Al-Qaida and ISIS adopt AI differently, reflecting divergent war strategies

Artificial intelligence is not inventing new forms of terrorism. What it does is make the old ones faster, cheaper, and easier to execute. That observation anchors a July 2026 report from the Center for Strategic and International Studies, and it raises a question worth sitting with: Do the groups adopting this technology think about it the same way?

The answer, based on an examination of propaganda materials, strategic writings, and documented uses by affiliates of al-Qaida and the Islamic State, is no. Both movements are experimenting with AI for propaganda, recruitment, security and operational planning. Both teach their supporters how to use the tools and how to defend against them. But the way each group thinks about the technology reveals something deeper about how each group thinks about war itself.

The Islamic State has always been the more aggressive media operator. During its control of territory in Syria and Iraq, it built a sophisticated apparatus built for speed, spectacle, and professional production. That instinct has carried forward into the AI era, amplified by younger supporters who grew up digital and are comfortable experimenting with new tools. Since 2023, Islamic State-affiliated networks have been producing a steady stream of AI-generated content. After the March 2024 attack on a Moscow concert hall that killed more than 130 people, supporters circulated a bulletin celebrating the deaths, featuring a fake AI-generated Arabic-speaking news anchor who positioned the attack as part of the group's broader conflict. In June 2025, the Islamic State's Afghanistan affiliate published an issue of its English-language magazine that framed AI literacy as a religious obligation for every Muslim—placing it in the same category as defensive jihad. The piece warned about deepfakes and surveillance while offering practical guidance on self-protection. When other jihadi groups mocked the religious framing, the foundation withdrew that label but kept the practical guidance. The pattern suggests rapid adoption followed by doctrinal adjustment.

Al-Qaida's networks are experimenting too, but with a different rhythm. Pro-al-Qaida outlets were circulating likely AI-generated imagery as early as 2023. In 2024, an al-Qaida-linked group released a guide on using AI-powered chatbots. In July 2025, the United Nations reported that al-Shabaab, al-Qaida's Somali affiliate, had used AI tools to translate its messaging into multiple languages. In May 2026, India's National Investigation Agency filed charges related to a November 2025 car bombing in Delhi that killed 11 people, alleging the cell was connected to al-Qaida in the Indian subcontinent and included an engineer who used YouTube and ChatGPT to research explosives. Some analysts suggest that recent drone adaptations by al-Qaida's West African affiliate may involve open-source AI, though the evidence remains indirect. But within parts of the pro-al-Qaida media ecosystem, a different conversation is happening. Rather than simply asking how to use AI, some outlets are asking whether AI changes the nature of war itself.

The clearest example is a series published by the Anaziat Foundation across six consecutive installments in 2025 under the title "Jurisprudence of War." The foundation translated Western strategic writing on AI, cyberwar, and technological change into Arabic. One text examined AI and the future of war. Others asked whether strategists should take AI philosophy seriously, and whether AI could fundamentally alter how conflicts are fought. The series then critiqued cyberwar and the assumption that technological superiority can overcome the enduring realities of conflict. Read together, these texts stage a debate that repeatedly returns to human agency, consciousness, political purpose, endurance, and will. The series does not conclude that AI is bad. Its significance lies in the questions it chooses to ask and the assumptions it tests.

These different approaches reflect different organizational instincts. Al-Qaida has historically been patient and deliberate, framing its struggle as a long war and vetting its messaging carefully. Its strategy rests on a wager that political will and endurance can overcome technological superiority. The movement survived drones, mass surveillance, and precision strikes by dispersing, absorbing losses, adapting, and waiting. The Anaziat series echoes these assumptions. It turns to Western scholars who ask whether machines can replace human judgment, whether superior weapons can overcome endurance and political purpose. It uses Western military writing to test al-Qaida's long-war strategy and repeatedly returns to the same proposition: Technology may change how wars are fought without deciding who ultimately endures or wins.

The Islamic State, by contrast, built its project around a caliphate to hold and display now. That urgency rewards whoever produces a visible effect today. Al-Qaida built its project around a generational war of attrition. Both movements use AI for many of the same practical purposes. The difference lies in how they understand the technology and the questions they ask beyond immediate use. Islamic State-linked discourse treats AI mainly as a tool to master now. Parts of the pro-al-Qaida ecosystem do too, but also place it within a longer debate about war, endurance, and strategic victory. Those organizational cultures may shape not just which AI tools each movement picks up next, but what it uses them for—and how.