What causes someone to turn to radical ideology and violence? It’s an important question, and one that has occupied the pages of many a newspaper, magazine, and blog as of late. In the case of ISIS, blame gets directed at many targets—the “backwardness” of Islamic beliefs, decades of military actions in the Middle East, global warming, Western-backed corrupt governments in the region, and of course, the internet. As Kashmir Hill notes in this excellent essay:

“Technology and the internet are being invoked in fearful terms because it is easier to point the finger there than unpack the multifold and complicated reasons behind these acts—the growth of hateful ideologies, racial and ethnic tensions, the ease of buying semi-automatic weapons, the long-term effects of an ongoing war waged by drones, and twisted minds that embrace violence.”

And just as the internet is often blamed for violent extremism, it was praised as the catalyst for sweeping revolutions that took place earlier this decade. From Tunisia to Iceland, Egypt to Occupy, analysts, commentators, and scholars one by one fell into three categories: it was because of the internet, it was not because of the internet, or it was kind of because of the internet. As Nathan Jurgenson has argued, these so-called Twitter and Facebook revolutions were the product of “augmented revolution,” a concept related to his work on augmented reality and the faulty notion of digital dualism, the categorical separation of online and offline, virtual vs. real. Jurgenson’s augmented revolution offers a more nuanced perspective on the causes of these movements, and their reliance on both digital information networks and the embodied occupation of space.

Zeynep Tufecki has also argued for a more balanced approach to understanding the role of communication technologies in revolutionary movements. Using the Aristotelian schema of causation—material, formal, efficient, and final—Tufecki convincingly argues that social media tools, along with many other factors like the existing repressive regimes and immediate social networks of family and friends, are but one element of causation, and that breaking causation down into a typology can provide a more complete understanding of these movements. She writes:

“To say that social-media was a key part of the revolution does not necessarily mean that people used GPS-enabled phones to coordinate demonstrations… What it means is that the people acted in a world where they had more means of expressing themselves to each other and the world…”

This last point is, I believe, key to understanding not only these revolutionary movements, but also other brands of radicalism. There is a strong affective component, as Manuel Castells has argued in Networks of Outrage and Hope. Surveying several case studies from Iceland to the indignadas in Spain and the Arab Spring, Castells proposes four components of these revolution: online networked space, offline urban space, feelings of outrage, and hope for meaningful change. He asserts that, as physical space has become increasingly privatized and surveilled, hybrids of digital and urban spaces come to constitute “spaces of autonomy” in which the two key affects of revolution—outrage at the status quo and hope that change is possible—can be cultivated.

These points can also be used to understand radicalization. Radical is a tricky word, and the distinctions between Islamic terrorists, white terrorists, right wing terrorists, so-called “lone wolfs,” and so forth have been hashed out enough times that I’ll set them aside for now to talk more generally about “radicals.” A radical approach to politics challenges and seeks to fundamentally alter the political system. Radicalization, then, is the process by which one becomes convinced that the complete overturning of a political system is necessary; here I use political system in the broad sense, from gender and sexual norms to state government and economic systems. I’ll note that what constitutes “good” or “bad” radicalism depends on whose side you’re on, though below I discuss what we often think of as “bad” radicalism.

So what exactly pushes someone over the edge, so to speak? As Tufecki and Castells argue, it’s got to start at the affective level. Things have to be bad—real bad—for large numbers of people to be willing to put their bodily safety on the line. But you also have to believe in the possibility that your sacrifice will result in significant change to the current system. The Colorado Springs Planned Parenthood shooter called himself a “warrior for the babies.” He believed that his actions would result in fewer abortions, and was willing not only to kill people to effect this change, but to risk his own life and liberty. While the motivations of ISIS are not always clearly understood in the West, their supporters cite the fulfillment of prophecy and the realization of the apocalypse as their main goal. While it may seem incomprehensible to a Western military mindset, a suicide bomber who only kills a few people, or a single person who stabs someone in broad daylight is, to their mind, accomplishing something worth while—a tiny step in the long road toward the end times, and martyrdom in return for their sacrifice. As for Castells’ space of autonomy, ISIS relies on both communication technologies to spread its message and the military occupation of territory, not to mention the physical space necessary to conduct attacks.

I don’t mean to be flippant, but we can certainly learn a thing or two from this body of work to understand the meteoric rise of Donald Trump. Outrage? Check. Hope? I’d say “Make America Great Again” is a big check. Occupation of physical space? Most definitely: the crowds at his campaign events are pretty big (though he is prone to exaggerating them). And, of course, the harnessing of both offline and online spaces to generate outrage and hope.

To fully understand the Trumpization of large numbers of Americans, go to the cause of their support: their outrage and their hope. What are they outraged about? We don’t win anymore, our borders are weak, there are terrorists who want to attack us, and our foreign and economic policy is broken.

What is less easily articulated by Trump supporters, and by Trump himself, is the very concrete ways in which the economy, especially perceptions of it, generate a great deal of this outrage. One of the most dangerous characteristics of this outrage is that most people feel powerless to actually shape the economy. Part of this is free market ideology itself; markets just do things according to all sorts of laws, and governments tend to get in the way. Because of this feeling of powerlessness, we turn to a single figure that promises to both understand the laws of the economy by being a fantastic, beautiful business man and excellent negotiator, and to be decisive and powerful enough to make sure his ideas are implemented, to be a perfect leader. Economic downturns have historically paved the way for charismatic, fascistic leaders to gain massive support, which is key to the context of Trump’s popularity.

Understanding the motivations of radical movements—what outrages them, what they hope for—is key to undermining their efforts. If Trump supporters are enraged by the economy (and rightfully so) then we have to understand why Trump’s message appeals to them. I’ve argued that it’s Trump’s Tweetability, but I think there’s a few other factors at play. After all, the same conditions that are drumming up support for Trump are also working in favor of Bernie Sanders. The difference is, Sanders’ message does not resonate with Trump supporters, particularly the older demographic who grew up during the Cold War and Red Scare, and for whom the mere mention of socialism is terrifying.

The difference between Trump and Sanders supporters is not so much their outrage, but their hopes, the ways they believe they can make meaningful change through the democratic process. Sanders supporters want the expansion of social services, tougher reforms and breaking up the banking oligarchy. Trump supporters want a straight-talking free-market warrior who can play ball with Putin, make Mexico build a wall, and win. The “causes”; a la Aristotle, Tufecki, and Castells; of both movements are, to a point, quite similar—digital communication technologies, physical spaces to generate and express outrage, Castells’ autonomous spaces. But if you want to really understand the soaring popularity of Trump, it’s hope you need to understand. That’s why his is the message that, as of now, is winning.