Conspiracy theories target all religious communities — the only effective response is a broad alliance

Once conspiracy thinking enters the culture, it rarely remains confined to one target: Jews are suspected of secret influence, Muslims of hidden infiltration and Christians of covert theocratic ambitions. Every community becomes someone else’s cabal.

No community can defeat conspiracy theories alone. Jews, Muslims, Christians and others must recognise the same pattern targeting all of us and confront it together.

I felt the latest wave personally last week when Tucker Carlson and Candace Owens suggested that the Jewish outreach movement Chabad is a global network of powerful connections secretly influencing geopolitics, trying to destroy the Al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem and orchestrating the war with Iran to bring about a messianic apocalypse.

The claim is as offensive as it is absurd. Chabad’s nonviolent eschatology echoes the prophet Isaiah’s call to “turn swords into ploughshares” (Isaiah 2:4). It teaches that spiritual acts like mitzvos, study, charity and kindness, prepare the world for redemption, not war or geopolitics. Its name is an acronym for “wisdom”, “knowledge” and “understanding”. Its spiritual leader, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Rebbe, who passed away in 1994, helped shape my identity and values. I still learn from his teachings, and from books like Letters for Life which compiles his wisdom on emotional wellbeing.

Russian-born Orthodox Jewish Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902–1994) smiles and gestures at the camera from behind several microphones on a table while his audience watches, in New York City circa 1975. (Photo by Tim Boxer / Getty Images)

But focusing only on antisemitism misses a larger truth. Accusations about hidden religious cabals now appear across American politics.

Muslim politicians like Ilhan Omar have repeatedly faced online accusations and political attacks claiming they secretly advance Islamist agendas or support extremist groups, despite a lack of credible evidence. Zohran Mamdani has likewise encountered deep suspicion simply for being Muslim in public life, taking his mayoral oath on the Qurʾān rather than a Bible.

Critics cite Project 2025, the Council for National Policy, donor networks like Ziklag and the influence of pastors on figures such as House Speaker Mike Johnson as evidence of a hidden Christian nationalist network seeking to impose Christianity on America. Debate about religion in politics is legitimate. Portraying millions of believers as participants in a secret theocratic plot is not.

Representative Ilhan Omar, a Democrat from Minnesota, during a news conference in Washington, DC, on 24 February 2026. (Photograph by Daniel Heuer / Bloomberg via Getty Images)

Influencers have spread sweeping accusations about entire communities — like portraying Somali immigrants in Minnesota as exploiting welfare programs, committing voter fraud or funnelling public funds to groups such as al-Shabaab, all because of investigations targeting a few Somali run daycare centres. Last month, YouTuber Tyler Oliveira accused the Orthodox Jewish community in Lakewood, New Jersey, of widespread welfare fraud and a political takeover of the town. He also called the volunteer patrol Shomrim the Jewish “Police”, echoing the same demagogic rhetoric that claims Muslims are attempting to impose sharia law in Western countries.

Once again, criticism of religious movements can certainly be legitimate. I’ve challenged my own community on women’s rights, science and faith, health and education. People can challenge Israeli organisations that lobby for policies they oppose, or criticise Muslim groups they believe sympathise with Hamas, promote illiberal interpretations of Islam, or oppose Christian movements they think seek a more coercive role for religion in government.

But criticism crosses into conspiratorial paranoia when it stops examining specific ideas, policies or institutions, and instead portrays entire faith communities as part of hidden networks.

History shows the danger of this mindset. In the nineteenth century, many Americans believed Catholics were secretly taking orders from the pope to undermine American democracy, fuelling riots and the rise of the anti-Catholic Know-Nothing movement. In the same century, Mormons along with Freemasons and Catholics were commonly viewed as “outside forces that are trying to manipulate the American people and the US government for the benefit of the elite few”. During the Second World War, over 120,000 Japanese Americans were forced into internment camps after being falsely branded as traitors. Antisemitic conspiracies about Jewish control poisoned Europe for generations.

The pattern is always to exaggerate influence, erase individuality, and replace evidence with insinuation.

The Jewish community centre, Chabad of Bondi, located near Bondi Beach, on 14 December 2025 in Sydney, Australia. (Photo by George Chan / Getty Images)

In the late 1980s, the Rebbe encouraged New York Times religion reporter Ari Goldman to broaden “Judeo-Christian values” to “Judeo-Christian-Muslim values”, because he understood that all Abrahamic faiths share similar values and need to stand together. The same conspiratorial instinct smearing Chabad today has already targeted Muslim politicians and will target politically engaged Christians tomorrow.

These narratives flourish because they simplify complexity. Wars, elections and cultural change are chaotic and difficult to understand. The war on Iran is the result of decades of geopolitical rivalry, nuclear negotiations, sanctions, proxy conflicts and internal Iranian politics. Yet conspiracy narratives attempt to simplify the chaos and find a villain.

The speed of amplification on social media exacerbates the problem, spreading speculation instantly and without any editorial filters. A stray insinuation on a podcast can reach millions before anyone pauses to examine the evidence. And once conspiracy thinking enters the culture, it rarely remains confined to one target. Jews become suspected of secret influence. Muslims become suspected of hidden infiltration. Christians become accused of covert theocratic ambitions. Every community becomes someone else’s cabal.

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That is why we need alliances. If Jews defend only Jews, Muslims defend only Muslims, and Christians defend only Christians, conspiracy thinking will simply rotate targets. But when communities defend one another and reject conspiracies even when the target is not their own, the narrative loses power.

Sure, these accusations feel personal and painful when they land close to home. I have watched Chabad families dedicate their lives to community service, hospitality and teaching Judaism. Seeing those same people portrayed as hidden geopolitical puppet masters shows how detached conspiracy narratives are from reality.

But selective outrage when it targets my community is not enough. The same conspiratorial instinct that blames Chabad today blamed Muslim politicians yesterday and will blame politically engaged Christians tomorrow. The real answer is solidarity across communities willing to say something simple and essential: religious identity is not evidence of conspiracy.

Eli Federman** writes on religion, society, law and the Middle East. His work has appeared in the Wall Street Journal, Time, USA Today, Reuters, New York Times, Fox News, CNN and elsewhere.**

Police tape cordons off an area following the mass shooting at Bondi Beach in Sydney