandbagging, and the scandals. Except, most of the time, such memoirs are public relations exercises in which insight is scarce and cheap score-settling is rife. Their authors usually care only about downplaying their failures and claiming they were misunderstood and undervalued all along.

‘This book is not a traditional political memoir,’ opens Liz Truss in her recently released contribution to the genre, Ten Years to Save the West. In one way, she is correct: this isn’t a typical political memoir, since Truss received a paltry £1,500 advance compared to the £500,000 and £1,000,000 advances that Boris Johnson and David Cameron received, respectively, for their memoirs. In other ways, it is all too typical. Truss’s retelling of her 49-day stint as Prime Minister is narcissistic, with the usual pointless score-settling, whether against Nick Clegg or Polly Toynbee. Moreover, there is virtually no self-reflection and she indulges in a nauseating amount of self-pity. 

‘Saving Western civilisation’ has been a sub-genre unto itself, especially on the right, for a long time, and Truss has ticked all the usual genre conventions. Truss argues that ‘the West has lost its way’ and long since become ‘decadent’ and ‘complacent’; the education system has been colonised by  ‘wokeism’, making us hate our own heritage; big business is enthralled by ‘“wokenomics,” where they are more focused on so-called environmental, social and governance objectives than making money’; and anti-capitalist leftists and environmentalists with their Net Zero obsession threaten future prospects of economic growth and progress. She doesn’t forget to name-drop Michel Foucault as supposedly being the godfather of identity politics, even though anyone who seriously knows anything about Foucault would understand that he saw identity politics as a form of ‘essentialism’—i.e. turning something that is a social and cultural construct into an ontology—and opposed it for that reason. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, Prime Minister Truss was going to stop the rot and save the West with a radical programme of supply-side economics but was undermined and overthrown by the ‘economic establishment’, the administrative state, and her rivals within the Tory party who didn’t accept her as leader. 

The subtitle of the book is ‘leading the revolution against globalism, socialism, and the liberal establishment’, which clearly shows that she is trying to pivot to a radical right audience. Yet this new animus towards globalism is a baffling triangulation. For most of her career, Truss has been advocating for what many would call a neoliberal form of capitalism. She was originally for the UK staying in the European Union. Even when she became a Brexiteer, it was so that Britain would become more ‘global’. She has always been a partisan of free trade. As Prime Minister, she even moved to liberalise immigration rules to grant more VISAs to newcomers. In her memoir, she defends her policy ideas, from education to the economy, by saying that she wanted to make Britain more ‘competitive’ in the global marketplace.  

On foreign policy, she is a thorough Atlanticist. She is firm in her support for arming Ukraine against Russian aggression, advocates a ‘restoration of British and American exceptionalism’, and wants to see a new  ‘coalition of the willing’ against rogue states such as China, Iran, and Russia. Isn’t this Atlanticism an example of the globalism that her desired allies on the radical right would detest? 

When Truss calls herself a ‘conservative’, she really means that she supports a conservative form of liberalism: low taxes, free trade, and the downsizing of the state against progressive liberalism, which is based on higher taxes and more state intervention in the economy. What she seeks to ‘conserve’ is the post-Cold War world order based on Anglo-American hegemony that has been in crisis for the past decade. This isn’t the radical, anti-establishment politics she portrays herself as representing. 

For someone who is supposed to be an avid defender of capitalism against anti-capitalist leftists, she doesn’t get how much of the big government and the administrative state that she lambasts is actually essential to the functioning and management of capital accumulation and the capitalist system as a whole. What she calls ‘socialism’—overbearing statism that intervenes invasively in people’s lives—is already served up to us by contemporary capitalism. Think, for example, of the ‘nanny state’, so detested by Truss. You don’t have to be a Marxist to understand this point. 

Truss’s chief complaint about her failed tenure as premier is that unelected officials and bureaucrats failed to respect her mandate. This only begs the question: what mandate? She wasn’t voted in democratically by the British public, nor was she even supported by most Conservative MPs in her bid to take over after the implosion of the Boris Johnson administration. Truss became Prime Minister because she was selected by the Tory membership in an internal, closed-off party contest. Then she banked on the markets instead of the British public to support her programme and the markets did her in. That’s the entire story of her premiership (admittedly, it wouldn’t make for a very long or a very interesting memoir). 

Ten Years to Save the West is the work of a failed politician whose historical legacy will be the unprecedented shortness of her premiership. She is now pivoting to the next stage of her career and trying her luck as an anti-establishment populist. Except she is repackaging very established ideas as ‘radical’ and ‘anti-establishment’. It is true that Western economies have been in a rut and that we desperately need a radical programme to generate more wealth and greatly improve people’s standards of living. But we didn’t need Liz Truss to tell us that. She was never the saviour of the West. Her policy ideas did not have democratic legitimacy and would not have worked. While Britain is still not in a good way politically and economically, it is no worse off than if Liz Truss was still in power—or had never existed at all.

Further reading

‘This rebarbative profession’ – Rory Stewart’s ‘Politics on the Edge’, reviewed, by Daniel James Sharp

The post Liz Truss, the nobody PM: review of ‘Ten Years to Save the West’ appeared first on The Freethinker.

It is rare for a political memoir to be anything but a blandly written exercise in self-congratulation, and it is to Rory Stewart’s credit that his is lively, readable and self-conscious. His Politics On the Edge: A Memoir from Within is a valuable testament to the rot that has spread so far and so wide in British politics. He is also recognisably human in a way that slick careerists like David Cameron and Rishi Sunak are not. Stewart’s memoir reads like a memoir by an actual individual—another rarity of the genre.

Perhaps this is because Stewart came to politics late after a career in diplomacy and years of walking from Afghanistan to Nepal. Privileged his upbringing may have been, but he has had a full life outside of politics and evinces a genuine interest in people, places and principles—all things that are sadly lacking in much of our political class.

Stewart’s exposure of the farcical and ineffective inner workings of successive Tory governments since he was elected to Parliament in 2010 is damning. The scheming, dishonest, backstabbing, vulgar nature of politics is hardly news, but Stewart shows just how malignant the Tories have become ever since Brexit and the rise of Boris Johnson. His insights into the characters of figures like Johnson and Liz Truss, both of whom he worked directly under at different points of his political career, are as valuable as they are depressing, and expose them as the intellectual and moral pygmies that we already knew they were.

In the end, having failed in his bid for leadership of the party in 2019, Stewart resigned from the Cabinet and was purged by the victorious Johnson. This is another rarity in politics: Stewart had said he would not remain in the Cabinet if Johnson became prime minister, and, unlike so many who casually abandon their principles when they get in the way of ambition (Michael Gove springs to mind), he stuck by what he had said.

Would the Brexit debacle have gone ahead if Stewart had become prime minister? He states that he would have championed a version of Theresa May’s withdrawal agreement rather than the chaotic Brexit we actually got from Johnson or supporting a second referendum. Sensible as Stewart makes the May agreement sound, one wonders how he would have managed to get it through Parliament, given that May herself failed time and time again to do so. Appeals to sensible centrism had long since lost their persuasive powers in the Tory party.

One of Stewart’s less endearing characteristics is his somewhat self-important view of himself. In the book, he is a reluctant hero, come to save the Tories (and the rest of us) from a Johnsonian disaster. He is a defender of the centrist liberal consensus against right-wing radicals hell-bent on revolution. And he, the noble idealist, is slowly disillusioned by politics: ‘I felt myself becoming less intellectually inquisitive, coarser and less confident every single day.’ Elsewhere: ‘I began to feel that the longer I stayed in politics, the stupider and the less honourable I was becoming…’ In the end, Stewart seems to hate what he calls ‘this rebarbative profession’.

All this sometimes feels self-indulgent, albeit genuine. And, in fairness, Stewart does warn us from the outset:

‘I have tried to be honest about my own vanity, ambitions and failures, but I will have often failed to judge myself in the way that I judge others. I can see no way, however, of entirely avoiding the risks of personal memory in reconstructing a decade of life. The alternative would be blandness, evasion or silence.’  

In avoiding those literary sins, Stewart is very successful. But one does sometimes tire of the ‘centrist saviour’ mode in which he writes: ‘[If Johnson’s] lies took him to victory, his mendacity and misdemeanours would rip the Conservative Party to pieces, unleash the most sinister instincts of the Tory Right, and pitch Britain into a virtual civil war.’ Stewart, of course, saw himself as the one to save us all from that outcome.

Lest I give a false impression, I did enjoy the book, and I admire Stewart. He is honest, decent and self-reflective, despite the odd lapse into the sanctimonious. And he is fundamentally right about the disaster that was Boris Johnson and Brexit. Though how Brexit could have been anything but a disaster, whatever form it took, is beyond me—Johnson’s deal was not, after all, radically different from May’s.

But he also misses something very important: the Tory Party was already rotten long before Johnson came to power. Stewart is initially sceptical about David Cameron, but comes to see him as the ‘last representative of the old Blairite liberal order’. And he positively swoons over Theresa May—in a recent interview with her on the podcast he co-hosts with Alastair Campbell, he called May ‘one of my genuine political heroes’.

Yet it was Cameron who promised a Brexit referendum to appease ‘the most sinister instincts of the Tory Right’, and May who, as Home Secretary, presided over the ‘hostile environment policy’ that led to the wrongful deportation of scores of non-white British citizens. A study commissioned by the Home Office itself found that the Windrush scandal was a result of decades of racist policymaking.

In other words, the worst instincts of the Tory party were nurtured, if not completely welcomed, from at least 2010, not 2016, and Stewart’s failure to see that, not to mention his failure to do anything about it while in Parliament, was his most serious flaw. The journalist Nick Cohen, in his review of Stewart’s memoir, puts it more bluntly:

‘Stewart cannot tell the whole story because he does not understand the failings of moderate conservatism. The most glaring is its self-delusion. There was no way the party would accept him or any other liberal conservative as its leader. The Tories are a hard right-wing party now and becoming more right wing with every passing year.’

Cohen is slightly too harsh on Stewart, but he is essentially correct. Would we have been better off if Rory Stewart had become prime minister? Probably. But how likely was that in the first place with a Tory party like the one we have had for quite some time? Not very. Stuck in a bubble of centrist conservatism, Stewart cannot help but miss this essential point. He is a principled, decent man who has lived a very interesting life. He is also very enjoyable to read. But the ‘good chap’ theory of politics has always been a flawed and foolish one, and Stewart’s blind impotence in the face of his party’s embrace of catastrophic populism is not charming in the slightest.

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The post ‘This rebarbative profession’ – Rory Stewart’s ‘Politics on the Edge’, reviewed appeared first on The Freethinker.