I remember a conversation I had with a young Conservative a couple of years ago. I’d shown up to the birthday drinks of someone I didn’t know that well, and ended up chatting with one of their work colleagues after going outside to get some air. I can’t remember how we got on to the topic, but I mentioned that I sometimes wrote about gender issues and his face turned to a smirk. “Identity politics,” he scoffed, clearly believing that phrase more than sufficient to express his contempt.

I knew instantly what he was trying to suggest. “Identity politics” is one of those funny terms that people rarely use to describe their own beliefs and priorities. Most commonly deployed by individuals on the political right, it’s generally intended to imply that a position is silly or trivial. Women, people of colour and members of the LGBT community are accused of grievance hunting. Of going too far and demanding special treatment rather than genuine equality – which critics often claim has already been achieved.

Less frequently, you’ll hear the phrase from individuals on the left, but the intention is equally scathing. It’s argued that focus on cultural aspects of identity is at the expense of economic critique. Or even that uppity women, queers and non-white folk are dividing the working class.

Used this way the term is basically meaningless, though it provides an interesting insight into what (and who) the speaker considers to matter. Take a step back, however, and it’s clear that all mainstream political discourse is shaped by notions of identity. Whatever he’d claim, the guy who scoffed at me outside the pub didn’t actually have a problem with identity politics per se – it was the focus on gender that he disliked. The Tories consistently appeal to identity in their campaigning, they just focus on different groups.

This was true of the economically liberal Cameroon Conservatives – who sought to divide the general population into “strivers” and “skivers” as an alternative to class – but it’s particularly striking under Theresa May. This era has gifted us a brand new dichotomy: “anywheres” and “somewheres” – which is apparently key to understanding the EU referendum split.

In truth, the Brexit vote was about a lot of different things at once. It’s no coincidence that parts of the country devastated by the loss of heavy industry tended to swing leave. Nor that the leafy, affluent Home Counties did the same. Economic issues aren’t irrelevant, but the causal relationship is complex. And there are plenty of other factors at play. May has settled on a common thread that serves her purposes much more effectively: national identity.

The Conservative general election strategy is a straightforward appeal to patriotism. Their slogan is “strong, stable leadership in the national interest”. Everything is focused on Brexit and getting the best deal for the UK. The EU makes a convenient enemy to unite against. Conservative and leave-supporting newspapers have ramped up the “us versus them” rhetoric, with the Sun’s “Up Yours Senors!” representing something of a peak/nadir, depending on how you look at it. Those who accuse anti-racist campaigners of engaging in divisive “identity politics” are among the least likely to object to aggressive anti-European sentiment. Consistency isn’t the point. It’s about belonging to a team, and challenging anything that doesn’t directly benefit your group.

The liberal left is often accused of failing to understand the powerful connection many people feel to their home. That’s what the “somewheres” and “anywheres” framing is mainly about. It’s suggested that those of us who move easily for work or study don’t understand what it is to be rooted in the town you grew up in. We’re “globalists” who can’t connect with the sense of patriotism felt by many people in this country. More than that, we sneer at it. It’s not an entirely baseless accusation. Awareness of the horrors of empire and uncertainty about the line between patriotism and xenophobia make many of us feel wary of the very concept of national pride.

May knows this, and capitalising on that division has formed the second part of her rightwing identity politics play. You don’t need to look as far as Brussels to find someone identified as an enemy of the British people, there are plenty of us here at home. Politicians and journalists who have publicly opposed Brexit. Gina Miller and the high court judges who ruled there must be a parliamentary vote. Migrant workers and refugees. Even overseas students who pay extortionate fees to study here. The message is clear: these people aren’t like you. They’re not part of the same group. Any benefits they enjoy are at your expense. Most of all, they look down on you. They’re contemptuous of your values. They’re contemptuous of British values.

Seen through this lens, May’s actions are far easier to understand. Actual consequences seem to be almost irrelevant to the decision-making process. It doesn’t matter how much evidence there is to suggest reintroducing grammar schools would have negative outcomes, the policy exists primarily as a cultural signifier. It’s the sort of thing good, patriotic British people would like – so good, patriotic British people decide to like it. Polls might suggest that legalising fox hunting is unpopular, but it won’t damage the Tories’ election chances. It simply plays into that same narrative.

Specific policies are far less important than demonstrating which team you’re on. Everything May does is intended to signal to an in-group broad enough to give her a massive electoral majority: I’m on your side. The British side, against the sneering liberals and Brussels bureaucrats. It’s possible appeals to cultural identity will become less persuasive as the material consequences of Brexit start to hit, but right now it seems a bulletproof strategy.

What sets Conservative identity politics apart from the leftwing version is that it’s generally an appeal to the dominant identity, which is why it’s so much more convenient for the acquisition and consolidation of power.