Getting into heads of France’s young terrorists
Indoctrination can begin early. In some mosques, hatred toward “disbelievers” is normalised.
Time and again, the discourse after every Islamist terrorist attack is reduced to phrases like “clash of civilisations”, “Islam vs Europe”, or “mass immigration to Europe”. After each attack, counter-terrorism experts scramble to explain and theorise causes. Today alone, I have had to listen to explanations such as “it’s simply too easy to buy a knife”.
While the recent attacks occurred in Europe, I draw primarily on dynamics I have observed in Pakistan — not as a direct analogy, but as a lens into how extremist recruitment exploits universal human vulnerabilities across contexts. I will keep this simple and break it down under the following headings.
The demographic
Idealistic youth. Male. From a lower-middle-class background. Someone who wants not only to change the world, but also to make their family and community proud. This sounds universal — and it is. That universality is precisely what makes it exploitable.
In Pakistan, this demographic often attends public schools or sub-par, frequently unregistered community schools, and they attend mosques very regularly. There is nothing inherently wrong with attending a mosque. However, the class divide in Pakistani society extends deeply into religious spaces as well. A mosque in a middle- or upper-middle-class neighbourhood often delivers very different sermons than one in an economically deprived area.
Indoctrination can begin early. In some mosques, hatred toward “disbelievers” is normalised. Cursing the Western world and Jewish people is not uncommon during Friday sermons. This is compounded by the state’s Islamic-nationalist narrative taught in a mandatory subject called Pakistan Studies. Lessons often include ideas such as the divine ordination of Pakistan’s creation, Muslim moral superiority, historical victimhood at the hands of other religions, and the necessity of religion as the core of national identity.
This experience varies significantly for students from middle-, upper-middle-, and elite classes, who are more likely to receive Western-style education and encounter teachers with more pluralistic views.
Underlying causes
When a young person is exposed to sustained indoctrination and hate-preaching, followed by rejection from upper classes, lack of opportunity, poor education, and economic injustice, they may form a worldview marked by resentment toward those perceived as different or more privileged.
Religion often becomes a refuge. For some, Islam may be the only stable constant in an otherwise precarious life. It offers meaning, dignity, and an explanation for suffering — framing hardship as a divine test, and prosperity elsewhere as moral corruption or delayed punishment.
There are, of course, outliers. Some terrorists come from well-off families. In such cases, where belief is elevated above all else, learning about caricatures mocking the Prophet can produce an intense emotional response. For some, this manifests less as anger than as profound hurt — the feeling that the most sacred and defining part of one’s identity has been violated.
That pain, however real it may feel, can never justify violence — let alone murder — and millions of people experience similar grievances without ever harming another human being. Understanding emotional responses is not the same as excusing criminal acts, and moral responsibility for violence remains absolute.
While disenfranchisement can be an explanatory factor, it is neither universal nor deterministic. These dynamics describe conditions that can be exploited, not causes that make violence inevitable. I am speaking here primarily from a Pakistani context; in other regions, such as former French colonies, additional historical and structural factors further shape these experiences.
The motive and the incentive
Notoriety. Making one’s family and community proud. Financial support that could lift an entire family out of poverty.
When extremist organisations equip a vulnerable, idealistic young person with a cause, a promise of martyrdom, and tangible incentives, they create a powerful recruitment pipeline. This does not produce an inevitable terrorist, but rather a profile that extremist networks deliberately target and manipulate.
One reason the Taliban’s recruitment campaigns were so successful in Pakistan during the aftermath of the U.S. “war on terror” was their exploitation of resentment toward the West, combined with incentives such as fame, guaranteed entry into heaven, and financial compensation for families after suicide missions.
Alarmingly, some organisations within Pakistan’s majority Barelvi sect — historically associated with Sufi traditions — have adopted similar strategies. A new wave of Barelvi leaders mobilised this same demographic around blasphemy issues, often taking positions that scholars argue contradict their own traditions.
These groups gained prominence after the assassination of Salmaan Taseer, the governor of Punjab, who was murdered by his own security guard for supporting Asia Bibi, a Christian woman sentenced to death on blasphemy charges. Taseer, himself a Muslim, paid with his life merely for suggesting that Pakistan’s blasphemy laws should be reformed due to their misuse against the most vulnerable.
His killer, Mumtaz Qadri, was celebrated as a hero, later executed after due process, yet remains revered by many as a “martyr.” His grave has become a shrine, and a mosque bears his name. This legacy helped propel new Islamist organisations into the mainstream, most notably Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP), which espouses some of the most violent rhetoric while operating openly as a registered political party.
Many preachers affiliated with such movements openly advocate extrajudicial killings for alleged blasphemy and offer both moral and material incentives for violence.
How should we respond?
Any serious discussion must begin by centring the victims of these attacks, whose lives and families are irreversibly shattered by acts that can never be morally explained away.
Beyond that, we must hold states and regimes accountable for allowing — and in many cases actively nurturing and financing — extremist actors. A generalised backlash against European Muslims, many of whom are themselves disenfranchised, is not only unjust but counterproductive.
We must also resist imposing a singular external vision of “reformation” on all Muslims or Islam. Reform is necessary, but it must come from within Muslim societies.
A clear distinction must be maintained between Islam and Muslims on the one hand, and Islamism and Islamists on the other. Using these terms interchangeably alienates peaceful Muslim communities and fuels both far-right hostility and Islamist recruitment.
There must be a firm crackdown on Islamist actors, organisations, and charities operating in Europe, including serious action against online propaganda networks.
Finally, we must invest in meaningful engagement and integration of disenfranchised groups — particularly those living in isolation. Integration must go beyond symbolism and include real access to education, employment, and social mobility.