Psychology of Radicalisation
The involvement of medical professionals in the recent Delhi blast has shaken one of the most reassuring beliefs of modern life: that education, status, and scientific training naturally act as barriers against violent extremism. When a doctor, sworn to preserve life, willingly participates in an act meant to destroy it, the betrayal feels staggering. Yet this moment of shock forces us to confront a reality that security researchers across South Asia, Europe, and the Middle East have been warning about for years: radicalisation today is less about ignorance and more about identity, isolation, and the search for meaning. India has long relied on a familiar story to explain terrorism—poverty creates resentment, resentment fuels anger, and that anger eventually mutates into extremism. This narrative is not entirely untrue, but it is deeply incomplete. It cannot explain the engineers who joined ISIS, the top university students arrested for spreading extremist propaganda, or the highly trained doctors and software professionals who have been implicated in terror plots across the world. Haroon Ullah, who spent years studying radical networks in Pakistan, noted that many extremists were not impoverished or marginalised; in fact, they came from schools, homes, and professions much like those of the Indian middle class. What they shared was not economic deprivation, but a profound sense of disorientation—a psychological void created by the pressures and contradictions of modern life. Their radicalisation was not born out of ignorance but out of emotional fragmentation.
This internal disruption is at the heart of modern extremism. Contemporary societies offer unprecedented individual freedom, mobility, and opportunity, but they also generate anxiety, loneliness, and an overload of conflicting values. Professional success does not inoculate anyone against despair; a doctor may know the intricacies of the human body better than most of us, yet still feel spiritually empty, socially invisible, or morally adrift. Extremist organisations exploit these fractures with ruthless efficiency. Across dozens of case studies, three psychological hooks appear repeatedly. First, the promise of moral clarity. In a world where every issue seems complicated, incremental, and contested, the simplicity of an absolute ideology—however false—can feel stabilising. Second, the feeling of belonging. Many educated young adults, despite being digitally connected, experience deep loneliness, identity conflict, and a sense of being unseen; extremist groups offer instant community, emotional reinforcement, and a shared narrative. Third, the lure of significance. Individuals who feel their ordinary lives lack purpose can be seduced by the notion that they can reshape the world through dramatic, even violent, actions. Education sharpens cognitive skills but does not necessarily fill emotional voids. A degree cannot prevent a mind from craving certainty, purpose, or recognition. That is why the radicalisation of the educated is one of the defining security challenges of the 21st century: it emerges not from the absence of knowledge, but from the absence of meaning. The Delhi blast, involving people who by all conventional standards should have been pillars of society, demonstrates how easily psychological fractures can turn into ideological vulnerabilities when left unaddressed.
India’s response must therefore evolve beyond traditional security measures. Policing, surveillance, and intelligence are essential, but they address only the visible tip of the problem. Radicalisation takes root long before a recruit talks to a handler or joins an encrypted chat group; it germinates in the invisible spaces created by loneliness, distrust, identity conflict, and emotional fatigue. Preventing the next wave of extremism requires strengthening the social and psychological fabric of the country. Families must learn to identify early behavioural changes rooted in withdrawal or ideological rigidity. Schools and universities must go beyond academic instruction to build emotional resilience, critical thinking, and digital awareness. Religious and cultural institutions must reclaim their role as spaces of dialogue and community-building rather than becoming echo chambers of grievance. Digital platforms need to develop stronger interventions against ideological grooming, just as they have for misinformation, hate speech, and child exploitation. Policymakers must recognise that identity itself has become a battleground shaped by algorithms, echo chambers, and polarising rhetoric. India must invest in community-level programmes that create safe spaces for young people to express frustration, debate difficult issues, and feel a sense of belonging. Civil society, mental health professionals, educators, and local leaders must be integrated into a national strategy that treats radicalisation as a cultural and psychological challenge, not just a law-and-order one. The shock of doctors turning to terror must force us to abandon simplistic narratives that tie extremism solely to deprivation or illiteracy. Modern extremism grows not merely in the shadows of poverty, but in the cracks of identity, purpose, and meaning. Unless India confronts this deeper crisis—one that shapes how individuals find recognition, belonging, and moral certainty—it will continue to face threats that appear to come from nowhere, carried out by people who were once trusted to heal, teach, innovate and serve.
