Three Stories About Identity Politics

Everybody does it, but some do it more cynically than others.

Photo by Andreas Feininger/Library of Congress

“Identity politics” used to be a derogatory term for something only liberals supposedly engaged in; appealing to people on the basis of who they are rather than what policies they prefer was understood as cynical, grubby, and even vaguely unfair. But the truth is that all politics is identity politics. We all look at the political world through lenses colored by who we understand ourselves to be — and importantly, who we understand ourselves not to be — and that is true no matter how sophisticated and informed we are. 

Identity appeals are everywhere, not only in politics but in art, culture, commerce, religion, and almost any other category of social activity you can think of. So let’s take a look at a few recent stories that show how identity politics is happening right now.

Story #1: I’m a rural guy! (or not)

Tim Sheehy is the candidate Republicans wanted to take on incumbent Sen. Jon Tester in Montana, and with Donald Trump’s endorsement in hand, Sheehy pushed Rep. Matt Rosendale out of the race. A former Navy SEAL and wealthy business owner, Sheehy may be a transplant to Montana (as many of the state’s prominent Republican politicians are), but he gets around that by airing ads full of rural imagery, with lots of shots of him riding horses and walking through fields on the ranch he bought in 2020 after selling his company for nine figures. He also talks a lot about his rural upbringing. “I grew up in rural Minnesota,” he has told interviewers, “And although we were not farmers, I grew up in an old farmstead and we were surrounded by farmland.” Since much of Montana is rural, it shows that he can connect with people in his adopted home state.

You know what’s coming, don’t you? Riley Rogerson of the Daily Beast reports:

The truth, however, is that Sheehy’s home turf is quintessential Minnesota suburbia—a place where pavement dominates pasture.

The Republican candidate grew up in a multi-million-dollar lake house in Shoreview, Minnesota, a quiet Twin Cities suburb just north of St. Paul with a population of roughly 27,000. Sheehy’s campaign confirmed to the Montana Free Press in December that he grew up in the town.

According to a 1990 deed, Sheehy’s childhood home on Turtle Lake is 13 miles from the Minnesota State Capitol, 13 miles from the home of the Minnesota Vikings at U.S. Bank Stadium, and just over 20 miles from Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport and the Mall of America.

There’s a particular irony when a candidate falsely claims rural roots, because in politics, rurality is supposed to represent authenticity itself. Rural people, we have been told too many times to count, are the “real” Americans, the ones who are unsullied by the phoniness of life in the cities and suburbs. They’re honest and true, straightforward and plain-spoken. They’re rooted to land and community, with virtues and values tested by time. 

Sheehy isn’t the first politician who isn’t actually from a rural place to claim some of that ruralness, but sometimes it happens in ways subtle enough that most people will probably miss it. Consider this ad from Mike Pence’s doomed presidential campaign:

Pence got a lot of mockery for pretending to fill up the truck (you have to put your credit card in first, Mr. Vice President!), but what struck me was the fact that Pence was driving a pickup at all. I can’t prove it isn’t his, but I’d be shocked if it was; Pence lives in a 10,000 square foot McMansion in a tony Indianapolis suburb he bought for just under $2 million, and something tells me he’s not tooling around town in a pickup. 

What he’s trying to get from pretending that he drives a pickup isn’t just working-class cred, but rural cred in particular. Despite the fact that today they’re bought largely by suburban dads, the pickup has its roots in rural places and is still marketed as a way for you, wherever you live, to capture a bit of rural masculinity (more on that here). 

Story #2: Actual rural cred

Tim Sheehy may be feeling an extra need to emphasize his rural credentials because his opponent has more of those credentials than anyone ever could. Jon Tester is not only an actual farmer — and not some rich guy who bought a “ranch” — as Donald Trump would say, he looks like he comes from Central Casting,¹ from his ample frame to his brush-cut hair to the fact that he’s missing three fingers on one hand from a meat grinder accident, which he’s happy to tell you about.

Tester has always leaned hard into his own brand of identity politics, but unlike some he pairs it with a policy argument, that he’s successful in bringing home things that his rural constituents need. Here’s an ad from his current campaign: 

You might say that I’m inclined to look more favorably on Tester’s brand of identity politics because I’m a liberal, which may be true. But Tester’s case goes beyond just his identity. Senators don’t go to Washington simply to embody the spirit of their constituents, they’re supposed to do things. In a chamber that has a fair number of members who strut around making noise but can barely be bothered to do anything that would improve their constituents’ lives, Tester is known as a hard-working and effective senator. 

Could Tester do just as good a job for Montanans if he grew up in New York City and was in possession of all his digits? Sure. But at the very least, his claim to authenticity is authentic.   

Story #3: Authenticity through shared contempt

As attentive readers know, Tom Schaller and I have been getting all kinds of criticism for our book White Rural Rage: The Threat to American Democracy. In particular, a pair of Colby College political scientists, Nicholas Jacobs and Daniel Shea, who have their own book about rural voters, have been prolific in publishing articles attacking our book. Which is great — one of our goals was to spark a debate, which we certainly have (you can read our answer to those critiques in this piece we wrote at The New Republic). In the Washington Post, they have a new op-ed revisiting their criticisms and their essential argument, that the resentments of rural whites are completely justified and should be honored rather than criticized.

Like many journalists and commentators, Jacobs and Shea are eager to tell Democrats that they have a political and moral obligation to be nicer to rural whites, yet they have absolutely nothing to say about what obligation Republicans might have to those voters, or what role Republicans have played in encouraging rural whites to nurture their resentments toward people who had no role in creating the very real and profound problems facing rural America. 

They even point to J.D. Vance as someone who is tuned in to rural identity, which shows you how bizarre this debate can be. Here’s what they argue:

If one is interested in building political coalitions that include rural voters, and which may lead to more inclusive and equitable policymaking, it is these resentments that must be understood. The stereotype of the raging rural American misrepresents the complexities of the rural experience. It is why Hollywood fell for Sen. J.D. Vance’s (R-Ohio) story of Appalachian poverty, while failing to recognize that he was running a political campaign that spoke to the resilience, values and pride of rural residents.

My jaw dropped when I read that, because here’s the actual story of J.D. Vance. If you’ve read Hillbilly Elegy, you know that Vance portrayed his people, at least many of them, as violent, lazy, and irresponsible — victimized by the world, yes, but also worthy of blame for their own choices. He writes at one point, “You can walk through a town where 30 percent of the young men work fewer than twenty hours a week and find not a single person aware of his own laziness.” 

But when he decided he wanted to be a senator in 2022, Vance changed his tune. While he had been critical of Donald Trump in 2016, he reinvented himself as a MAGA candidate, one who would base his campaign on race-baiting and ludicrous conspiracy theories. Take a look at this ad:

These are themes Vance echoed on the campaign trail, spreading the rancid “Great Replacement” conspiracy theory and claiming that President Biden is literally trying to kill rural whites. “If you wanted to kill a bunch of MAGA voters in the middle of the heartland, how better than to target them and their kids with this deadly fentanyl?” he said in an interview with the Gateway Pundit conspiracy website. “It does look intentional. It’s like Joe Biden wants to punish the people who didn’t vote for him.” 

That is J.D. Vance’s story. It’s not about a politician who “spoke to the resilience, values and pride of rural residents,” it’s about a cynical operator who cultivates the resentments and prejudices of rural residents, exploiting them mercilessly to serve his own ambition. It’s a story about crafting a negative identity politics, one based on hatred of your opponents. That is how Republicans address rural America. And there’s nothing authentic about it.

1. Fun fact: While you may think “Central Casting” is just an old Hollywood cliche to refer to people who embody some character type, in fact, Central Casting is an actual company that books extras for TV and movies, and still exists almost 100 years after it was formed.