In the Middle East, defining moments are not always measured by the size of an explosion or the number of casualties. Sometimes, they are measured by the reaction that follows. After Benjamin Netanyahu and Defense Minister Israel Katz confirmed the killing of Haddad, one of Hamas’s most prominent military council commanders, what drew attention inside Gaza was not only the assassination itself, but the silence that followed it.
Silence in Gaza speaks louder than slogans
In previous years, funerals of senior Hamas commanders often turned into massive public displays of loyalty and defiance. Streets would fill with crowds, chants, and military symbolism. This time, however, many Gazans noticed something different. The turnout appeared smaller, public enthusiasm seemed weaker, and social media reactions revealed emotions rarely expressed so openly before: exhaustion, indifference, and in some cases, even schadenfreude.
These reactions did not come only from Hamas’s political opponents or from civilians devastated by years of war and economic collapse. Some also appeared to come from individuals previously associated with Hamas’s own social environment. Many revived old conversations about internal rivalries, repression, and the atmosphere of fear that has shaped life in Gaza for years.
In a politically closed and deeply conservative society like Gaza, shifts in public opinion are not always expressed through demonstrations or polls. Sometimes they are reflected in whispers, in silence, or in what people choose not to do. For many Gazans, the relatively weak public response to Haddad’s funeral carried a deeper political and social message.
The growing collapse of factional legitimacy
Questions are now growing inside Gaza about whether Hamas still possesses the same solid popular base that once gave the movement its legitimacy after taking control of the Strip in 2007. After years of war, blockade, displacement, and economic collapse, many Gazans no longer view political factions through the same ideological lens. Priorities have changed. People increasingly want electricity, safety, freedom of movement, jobs, and education more than revolutionary slogans.
At the same time, Hamas recently allowed Fatah to hold its eighth conference inside Gaza under the protection of Hamas-controlled police forces, while statements attributed to Yasser Abbas, son of Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas, accused Hamas of carrying out a “military coup” against the Palestinian Authority. For many Gazans, this contradiction raised difficult questions. How can Fatah continue to describe Hamas as its political and military rival while simultaneously coordinating with it on the ground in Gaza?
For residents who lived through the violent 2007 Hamas-Fatah split, such scenes reinforce the growing belief that Palestinian division has evolved into a closed political system in which both sides reproduce their own power structures while ordinary civilians remain excluded from meaningful political representation.
On social media, many Gazans criticized Fatah’s eighth conference as yet another recycling of aging leadership figures incapable of offering a realistic vision for Gaza’s future or involving younger generations in political decision-making. Yet frustration is no longer directed at Fatah alone. Hamas itself is facing what may be the deepest crisis of public trust since it seized control of Gaza nearly two decades ago.
Old internal Hamas rivalries resurface
Following Haddad’s death, discussions resurfaced around the case of Mohammed Shtaywi, a senior commander in Hamas’s military wing who was killed in 2016 under highly controversial circumstances. Hamas claimed at the time that he had been executed over security and moral accusations, but his family rejected the official narrative and publicly accused influential figures within Hamas, including Yahya Sinwar and other military leaders, of orchestrating his killing as part of an internal power struggle.
After Haddad’s assassination, activists from Gaza revisited Shtaywi’s story as a symbol of long-standing internal divisions within Hamas. Some online reactions from individuals perceived as close to Hamas expressed indirect satisfaction over Haddad’s death, viewing him as part of a harsh internal era marked by repression, internal purges, and hidden rivalries.
The anger was not limited to Hamas’s political enemies or civilians affected by war. It also appeared among families and individuals who believe that years of internal conflict within Hamas itself left deep wounds inside Gazan society. For some, Haddad’s death revived memories of former Hamas members and insiders who disappeared, were imprisoned, or were eliminated during years of factional tension and internal disputes.
Such transformations are not unique in the history of armed movements or authoritarian systems. In Syria, for example, during the rule of Bashar al-Assad, moments of quiet public relief occasionally emerged after the fall or death of figures once considered untouchable pillars of the regime. Similar patterns have appeared in other ideological or militant systems throughout the Middle East, where internal fractures often surface first within the ruling movement’s own support base before becoming visible politically.
Comparable dynamics could also be seen historically among factions linked to the Iranian Revolution after 1979, as well as among armed political groups in Lebanon and Iraq, where prolonged control, internal rivalries, and authoritarian structures gradually eroded trust even among traditional loyalists.
Gazans searching for life beyond ideology
Today in Gaza, that erosion has become increasingly visible. Many residents no longer feel genuinely represented by any political faction. Even those who still retain some organizational loyalty have become more willing to criticize their own leaders openly or indirectly, especially after the most recent war and the unprecedented scale of destruction, displacement, and civilian suffering.
On a personal level, I still remember meeting Haddad in the streets of Jabalia after the “We Want to Live” protests. He told me then: “You want to overthrow a movement blessed by God?” I replied: “If the results of your rule were truly a blessing, people would already be thanking God for them.” The exchange ended calmly, with a tense smile rather than confrontation, but it remained for me a reflection of the widening gap between the rhetoric of power and the daily suffering of ordinary Gazans.
In Gaza today, people no longer fear only war or Israel. Increasingly, they fear the continuation of the same political reality without change. For years, many Gazans believed Israel preferred Hamas to remain in power as part of a strategy of managing the conflict. The assassination of senior Hamas military figures has complicated that perception. Yet for ordinary people, the central question is no longer who kills whom, but who can rebuild a normal life amid endless destruction.
Gazans today are not searching for another ideological victory. They are searching for an end to permanent collapse. They want civilian leadership capable of rebuilding society rather than merely managing conflict. They want schools without fear, jobs without dependency, and families able to live without constant displacement.
For that reason, the funeral of Haddad may ultimately represent more than the death of a military commander. It may reflect a deeper social and political turning point inside Gaza itself, one suggesting that fear is slowly weakening, that traditional factional loyalty is eroding, and that many Gazans, despite everything, are beginning to search for a different future, even if its shape remains uncertain.