When white extremists attack, the language changes

The shooting at the Islamic Center of San Diego, which left three people dead, was horrifying not only because of the violence itself, but because of what it revealed about the way terrorism is discussed in the West. The attackers, 17-year-old Cain Clark and 18-year-old Caleb Vazquez, reportedly wore Nazi symbols, consumed white supremacist propaganda and left behind racist and anti-Muslim writings. Authorities have described the attack as a hate crime motivated by extremist ideology.
Yet despite all of this, much of the media coverage has largely referred to them as “shooters,” “gunmen,” or “attackers.” The word “terrorist” remains noticeably absent from many headlines.
If two Muslim or Arab teenagers had stormed a church or synagogue wearing extremist symbols and leaving behind a manifesto full of hate, the language used would almost certainly have been different. The term “terrorism” would dominate headlines within minutes. Their religion, ethnicity and background would become central to the story. Entire communities would be asked to condemn the violence. Politicians would speak about radicalisation, extremism and national security threats.
But when the perpetrators are white and motivated by neo-Nazi ideology, the language suddenly softens. This double standard is not new. Western media has long treated white extremism differently from violence committed by Muslims, Arabs or other racialised groups. White attackers are often portrayed as isolated individuals, mentally troubled young men, or “lone wolves.” Their actions are detached from broader political ideologies. Meanwhile, violence committed by Muslims is frequently framed as representative of an entire religion or community.
The San Diego attack fits clearly within a pattern of ideological violence. According to investigators and media reports, the teenagers were immersed in online neo-Nazi and extremist spaces. Their writings reportedly contained anti-Muslim, antisemitic, racist and misogynistic rhetoric. If violence driven by extremist ideology and intended to terrorise a specific religious community does not qualify as terrorism, then what does?
The victims themselves highlight the human cost of this hatred. Amin Abdullah, a security guard at the mosque, reportedly engaged the attackers and warned worshippers to lock down the building, likely preventing a far larger massacre involving around 140 children inside the mosque school. Mansour Kaziha and Nadir Awad were also killed while trying to protect others. They were ordinary people attending or working at their place of worship.
And yet even after such a clear act of anti-Muslim violence, there remains hesitation in parts of the media to use the same terminology routinely applied in other contexts. This hesitation matters because language shapes perception. When white supremacist violence is not consistently labelled as terrorism, it minimises the ideological threat it poses. It also reinforces the idea that terrorism is somehow inherently foreign, Muslim, Arab or non-white.
Islamophobia and anti-Arab racism have existed in Western societies for decades, but in recent years, they have intensified. Mosques have been attacked, Muslim women harassed, immigrants demonised and anti-Muslim rhetoric normalised in political discourse. The rise of far-right movements across Europe and North America has created an environment where racist and xenophobic ideas are increasingly visible.
Political leadership plays a role in this climate. Donald Trump’s rhetoric on immigration and minorities has repeatedly been criticised for validating prejudice rather than challenging it. From the so-called “Muslim ban” to describing immigrants as threats or invaders, this language influences how some individuals perceive minorities and outsiders. While political rhetoric alone does not directly cause violence, it can contribute to an atmosphere where extremists feel validated.
The San Diego attackers did not emerge in a vacuum. They were radicalised online within ecosystems of hate that continue to grow with alarming speed. Their ideologies were openly racist and anti-Muslim. These were not random acts of violence; they were politically and ideologically motivated attacks intended to spread fear. That is terrorism.
Refusing to call it by its name creates a dangerous hierarchy in which some victims receive full public sympathy and recognition, while others are treated as casualties of isolated tragedy rather than targets of extremist ideology. It also prevents societies from confronting the reality that white supremacist violence has become one of the most persistent extremist threats in the West.
Why are some perpetrators immediately labelled terrorists while others are not? Why are Muslim communities so often expected to answer collectively for acts of violence, while white extremism is individualised? And what does that say about who Western societies perceive as inherently suspicious or dangerous?
The tragedy in San Diego is not only about three lives lost. It is about the broader failure to confront extremism consistently and honestly, regardless of who commits it. Terrorism does not stop being terrorism depending on the skin colour, religion or background of the attacker.

Oman al Yahyai The writer is a multilingual writer and media professional based in Paris. She specialises in human rights and immigration