In 1978, more than 900 people died in a jungle settlement called Jonestown. They weren’t weak. They weren’t stupid. They were manipulated. These were everyday people — teachers, nurses, young mothers, retired grandparents — who believed in something bigger than themselves. They wanted equality, purpose, and community. What they got was poison, terror, and death.

Jim Jones didn’t kill them with force. He killed them with belief. He spent years feeding his followers fear, conspiracy, and the idea that the outside world — the U.S. government, the media, even their families — were evil. He convinced them that death was a protest. He framed their murder as a noble sacrifice.

It’s easy to dismiss Jonestown as a cult tragedy from the past. But we’d be wrong to leave it there. The reality is this: the path those people walked still exists today, and far too many are walking it again.

We live in a time where distrust of institutions is at an all-time high. And questioning authority isn’t the problem — in fact, it’s healthy. The danger is when distrust becomes blind allegiance to a person, cause, or ideology, with no grounding in fact, and no room for dissent.

That’s how people fall into extremism — not overnight, but gradually, through isolation, emotional manipulation, and the promise of purpose.

Look around. The signs are here.

Hoda Muthana, a young woman from Alabama, left the United States in 2014 to join ISIS. She wasn’t some hardened criminal. She was a daughter, a student, radicalized online through messaging that told her she was part of something meaningful. She believed the West had failed her, and ISIS offered the illusion of belonging and justice. When she tried to return home, her country wouldn’t take her back.

Shannon Conley, just 19, was arrested in Colorado in 2014 after plotting to join ISIS. Her radicalization started with YouTube videos and chat rooms. She wanted to help. She thought she understood the truth. What she found was a dead end.

And it’s not just overseas.

Timothy McVeigh, responsible for the Oklahoma City bombing, was radicalized by anti-government rhetoric and conspiracy theories. He believed he was defending liberty. Instead, he murdered 168 people, including children.

Modern movements like QAnon, sovereign citizens, white supremacist cells, and eco-extremist groups continue this pattern. They use the same playbook Jim Jones did — they build distrust, create an “us vs. them” worldview, and promise that only they know the truth. They prey on people who feel alienated, betrayed, or unseen, and offer them certainty in exchange for their autonomy.

And unlike the days of pamphlets and late-night meetings, today’s radicalizers use targeted digital strategies. Social media platforms, encrypted apps like Telegram, Discord servers, and gaming environments are used to spread ideology and build followings. These aren’t just fringe websites—they’re places most people use daily. It’s not a distant threat. It’s in your feed, your inbox, and your child’s phone. That’s how quickly manipulation can reach people and how invisibly it can grow.

They also target people we don’t often consider — veterans, former law enforcement officers, and disillusioned public servants. These individuals have skills, discipline, and loyalty — but when they feel discarded, misunderstood, or betrayed by the institutions they served, they’re particularly vulnerable. Some radical groups see these men and women as assets, not just because of their experience, but because of the moral weight they carry. What should be honored becomes exploited.

This is emotional first, ideological second. It feeds off loneliness and confusion, and, like Jonestown, it thrives when people stop asking questions and start repeating slogans.

This is emotional first, ideological second. It feeds off loneliness and confusion, and, like Jonestown, it thrives when people stop asking questions and start repeating slogans.

One Jonestown survivor, Laura Johnston Kohl, later said:

“We were told every day that the world outside wanted to destroy us. When you hear that enough, you start to believe it.”
That should stop us in our tracks because we’re hearing the same message again, just from different mouths and through different channels.

If you’re a parent, a teacher, a leader, or just a neighbor, you can make a difference. If someone around you is pulling away from the world, changing their views radically, or latching onto “one truth,” don’t mock them — engage. Ask questions. Stay involved. Sometimes, a single honest conversation can break the spiral.

A cautionary look at how ordinary people become trapped in dangerous belief systems.

Jonestown didn’t begin with cyanide. It started with a man telling people what they wanted to hear. It escalated with fear and ended in tragedy. And it will happen again if we don’t recognize how people—even smart, decent people—can fall for dangerous ideas when they feel like the world has given up on them.

We owe it to the victims of Jonestown and to every parent whose child was pulled into extremism to be better. To ask questions. To stay grounded. And to remember that the moment someone says, “Only I have the truth,” that’s not a prophet — that’s a red flag.

Let’s not be fooled by the illusion of certainty in uncertain times. Let’s not hand over our thinking to anyone who demands it. And let’s not forget: Jonestown wasn’t the last time fear was dressed up as truth — unless we stay aware, it won’t be the last tragedy either.