What if the most effective front in the current conflict isn’t a battlefield at all, but the space between our ears? Hamas has always invested in rockets and tunnels. But its more durable investment is psychological – shaping perceptions, seeding narratives, and nudging otherwise well-meaning publics to amplify messages that serve its core goal: survive, regroup, and remain in power.
You don’t have to endorse Hamas to advance that goal. In fact, that’s the point. Across the United States and Israel, large protests and moral arguments have centered on stopping the war and securing the return of hostages – urgent, humane aims.
Hamas understands this perfectly. Each time a video of a hostage blames their captors’ enemy, each time a spokesperson ties release to an immediate halt in fighting, the group aligns its leverage with the most resonant, emotive message in democratic societies: end the bloodshed now. That overlap of aims (different motives, similar message) is the sweet spot of modern psychological warfare.
This is neither a call to muzzle dissent nor a brief for any political leader. Democracies thrive when citizens speak freely, and universities should model due process and principled debate. Yet free expression is not free of consequence.
Movements can be exploited, slogans can be reframed, and genuine compassion can be repurposed into someone else’s strategic communications. That is precisely the terrain which Hamas tries to shape: not our laws, but our language; not our votes, but our vibe.
What is perpetual victory for the Israel-Hamas War?
Consider the campus arena, where identity, solidarity, and moral theater collide. Young people are primed to rally around universal rights and liberation narratives. Hamas, and the states that underwrite and launder its messaging, know this. Their playbook is to attach the group’s demands to broadly appealing principles – ceasefire, dignity, academic freedom – so that every podium and placard becomes a force multiplier for a cause most demonstrators would never consciously embrace.
The result is a perceptual victory: viewers at home encounter the same demand (“end the war now”) from both a violent faction and their own neighbors. The shared chorus makes the faction sound normal and critics sound extreme.
THE SAME dynamic plays out in Israel. Families of hostages and civil society groups press – rightly and relentlessly – for the safe return of loved ones. Hamas wraps itself in that plea and markets a straightforward bargain: end the war, get them back. That’s not a humanitarian gesture; it’s a leverage operation. By synchronizing its talking points with the most empathetic voices in Israeli society, Hamas raises the political price of any alternative strategy and pressures policymakers without firing a shot.
There’s also a broader ecosystem at work. For decades, ideologues and funders have sought to cultivate sympathetic audiences in the West, especially in progressive spaces. The method is neither mysterious nor new: map the coalition (students, faith leaders, minority communities, liberal activists), emphasize shared values (anti-racism, anti-colonialism, human rights), and insert the Palestinian cause as a test of moral seriousness.
Over time, the category “pro-Palestinian” becomes elastic enough to smuggle in rationalizations for terror or the erasure of Jewish sovereignty – positions many adherents never intended to adopt. The information environment then does the rest, rewarding moral certainty and punishing nuance.
SO, WHAT’S the responsible path for people who care about human rights, rule of law, and the lives of civilians on all sides?
First, be precise with language. “End the war” is not a plan; it is an aspiration. Demand conditions, not vibes. If a ceasefire leaves a terror army in place, say so. If a hostage deal rewards kidnapping as a tactic, say that, too. Advocacy that cannot look those facts in the eye is not solidarity – it’s sentimentality.
Second, defend civil liberties and due process without laundering violent agendas. It’s possible to oppose deportations or collective punishment on campus while also refusing to normalize chants and symbols that openly envision the elimination of a Jewish state. The line is not hard to draw: if a message denies Jewish history or rights, excuses atrocities, or makes Jewish presence contingent on surrender, it isn’t “pro-liberation” – it’s propaganda.
Third, measure rhetoric against outcomes. If a movement’s pressure campaign predictably aligns with the interests of a violent actor – easing that actor’s path to survival, legitimacy, or time – then the movement owes the public an explanation of why its tactics won’t produce that result. “We didn’t mean to” is not a strategy.
Finally, remember that persuasion beats performative certainty. Many people – especially the young – arrive at this issue underinformed and overexposed to social pressure. When presented with facts, a meaningful share changes its mind. That’s a call to argue better, not shout louder. The goal is not to “own” opponents, but to shrink the space in which a nihilistic faction can borrow our voices.
The paradox of open societies is that our greatest strength – freedom – can be used against us. Meeting that challenge doesn’t require censorship or tribal loyalty. It requires clarity of purpose, moral specificity, and the discipline to refuse roles in anyone’s theater of war, no matter how righteous the script sounds.
The writer, who holds a PhD, is a clinical psychologist and a fellow at the Jerusalem Center for Security and Foreign Affairs. He specializes in political psychology.