We are living through an age of political violence. Presidential assassination attempts. Lethal assaults on places of worship. An arson attack on a governor’s mansion. The murder of a conservative activist. And on and on. The motives in these cases matter: Some are explained by hate-filled fringe ideologies, some by religious extremism, others by poisonous hyper-partisanship. But more often than not, these cases share a common feature: a young man driven to threaten or carry out violent acts. How does that radicalization happen? And who is most susceptible to it? Those are the questions at the heart of Maya Sulkin’s important story today. It’s about a boy who at only 14 was found to be plotting a violent terror attack. Isolated, autistic, and targeted by jihadist extremists online, the teen fits an increasingly recognizable mold of who gets indoctrinated online—and what happens after. Read the full investigation, and watch the accompanying video. — The Editors
Angela and Marcus Reed live in a small Ohio town, in a neighborhood strung together by seemingly endless cul-de-sacs and perfectly manicured lawns. Staked next to the pathway to their brick colonial, there’s a “Believe” sign and a weather vane. It’s the kind of place where the biggest crimes are speeding tickets and double-parked cars.
Angela, a 44-year-old marketing executive, and Marcus, a 47-year-old stay-at-home dad, are high school sweethearts who have three boys and go to church every Sunday. They give to charities. They have family game nights. When their youngest son has nightmares, his 21-year-old brother sleeps beside him, so he feels safe.
And yet, sitting at their dining room table, where the Reeds had set out flowers alongside mushroom pasta and tiramisu from a local Italian restaurant, Angela told me that, in December of 2023, “terrorists broke into our home,” through their computer screen, in the middle of the night. They wanted “to destroy our family, destroy our son, and destroy our community,” she said.
Their target was her middle child, Caleb, then 14.
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Growing up, Caleb was like most kids in the neighborhood, though on the quiet side. He didn’t like cartoons, preferring documentaries, even when he was a toddler. He had obsessive-compulsive tendencies—he would pour out all the crackers from the box to inspect them, only eating the ones without cracks. Like any good American boy, he went through a football phase, memorizing every player and statistic. He had a few friends at school who invited him over to play, and he was always well-liked by his teammates.
When the pandemic hit in 2020, Caleb was 10 years old. His after-school activities came to a halt. His football practices ended. He no longer saw his friends. He felt like everything had been taken away from him overnight.
His parents started noticing changes in his behavior. Certain sounds, such as a person clearing their throat, would cause him to bang his head against a wall. Caleb’s OCD became more severe. He spent more time alone in his room, skipping family dinners.
At one point, Angela asked Caleb the last time he ate, and he told her it had been three days. Angela and Marcus sought out doctors to see if Caleb might have autism, but they were told his behavior could be stemming from all sorts of issues, like anxiety, puberty, or depression. Then, in late 2023, just before Caleb turned 14 years old, he announced he was converting to Islam. He was comforted by the religion’s strict rules, he told his parents, adding that it “just made more sense” to him, Angela recalled.
Angela and Marcus, devout Christians, were shocked. They had baptized Caleb in their own backyard. But when we spoke, Angela was surprisingly accepting of her son’s religious epiphany.
