This text addresses the possibility of achieving social solidarity without relying on exclusionary distinctions. Traditionally, many sociological theories have argued that to develop a sense of belonging or participate in processes of meaning-making, individuals and groups often define themselves in contrast to others. In other words, inclusion frequently presupposes exclusion. For instance, in his theory of interaction rituals, Randall Collins identifies several key ingredients necessary to generate collective emotional energy: physical co-presence, a shared focus of attention, a common emotional mood, and crucially, barriers to outsiders—those who are not part of the ritual. The outcome of such rituals includes feelings of social solidarity, the generation of emotional energy, and the creation of collective symbols and meanings.

This paradox is also central to Niklas Luhmann’s systems theory. In his later work, particularly Theory of Society (2011), Luhmann discusses the inclusion/exclusion paradox, pointing out that every system of inclusion simultaneously produces exclusion. There is no inclusion without exclusion, no inside without an outside. Social systems organize themselves through distinctions, and these distinctions are not merely empirical boundaries but structural conditions of communication. Thus, every act of social integration carries with it the potential for disintegration or marginalization.

This foundational idea has its roots in George Spencer-Brown’s Laws of Form (1969), whose algebra of distinction deeply influenced Luhmann. As Spencer-Brown puts it, "To draw a distinction is to mark a boundary"—one cannot indicate or observe anything without simultaneously creating a difference between what is indicated and what is left out. In other words, the very act of observation or inclusion presupposes an operation of exclusion. Luhmann adopts this insight as the operative logic of social systems: communication is only possible through distinctions, and distinctions necessarily imply limits—that which is inside and that which is outside.

So, to cope with the world, we need to draw a distinction. But are we capable of drawing a positive distinction in the processes of acquiring collective (or national) identity? Can we love our own without the need to have enemies of that identity? It seems that in today’s world it becomes harder and harder.So, in order to cope with the world, we must draw distinctions. This is the very foundation of how we make meaning, organize perception, and build social systems. But a crucial question arises: Are we capable of drawing a positive distinction in the process of acquiring collective—or national—identity? Can we affirm and love what is our own without needing an enemy, a threat, or a negated Other to sustain that identity?

Historically, collective identities—especially national ones—have often been built on oppositional logics: us versus them, inside versus outside, and native versus foreigner. From symbolic boundaries to real-world conflicts, the construction of identity has frequently depended on exclusion, even hostility. Yet this logic becomes increasingly untenable in a world marked by interdependence, migration, and global crises.

The root of the problem is our essentialization of identity. At the heart of the inclusion/exclusion paradox lies a deeper epistemological problem—our tendency to treat identities as fixed, innate, or natural. Whether national, cultural, ethnic, or personal, identities are too often reified into stable substances, rather than being understood as historically contingent, relational, and performative.

Essentialization simplifies the world. It provides clarity, coherence, and emotional security—but at a cost. By assuming that there is a true, inner essence to who we are, we simultaneously construct the idea that others lack that essence. Belonging becomes a matter of possessing the right attributes, rather than participating in shared meaning-making. And once identity is seen as something that must be defended or preserved, the seeds of exclusion are already sown. This logic is not only politically dangerous—it is conceptually flawed. Identities are never pure.

They are hybrid, negotiated, and always in process. Therefore, to insist on fixed, essentialized identities means to remain in a state of constant struggle and aggression. We must continually prove that our way is the right one and position it in opposition to others. This creates a loop in which we engage in what Veljak (2005) called antithetical solidarity—a form of solidarity that exists only because we have an enemy, one that is simultaneously constructing itself through the same negative rhetoric directed toward us. Without this adversary, our own existence and sense of solidarity would be difficult—if not impossible—to sustain.

The stance of essentialism also offers a paradoxical comfort: we find a sense of stability in conflict. We feel at ease, yet we are locked in a constant struggle to preserve our own vision of a grand, fixed identity. And yet, the very act of defending that identity makes it fluid and ever-changing. In trying to hold it still, we set it in motion. To accept the flow of identity, to recognize the other not as a threat to our stability—but as a reminder that such stability never truly existed—opens the space for growth. It allows us to move beyond defensive posturing and toward a solidarity rooted in openness, adaptability, and mutual transformation.

This is the ground for building up the positive solidarity. Positive solidarity begins when we shift from defending identities to relating across them—not through tolerance or inclusion of the other as such, but by fundamentally altering how we perceive the construction of identity. The key is not to embrace the Other as a potential danger to be managed but to cease constructing identity through the lens of threat altogether.

To understand identity as fluid and constructed within the group itself is to release the compulsion to externalize danger. The Other is no longer a destabilizing force but part of the environment within which identity takes shape—an environment that need not be feared. In this sense, de-essentialization is not a loss but a liberating condition: it enables the group to focus on its own communicative construction, not on defending a presumed essence. Positive solidarity, then, does not arise from a shared enemy or the suppression of internal difference, but from the symbolic and communicative processes that sustain the group.

Let us now take one example of our thinking. In our contemporary pursuit of social justice, much emphasis is placed on tolerating others. Yet in doing so, we often overlook a crucial first step: the need to understand and deconstruct our own identity. Without this internal work, tolerance risks becoming compulsory and superficial—a gesture made without genuine transformation. This kind of tolerance, imposed without introspection, can ironically breed new forms of exclusion rather than dismantling the old ones. This missing step is particularly evident in the trajectory of woke culture. Born from legitimate concerns about injustice and inequality, it has played an important role in raising awareness and demanding accountability. However, in many cases, it has become increasingly exclusionary, defining itself through moral superiority and the correction of others. Woke culture, in its performative or enforced forms, risks becoming what it originally opposed: a system that draws rigid boundaries between those who belong and those who do not.

This is not a rejection of the ideals behind being woke. On the contrary, the call for awareness, justice, and recognition is one we should all embrace. But wokeness must be rooted in growth, not compulsion. To truly embrace the Other, we must first learn to embrace ourselves—not as fixed essences, but as unfinished, evolving identities. When we skip this process, when we demand outward tolerance before cultivating inner understanding, we create spaces of fear and confusion, ripe for backlash, essentialism, and the very prejudices we hoped to overcome.

Positive solidarity, then, is not built on a demand to accept others unconditionally. It is built on the slow, reflexive work of de-essentializing our own identity, of drawing distinctions without enmity, and of cultivating a sense of belonging that does not require exclusion. It is, ultimately, the solidarity of those who know themselves to be in motion—and who make room for others in that movement. One could even argue that this is the true process of growing up. But how many of us have really done so?