Graham recalls his mother as someone who rarely discussed politics. A retired woman in her sixties, she showed little interest in political matters until recently. During the COVID-19 pandemic, however, her behavior shifted dramatically. Isolated from her usual social circles, she began spending hours online, absorbing content that transformed her worldview.
"I remember getting a phone call where she suddenly started listing conspiracy theories," says Graham, who works in transport. "Now she supports far-right figures with what I can only describe as religious fervor. She believes COVID was a hoax and repeats claims about political conspiracies. When I visit, conversations quickly turn to these topics, and I often have to leave. We've always been close, but I feel like I'm losing her."
Graham's experience reflects a growing phenomenon: older adults experiencing significant political radicalization through digital platforms. While much attention has focused on youth radicalization, researchers are now documenting how fragmented media landscapes affect those aged 60-80.
Recent polling reveals deepening generational divides. In the 2024 UK general election, Labour support dropped from 45% among those in their late twenties to just 20% among voters aged 70 or older. Meanwhile, analysis of US and UK data shows that while older cohorts continue moving rightward politically, younger generations appear to be resisting this trend after decades of economic instability.
Nadine, in her early forties, describes similar changes with her parents. "They've become fixated on immigration issues, frequently launching into tirades about small boats," she says. "My mother is constantly on her iPad, while her partner spends hours at his desktop computer. I don't know what platforms they're using, but I know they're both heavily engaged on Facebook."
Sara Wilford, a computer ethics specialist at De Montfort University, researches how her own demographic interacts with digital spaces. Through her EU-funded project examining social media narratives, she's found that Britons over 65 now spend a record three hours and twenty minutes daily online.
"Facebook remains the primary social platform for 75% of users over 65," Wilford notes. "For one-third, it's the only social media they use."
Wilford identifies "nostalgia content" as a common entry point to more extreme material. AI-enhanced videos depicting idealized versions of past decades—often featuring exclusively white subjects—proliferate across platforms. While originally created by younger generations nostalgic for pre-digital eras, this content resonates powerfully with older viewers.
"These 'boomerslop' videos range from strange AI-generated cat content to unhinged political material," Wilford explains. "They're cleverly packaged—three well-written lines about immigration or benefits that seem plausible if you don't fact-check."
Many older users don't recognize their vulnerability to manipulation, Wilford observes. "They say, 'I'm not being influenced by anyone,' while absorbing content without verification. Even neighborhood apps intended for practical purposes like checking bin collection schedules can become vectors for right-wing messaging."
This spiral of misinformation and distrust can lead people who would never join formal organizations into increasingly extreme positions. Recent analysis identified networks of far-right Facebook groups connected to individuals charged with online offenses following tragic events.
The combination of increased online time, relaxed platform moderation, and sophisticated disinformation creates what researchers describe as a perfect storm for radicalization among older demographics—leaving families like Graham's struggling to maintain connections across widening ideological divides.