By Atiq Raja
Radicalization has crept into the heart of our modern world, not with the noise of warplanes or the sound of marching boots, but through the quieter corridors of disillusionment, abandonment, and anger. It is not a monster lurking in foreign lands or hidden corners—it is, increasingly, a human experience unfolding in plain sight. And yet, we keep looking away. For decades now, societies have wrestled with the question: why do ordinary people, many of them young, turn to extreme ideologies? From the crowded lanes of Karachi to the suburbs of Europe, from digital spaces to prison cells, radicalization has become one of the most profound threats to peace—not just because of its violence, but because of the silence and neglect that often precede it.
To understand radicalization is not merely to define it. It is to step inside the fragile mind of someone who feels discarded by society, told that they don’t belong, and then offered a story that finally makes them feel significant. That story may come wrapped in religious vocabulary or political slogans, in brotherhood chants or revolutionary promises. The ideology may differ, but the pattern remains tragically familiar. It begins, often, with a question: who am I? For many, especially young people in fractured communities or marginalized groups, the answer is not clear. Identity can feel like a maze, and radical ideologies offer a map. In homes where children grow up feeling invisible, or in societies where certain groups are treated as lesser, radical voices step in with seductive answers.
They provide meaning, urgency, and purpose. They offer the illusion of power to those who feel powerless. Then there are the injustices—real or perceived—that harden these sentiments. Whether it’s political oppression, economic inequality, or a foreign drone strike that kills civilians, such wounds fester in silence. These grievances are not created by extremists, but they are expertly exploited by them. Radical movements are built not just on doctrine but on human pain. Technology has accelerated this process. In the digital world, a young man struggling with loneliness or confusion may fall down a rabbit hole of rage and conspiracy within hours. The algorithms don’t ask questions—they amplify what’s already lurking in the corners of our minds. Extremists have learnt to speak the language of youth: memes, music, emotion. And often, they get there before parents, teachers, or elders can.
Religion, too, is weaponized—not in its essence, but in its distortion. Holy books are cherry-picked, stripped of context and compassion, and reassembled as battle cries. In communities where religious education is reduced to memorization rather than understanding, where nuance is replaced by dogma, the doors to interpretation remain shut. It is not faith that radicalizes, but the vacuum left when genuine spiritual guidance is absent. Education, or the lack of it, is another critical fault line. When schools punish curiosity and reward obedience, they fail to equip young minds with the tools to question propaganda. A classroom should be a space where history is examined critically, where ethics are debated, and where diversity is understood, not feared. Instead, too many are taught only to follow, not to think.
Yet, even with all this, radicalization is not inevitable. It is a process—and that means it can be interrupted. But this requires more than just counter-terrorism strategies. It calls for a collective reimagining of society. We must begin by asking: who are we leaving behind? Governments must do more than chase threats; they must remove the conditions that allow extremism to grow. This means fairness in law, justice in policing, and equality in opportunity. A young person who feels seen and heard is far less likely to follow a path of destruction. Communities must become places of care and accountability. Families, teachers, imams, social workers—they are our first responders, often spotting the early signs long before the security agencies do.
There are stories from around the world of individuals who left violent groups because someone, somewhere, showed them kindness. Because someone took the time to listen. Because someone believed they were more than the worst thing they had done. These are not just stories of deradicalization—they are stories of redemption. And they remind us of a crucial truth: nobody is born an extremist. Let us stop treating radicalization as if it were some distant virus, to be eradicated with force. Let us treat it as a message from the margins—a signal that our societies have failed to include, to protect, to love. The antidote is not surveillance—it is solidarity. Not judgement, but justice. Not walls, but bridges. In the end, we must build a world where the only thing radical is our commitment to each other. Because the greatest act of defiance against extremism is to believe in the humanity of those who have lost their way—and to help them find it again.
(The writer is a rights activist and CEO of AR Trainings and Consultancy, with degrees in Political Science and English Literature, can be reached at news@metro-morning.com)
