ARTICLE BY SARAH NORTH
Sarah North’s son was groomed into far-right extremism.
A mother recounts her son’s radicalisation, its impact on their relationship and his eventual recovery, emphasising the importance of support, awareness and education in combating extremism and supporting family members.
My son was fourteen when got involved in extremism. I knew nothing about it at the time. He was a teenager making decisions about his future. Fourteen is a difficult age for most teenagers. Aside from that, things were relatively normal at home, I was working part-time, and things were just relatively normal. It is a difficult time being fourteen for most teenagers.
Previously, he used to spend a lot of time with me in the living room, we’d watch a lot of stuff together. We we have a very similar sense of humour so there would be a lot of laughter. But he started to spend a lot more time in his room. He was happy-go-lucky, daft as a brush, but he was a lot of fun to be around. That started to change. Everyone warned me we wouldn’t be as close when he grew up, so I mistook his radicalisation for him being a teenager and wanting his own space.
But by the time he was 17, he was verbally abusive, distrustful of mainstream media and obsessed with politics. When he said he was going to watch a football match one Saturday, I was excited that he was going out with his friends, which he hadn’t done in a long time.
But when he got back, he admitted he hadn’t been to a match. He told me he’d been to a demonstration, and that he’d been detained by the police. I had a million questions. I asked him, ‘Why did you lie to me? What did the police want? What was the demo about?’ All he said was that it was about grooming gangs, and that I wouldn’t understand – and that he was going to another in a few weeks.
I couldn’t stop him. Instead we went in the family car, because it was far away. I told him I was going to go shopping and have a coffee. But I watched him walk away, and saw him joining a group, and parked up. Within a couple of minutes I could see him marching with the others, singing along with their racist slurs. It was like a looking at a stranger. He was so different from the caring, loving boy I knew.
I wanted to run over and shake him. But I couldn’t. I felt powerless. Our relationship was fragile, hanging by a thread. On the drive back, he as so proud of himself, so happy. I told him I didn’t understand, and that race and religion weren’t related to the grooming of vulnerable girls.
He turned on me, and screamed in my face. Literally screamed. He called me every name under the sun. He told me I was thick, I was stupid, misled by the mainstream media, that I didn’t understand anything. I felt like I didn’t know him anymore.
I tried to talk to him, to hear his point of view, even a simple qusetion would end up as a massive row. I felt like I was walking on eggshells. I isolated myself – I didn’t want people judging him, judging me. The only other person who had an idea of what was going on was his godfather, who tried talking to him but that went nowhere. I thought about talking to people at his college but I was scared they’d kick him out – his behaviour was very poor. I thought about going to the police, but I knew that would end our relationship entirely. If he moved out, that would be end of it. He’d be lost. At least under my roof I knew what he was doing.
A teacher contacted me a few months after the march and asked me if I’d noticed anything goin on. It was now or never. I didn’t tell her everything, but I said enough for her to see that her concerns were valid. I told her about some of the things he’d been saying and posting online. His college referred him to Prevent where he was given an Intervention Provider (IP). I didn’t really know what was happening.
When he came out of it, I was ready to be the mum he needed. I supported him as much as I could, rode it out with him.All I knew was that he had meetings in college. He got along well with the IP, and started to engage with me a bit more, but change was slow. He had to fix all the relationships that had been strained while he was in the movement. People can be negative. They said things that hurt him. All I could do was encourage him.
Now that I work with Exit Hate I realise that these are common experiences with other families, whatever organisation they join. The change in relationships, appearances, the secrecy, the time spent online… Changes in speech and language. But lots of adolescents do that so it’s important to look for signs of radicalisation.
I’ve learned not to be judgemental. It’s easy to make assumptions but you never know what’s going on behind closed doors. Radicalisation extends like a spiderweb. The whole family is impacted. People need to provide support, not judgement, help or signpost help.
Anyone can be radicalised and any age – you can’t assume they look a certain way, have a certain sex or age. They just have to be vulnerable, and these organisations prey onthat. And they’re across the whole network. They’re not in the streets: they’re in your home. 70% of the people we work with have been radicalised online.
When family members call Exit Hate, I’m the first person they can talk to openly. They’re terrified. There’s a heavy atmosphere in homes where a child is involved in extremism. The damage to parents is very real, and they’re desperate for support. I’m often the only person they can talk to. It’s sad. Parents spend a lot of time trying to find out what’s going on, and they don’t want to get their child in trouble.
I believe everyone can play a role in figthing extremism. We have to be mindful. My son is his old self again, and he is also working with Exit Hate. Our relationship is stronger than it ever was, although it took years to work through the emotions, on both sides. He’s made it his mission to help people to learn from his mistakes. We are both passionate about educating people about the dangers of extremism and supporting those involved and the families.