The Absurdity of Identity Language: How We’re Losing Ourselves

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the language we use around identity—how every word feels like a landmine, how conversations so easily devolve into debates over labels instead of the deeper truths they’re meant to illuminate. Whether it’s gender, politics, race, or any other facet of identity, the words we use to define and describe ourselves seem to dominate the conversation. And yet, the more we dissect and rework this language, the more absurd it feels.

We’re stuck in this endless loop of redefining words, reframing identities, and enforcing “correct” language to the point where the language itself becomes more important than the people it’s supposed to serve. The irony is staggering: in our rush to define everything so precisely, we’ve lost the ability to actually connect.

Let’s start with the fact that much of this obsession with identity language is rooted in privilege. Keeping up with the ever-changing glossary of “acceptable” terms requires time, access, and a certain level of education. If you don’t know the latest linguistic trend, you’re immediately labeled ignorant, problematic, or worse, a bigot.

Language has always been a tool of power. Those who control it control the narrative. In many ways, this fixation on precise identity language has become a form of elitist gatekeeping. It creates an invisible hierarchy where only those “in the know” can participate in conversations without fear of misstepping. And the result? A growing chasm between people.

Imagine someone who doesn’t have the luxury of time to navigate the nuances of this language—someone working multiple jobs, raising kids, or simply trying to get through the day. Should their inability to keep up with every linguistic shift disqualify them from being seen as thoughtful, kind, or worthy of inclusion?

We need to ask ourselves: who benefits from this constant policing of words? Is it the marginalized communities we claim to support? Or is it the people who feel morally superior for catching someone else’s mistake?

Another layer of absurdity is our culture’s obsession with over-identification. We’ve become so hyper-focused on defining every facet of ourselves that we’re losing the ability to see the bigger picture.

When did identity become our entire identity?

I’m not saying identity doesn’t matter. It does. Who we are—our gender, race, culture, and beliefs—shapes our experiences. But it’s not everything. Reducing ourselves to a list of labels flattens the complexity of what it means to be human.

And it doesn’t stop at the personal level. Entire groups are now reduced to monoliths. Every political faction, racial category, or gender identity becomes a rigid box that defines how we’re supposed to think, feel, and interact with the world. The irony is that the more we claim to value individuality, the more we allow these labels to dictate who we are.

When someone introduces themselves, I don’t want to hear a litany of identity markers. I want to know who they are. What inspires them? What makes them laugh? What keeps them up at night? But instead of fostering these deeper conversations, our culture has trained us to focus on surface-level identifiers. And in doing so, we lose the opportunity for true connection.

This fixation on identity language isn’t just annoying—it’s actively eroding the foundations of a healthy culture.

A thriving culture depends on shared values, mutual respect, and the ability to communicate freely. It thrives on curiosity, humor, and the grace to navigate differences without tearing each other apart. But how can we build that when every conversation feels like a linguistic minefield?

People are afraid to speak honestly because the consequences of saying the “wrong” thing can be severe—public shaming, ostracism, even the loss of relationships or jobs. This doesn’t encourage growth; it fosters fear. And fear never leads to progress.

We’ve also lost the ability to laugh at ourselves, to stumble through awkward conversations, to forgive each other for being human. Humor, once a bridge that brought people together, is now seen as a threat. Jokes are dissected for potential offense. Honest mistakes are treated as unforgivable sins.

How do we create a culture of inclusivity when people are too afraid to participate?

And then there’s the bigger picture. While we argue over semantics—debating pronouns, political labels, and microaggressions—the world burns around us.

We face staggering inequalities, environmental crises, and social breakdowns, yet our energy is spent nitpicking each other’s language choices. It’s a distraction, plain and simple. By focusing on the minutiae of identity, we lose sight of the systemic issues that affect us all.

Of course, language matters. Words have power. But when we prioritize linguistic precision over meaningful action, we’re doing more harm than good.

So, what if we let go? What if we stopped treating language as a weapon and started using it as a tool for connection?

What if we allowed people the space to make mistakes without fear of judgment? What if we encouraged curiosity instead of condemnation? What if we stopped defining ourselves and others by rigid labels and instead focused on our shared humanity?

I want to live in a world where we can have messy, honest conversations. A world where disagreements don’t end relationships, and where we value character and action over perfectly curated identities.

We are so much more than the words we use to describe ourselves. We are stories, contradictions, and infinite possibilities. Let’s stop limiting ourselves to boxes, stop alienating each other over semantics, and start building a culture that values connection over correctness.

We can do better. And we must.

~Shanti Freedom Das