Diplomacy Before Defeat: Competing Blueprints for Gaza's Future Amid Israel’s War Against Hamas
by Irina Tsukerman
Competing Visions in the Shadow of War
As Israel grinds forward with its campaign to dismantle Hamas’s military infrastructure in Gaza, the war has increasingly spilled beyond the battlefield and into the corridors of diplomacy. The military operation, while steadily weakening Hamas's capacity to govern and fight, has yet to deliver a decisive knockout blow. Yet even before the dust has settled or a ceasefire secured, international actors are already vying to shape the political and strategic contours of a post-Hamas Gaza. In this unstable and highly fluid moment, a new diplomatic geometry is emerging—defined by both cooperation and competition.
At the center of this evolving landscape is a striking convergence between France and Saudi Arabia, two states long shaped by divergent interests in the Middle East but now suddenly aligned in pushing for the recognition of Palestinian statehood. Their rapprochement, rooted in mutual dissatisfaction with the status quo and a desire to reclaim regional relevance, has upended expectations about the traditional balance of power and Western consensus in the Israeli-Palestinian arena. Meanwhile, Israel, emboldened militarily but diplomatically cornered, has responded sharply—most notably by rebuffing a planned Saudi diplomatic visit to the West Bank, fearing the legitimization of Palestinian nationalism during an ongoing military campaign.
This diplomatic fissure reflects more than mere miscalculation; it signals a broader dissonance between Israel and key Arab actors, even those once expected to be normalization partners. Saudi Arabia’s foreign policy establishment is now acting with strategic caution, balancing its long-term normalization interests with Israel against the imperatives of regional legitimacy and domestic optics. For its part, Israel is struggling to manage the paradox of tactical battlefield success amid growing political isolation and heightened international pressure.
Complicating the picture further is the re-emergence of a subtle but potent rivalry between Saudi Arabia and Qatar, this time over who gets to manage Gaza’s political future. Unlike the sharp ideological rift of the 2017 Gulf crisis, today’s competition is less about political Islam and more about influence, access, and control over the post-war order. The region’s power centers are realigning, and Gaza has become the epicenter of these new contests.
Meanwhile, Israel is quietly making progress in circumventing Hamas’s ability to siphon off humanitarian aid, implementing new mechanisms—often with foreign oversight—to ensure that assistance reaches civilians rather than fighters. And yet, despite pressure from every direction, Hamas continues to reject ceasefire proposals that do not include complete Israeli withdrawal and political concessions, undermining international mediation efforts and further hardening Israeli resolve.
This paper explores the complex web of competing interests, shifting alliances, and emerging rivalries shaping the future of Gaza and the broader region. From Israel’s diplomatic skirmishes and operational maneuvers, to the Franco-Saudi partnership and Gulf power plays, the post-Hamas horizon is being contested now—even before the war has ended. What emerges is not a peace process in motion, but a high-stakes struggle to write the rules for what comes next.
Israel Expands Operations in Gaza As Hamas Reject Witkoff Proposal - What’s Next?
Are we closer to seeing the end of Hamas? The protests against Hamas inside Gaza are intensifying as Israel and the US jointly found a way to circumvent the terrorist organization’s efforts to confiscate humanitarian aid. The latest developments in Gaza signal more than just a tactical escalation; they suggest a deeper strategic shift in the war’s trajectory—one that may finally isolate Hamas not just militarily, but politically and socially, from the very population it claims to defend. With Israel expanding its ground operations and Hamas rejecting the Witkoff proposal—a U.S.-backed plan designed to stabilize aid distribution while opening space for non-Hamas governance models—the militant group is no longer just fighting Israeli armor. It is fighting time, isolation, and, increasingly, its own people.
Let’s start with what’s actually working. For the first time since the outbreak of the war, Israel and the United States have coordinated a mechanism to deliver humanitarian aid in a way that circumvents Hamas’s long-standing racket of diversion, intimidation, and aid theft. Using vetted intermediaries and U.S.-secured corridors, aid is now moving through a parallel track—one that empowers local Gazan stakeholders outside the terror group’s orbit, even as combat intensifies in remaining Hamas strongholds.
This development matters for two reasons. First, it strips Hamas of one of its most cynical tools of control: the monopolization of scarcity. Humanitarian aid—when filtered through Hamas—has always been both a weapon and a bribe, used to reward loyalty, punish dissent, and insulate the leadership from accountability. By cutting Hamas out of the aid equation, Israel and the U.S. are not just delivering food—they're delivering an alternative to dependency on a corrupt regime.
Second, the rejection of the Witkoff proposal by Hamas was not just expected—it was strategic, and fatally short-sighted. The proposal would have allowed for a ceasefire contingent on the release of hostages and the gradual introduction of non-Hamas administrative frameworks into the Strip. For Hamas, that’s a non-starter, because the very idea of devolution of power—especially to Gazans unaffiliated with their ideology—threatens their whole claim to legitimacy. Better to burn the house down than let a rival paint the walls.
But the cost of that rejection is mounting. Anti-Hamas protests in Gaza—once unthinkable in an atmosphere of fear—are now cropping up more frequently, fueled by frustration, hunger, and the visible contrast between aid that reaches people directly versus aid seized and resold at inflated prices by Hamas loyalists. The combination of military pressure and humanitarian circumvention has created something the terror group has avoided for years: an internal credibility crisis.
So, are we closer to the end of Hamas? Militarily, the answer is: not yet. Hamas’s leadership remains partially intact, its tunnels continue to provide a degree of operational resilience, and regional allies—Iran in particular—remain committed to funding and arming the group. But politically and socially, Hamas is bleeding relevance. It is no longer the default authority; it is becoming the problem that Gazans want to solve.
The key challenge for Israel and the U.S. going forward is not merely to dismantle Hamas’s military infrastructure, but to offer and reinforce a functional political alternative that is neither an imposed puppet regime nor a vacuum waiting to be filled by a new radical offshoot. The Witkoff framework may not have been accepted, but its underlying architecture—localized governance, de-radicalization incentives, and humanitarian autonomy—could still serve as the blueprint for a post-Hamas Gaza.
In this chess match, Hamas just rejected a draw that would have allowed it to live on in weakened form. It is now gambling everything on a checkmate that seems increasingly out of reach. And if Gaza’s own civilians continue to pull back the curtain, Hamas may soon discover that the real threat isn’t Israel’s tanks—it’s irrelevance.
Qatar’s Double Game: Broker by Day, Enabler by Night
Qatar’s role in the Gaza conflict is the region’s worst-kept secret—an open contradiction wrapped in diplomatic immunity. While Doha continues to receive praise in Western capitals as a “trusted mediator” in ceasefire talks and hostage negotiations, its Arabic-language messaging and media apparatus paint a dramatically different picture—one that actively encourages Hamas to prolong the fight, undermining the very diplomacy Qatar claims to be advancing.
Let’s strip away the polite fictions. Qatar is not merely a venue for negotiations—it is a strategic patron of Hamas, with long-standing financial, political, and ideological investments in the group’s survival. Its billions in aid to Gaza, ostensibly for civilian use, have flowed through mechanisms that Hamas has routinely exploited to pay salaries, fund tunnel construction, and maintain control of the Strip. And while some of that aid was coordinated with Israeli approval in earlier years, the underlying political calculus has always been clear: Qatar’s support was designed not to build Gaza, but to buy influence with Hamas, and by extension, with Iran’s broader resistance axis.
More insidious, however, is the narrative game Qatar plays through Al Jazeera Arabic and other regional media outlets under its influence. In English, the Qatari state projects the image of a responsible actor: humanitarian, neutral, stability-focused. But in Arabic, Qatari media platforms glorify Hamas’s resistance, lionize its military commanders, and frame Israeli operations as indiscriminate aggression—deliberately omitting Hamas’s use of civilian infrastructure, its rejection of negotiated settlements, or its role in diverting aid for warfare. The result is a public messaging split screen: moderation for the West, militancy for the Arab street.
During the latest round of negotiations, Qatar’s messaging became even more cynical. Even as it touted progress in diplomatic backchannels—featuring American and Egyptian officials leaning on Israel to accept ceasefire terms—it allowed its media and political figures to amplify statements from Hamas rejecting those same terms. This isn’t just hypocrisy. It’s strategic ambiguity designed to give Hamas ideological cover to walk away from peace talks without paying a political price.
Despite all this, Qatar continues to operate without consequence, enjoying protection from the very powers who most need to confront its duplicity. U.S. officials still refer to Qatar as “essential” to the hostage negotiation process. European diplomats cling to the hope that Doha will “deliver” Hamas to the table. Yet the same Doha is broadcasting narratives that harden Hamas’s resolve and encouraging its leadership to hold out rather than compromise.
This dual role—broker by day, enabler by night—has real costs. It extends the war, increases civilian casualties, and poisons the possibility of post-Hamas governance by reinforcing the myth that violent resistance remains the only viable path. It also places other actors, like Egypt and Jordan, in the awkward position of watching Qatar collect diplomatic credibility while they bear the real security risks of spillover violence and refugee instability.
The time has come to stop pretending that Qatar’s mediation comes without strings. If Doha wants to keep its seat at the negotiating table, it must be held to the same standard as everyone else: stop funding terror-adjacent networks, stop enabling rejectionist rhetoric, and stop using the language of peace to launder the politics of perpetual war. Until then, Qatar isn’t resolving the Gaza crisis—it’s prolonging it. And the price of that duplicity is being paid in blood, not headlines.
Scenario One: A Ceasefire and Hostage Deal Are Reached – Relief, Recalibration, and Political Chess
If the current negotiations—facilitated by Egypt, Qatar, and the United States—finally produce a deal, the mood would shift dramatically, even if briefly. The hostage crisis, long a source of unbearable tension in Israel, would see a partial resolution. A select group of hostages—those deemed low-value by Hamas’s internal calculus, such as women, the elderly, and the severely ill—would be released over several phases. In return, Israel would agree to pause its military campaign for a period of several weeks. Israeli forces would reposition from Rafah and central Gaza, maintaining surveillance and limited operations but halting full-scale offensives.
The international community, particularly the Biden administration, would herald the deal as a breakthrough. President Biden would likely frame it as a diplomatic victory, designed to both recover Israeli lives and allow humanitarian relief to pour into Gaza. Aid convoys, previously bottlenecked or confiscated by Hamas, would be escorted through newly secured corridors, likely supervised by U.S.-backed or Egyptian-monitored mechanisms that minimize Hamas’s ability to siphon off resources. These would be designed, not only to save lives, but to politically undercut Hamas by demonstrating that humanitarian delivery is possible without them.
This new structure would empower local, non-Hamas actors within Gaza—tribal leaders, civil society organizers, and technocrats long sidelined or silenced by Hamas rule. While these figures would not be an overnight alternative government, they would become proof of concept for a post-Hamas civilian infrastructure—if Israel and its partners could sustain them.
Hamas, for its part, would use the ceasefire for strategic recalibration. Fighters would rest and rotate, tunnels would be repaired, surveillance would be reestablished, and arms would be repositioned. The organization would frame the hostage release as a sign of strength—evidence that it extracted concessions from Israel and compelled the international community to rein in the IDF’s advance. Even if weakened militarily, it would still market itself as a political survivor.
Inside Israel, the deal would provoke a fierce political storm. While many families of the hostages would express relief and call for diplomacy to continue, Netanyahu’s coalition would immediately begin to wobble. Right-wing and ultra-nationalist elements would label the deal a capitulation, accusing the government of empowering Hamas by pausing the campaign just as Rafah was within reach. Pressure would mount to resume the offensive as soon as the ceasefire ends, or risk letting Hamas re-emerge stronger.
Internationally, the ceasefire would create space for renewed calls for a long-term solution. European and Arab leaders would step up efforts to reintroduce the “two-state solution” into the discourse, while the U.S. would quietly test the waters for a multilateral governance framework for post-war Gaza. However, the core dilemmas would remain unsolved: who governs Gaza the day after Hamas, and what political entity—if any—can prevent its return?
In the end, the ceasefire would offer humanitarian relief and a temporary reset. But it would also carry significant risk: Hamas would survive, perhaps more entrenched politically, if not militarily. The war might pause, but the long-term confrontation would only shift into a new phase—one fought with narratives, reconstruction bids, and competing visions of legitimacy.
Scenario Two: Negotiations Collapse – Escalation, Isolation, and Strategic Endgame
If the hostage talks collapse, the war would re-enter its most volatile and destructive phase. Hamas, cornered and defiant, may reject a deal outright or introduce demands so maximalist—such as a full withdrawal, indefinite ceasefire, or the release of high-value prisoners—that Israel deems them unserious. For Israel, that would be the final confirmation that Hamas cannot be negotiated with and must be eradicated by force.
The result would be a rapid and aggressive escalation. The long-delayed Rafah operation would be launched in full, targeting the last major Hamas battalions believed to be sheltering in densely populated civilian areas. Despite IDF efforts to evacuate non-combatants through “humanitarian corridors,” the operation would face fierce international backlash. Hamas would likely obstruct civilian movement, both to use civilians as human shields and to preserve a base of public support.
On the battlefield, the pace and intensity of Israeli operations would increase dramatically. Airstrikes, ground incursions, and targeted assassinations of mid-level commanders would accelerate. Hamas’s communications infrastructure, weapons stockpiles, and tunnel networks would face unprecedented levels of destruction. Israel would apply the lessons of earlier phases of the war, using more advanced surveillance to preempt ambushes and minimize IDF casualties.
The fate of the remaining hostages would become increasingly grim. Without the protection of negotiations, they would be moved frequently, hidden deep underground, or tragically, used in last-ditch propaganda efforts to deter Israeli operations. Some may perish in airstrikes or be executed if Hamas feels it has nothing to lose. Hostage families in Israel would despair, but public support for continued military pressure would likely harden, especially if any bodies are discovered or videos released.
Internationally, Israel’s diplomatic position would worsen. Images of destruction in Rafah would galvanize protests in Western capitals, push liberal constituencies to call for arms embargoes, and further inflame anti-Israel sentiment in the Arab world. The Biden administration would find itself cornered—unable to abandon its ally, but increasingly alienated from its own progressive base. Europe, already wavering, might begin discussing legal action or conditional aid restrictions. Arab states would express outrage but still show no willingness to absorb Gaza, take in refugees, or govern the Strip.
Meanwhile, inside Gaza, civilian discontent with Hamas would intensify, particularly in areas where essential infrastructure has been decimated. But with no civil society left intact, no international blueprint for a transitional authority, and no security guarantees, there would be no clear vehicle for that anger to coalesce into organized political change. Hamas would suppress dissent, and without outside intervention, chaos or criminality could begin to fill the void.
Despite this, Israel would likely make measurable progress toward its goal of neutralizing Hamas as a coherent military force. The cost, however, would be enormous: strategic isolation, a potentially unrecoverable PR disaster, and the deepening of the diplomatic chasm between itself and parts of the West. But having paid the price in blood and political capital, Israel would press on—seeking a kind of military endgame that may still not answer the most important question: who takes over next?
Without a deal, the war becomes an open-ended campaign of attrition. Hostage recovery becomes unlikely. Hamas’s fall becomes probable—but without a plan, Gaza’s descent into either a failed entity or a vacuum ripe for Iran-aligned replacements becomes almost inevitable.
In both scenarios, the common thread remains: Hamas cannot be surgically removed without a strategy for the morning after. Whether through a deal or through devastation, the decisive variable isn’t just how the war ends—it’s what fills the silence that follows. Until that question is answered, peace will remain an illusion, and every victory will be provisional.
As Israel presses forward in its military campaign—undeterred by collapsing negotiations and increasingly isolated diplomatically—the fog of war has begun to lift just enough for outside actors to reposition themselves. With Hamas weakened but not yet defeated, and no clear plan for post-war governance, a new front has opened—not on the battlefield, but in the diplomatic theater. And here, France and Saudi Arabia are moving swiftly to redraw the political map before the last missile falls.
Diplomacy Before Defeat: Why France and Saudi Arabia Are Pushing Recognition Before Hamas Falls
As Israel presses forward in its military campaign—undeterred by collapsing negotiations and increasingly isolated diplomatically—the fog of war has begun to lift just enough for outside actors to reposition themselves. With Hamas weakened but not yet decisively defeated, and no clear plan for post-war governance in place, a new front has opened—not on the battlefield, but in the realm of international diplomacy. And here, France and Saudi Arabia have emerged with a bold, seemingly paradoxical move: they are pushing for the unilateral recognition of a Palestinian state, even as Hamas still controls territory and the political vacuum in Gaza remains dangerously unresolved.
At first glance, the timing appears counterintuitive. How can statehood be recognized when the primary actor in Gaza is still a designated terrorist organization, when the Palestinian political landscape is fractured between Hamas and a weakened Palestinian Authority, and when there is no diplomatic roadmap on the table for a two-state solution, much less a unified Palestinian leadership? Yet to understand this push, one must stop thinking in terms of sequencing and start thinking in terms of leverage.
France and Saudi Arabia are not rewarding Hamas; they are trying to preemptively influence the shape of the post-Hamas political settlement. They see the window rapidly closing. Once Israel finishes its campaign—or even partially cripples Hamas—there will be a scramble to determine who gets to define what a “post-war Gaza” looks like. Riyadh and Paris want to lock in their diplomatic narrative now, before the U.S., Israel, or Iran impose a new reality unilaterally. Recognition, from their perspective, is not an endgame. It’s a starting pistol in the race for postwar political relevance.
For France, the move is rooted in a mixture of ideological aspiration and political pragmatism. President Emmanuel Macron is under pressure from domestic constituencies, particularly French Muslims and progressive elements, who view the Gaza campaign through a humanitarian lens and are increasingly critical of Western complicity in what they perceive as unchecked Israeli aggression. Recognition of a Palestinian state allows Macron to appear proactive, to reclaim France’s historic role as a “moral compass” in the Middle East, and to reassert European diplomacy in a landscape increasingly dominated by U.S.-Israeli dynamics. It also conveniently allows France to deflect from its own lack of strategic involvement on the ground.
Yet Paris’s gambit isn’t just symbolic. By supporting Palestinian statehood at this moment, Macron is also signaling disillusionment with the Trump administration’s more hardline and unpredictable stance, as well as frustration with Israel’s uncompromising approach. It’s a diplomatic warning shot: either get serious about a political resolution or watch Europe act unilaterally to set the terms.
Saudi Arabia’s motivations are more layered, and far more strategic. The Saudi foreign policy establishment views the recognition push as part of a long-term effort to recast the Kingdom as a regional architect of stability and reform, rather than a reactive actor trapped in the cycles of the past. Riyadh has no love for Hamas—in fact, it regards the group as a disruptive, Qatari- and Iranian-backed problem. But the images coming out of Gaza, the civilian toll, and the mounting fury across the Arab street have forced Saudi policymakers into a precarious balancing act.
By publicly pushing for statehood now, Saudi Arabia’s diplomatic corps seeks to insulate the Kingdom from accusations of betrayal by Arab and Muslim populations who see normalization with Israel as a sellout. This diplomatic maneuver allows Riyadh to preserve its broader strategy—continued quiet cooperation with Israel, deconfliction with Iran, and economic modernization—without burning its domestic and regional legitimacy. Recognition serves as a political release valve while preserving Saudi Arabia’s long-term ambitions.
Still, Israel’s reaction has been swift and sharp. In a striking diplomatic rebuke, the Netanyahu government barred the Saudi Foreign Minister from visiting the West Bank—a visit that was meant to symbolize Saudi solidarity with the Palestinian cause and quietly lay the groundwork for future influence in Ramallah. For Israel, the optics of such a high-profile Arab official meeting with Palestinian leaders on contested ground, in the middle of an active military campaign, were simply unacceptable. From Netanyahu’s perspective, such a visit would amount to de facto recognition of Palestinian sovereignty, delivered at the worst possible moment: just as Israel is seeking to dismantle Hamas, not empower Palestinian nationalism.
More importantly, Israel views the current push for recognition as both premature and dangerously disconnected from the facts on the ground. As long as Hamas remains an entrenched actor in Gaza and the Palestinian Authority remains structurally weak and unpopular in the West Bank, recognition, in Israel’s eyes, is tantamount to legitimizing a political vacuum—or worse, endorsing a reality in which terror and fragmentation are rewarded with statehood.
From the Israeli point of view, any credible path to Palestinian statehood must be preceded by strict preconditions: complete demilitarization of Gaza, eradication of terrorist infrastructure, and the emergence of a legitimate, reform-oriented Palestinian governing authority. Anything short of that, Israeli officials argue, would institutionalize instability, create false equivalences between a democracy under attack and an armed militia, and undermine Israel’s security doctrine.
Meanwhile, France and Saudi Arabia are playing their own version of diplomatic chess. What they’re attempting is nothing short of preemptive cartography—drawing the outlines of a Palestinian state before the final battle is over. It’s a bid to claim the moral and political high ground while others are still fighting on the ground. But recognition in this context is not the culmination of a peace process—it’s a placeholder, a symbolic act meant to assert relevance in the absence of an actual deal.
The risk, of course, is that such premature moves might empower the wrong actors. If recognition is perceived by Hamas as a vindication of its resistance strategy—or worse, as proof that violence is the only path to diplomatic gains—it could embolden rejectionist forces and delay the emergence of a viable moderate leadership. Conversely, if the Palestinian Authority receives symbolic statehood status without the power to govern or defend it, the result could be an illusion of sovereignty masking a deeper fragmentation.
In this fragile moment, France and Saudi Arabia are not wrong to demand a long-term political horizon. But timing and sequencing still matter. By jumping ahead of the strategic curve—before Hamas is dismantled, before new Palestinian leadership emerges, before a genuine political framework is in place—they risk hardening divisions, antagonizing Israel, and foreclosing the possibility of a realistic, negotiated settlement down the line.
Israel, for its part, refuses to play along with a process it does not control and does not trust. And until someone reconciles the need for security with the dream of statehood, diplomatic gestures will continue to clash with military realities, and recognition will remain a declaration in search of a foundation.
Strategic Diplomacy or Missed Opportunity? Israel and the Saudi Visit to the West Bank
The abrupt decision by the Israeli government to bar the Saudi Foreign Minister from visiting the West Bank was a clear signal of Israel’s determination to control the diplomatic narrative amid an ongoing military campaign against Hamas. However, this approach, while defensible from a hard security perspective, also carried significant diplomatic risks, particularly in its potential to alienate a key regional player—the Saudi foreign policy establishment—that has quietly sought to recalibrate relations in the Middle East with a view toward greater regional stability and economic modernization. The question naturally arises: Could Israel have managed this delicate situation with greater nuance, achieving its political and security goals without exacerbating tensions with Riyadh or fueling accusations of extremism?
To answer this, one must first appreciate the constraints Israel faced. From the Israeli security establishment’s vantage point, permitting a high-profile Saudi visit during active hostilities risked sending a message of premature political endorsement to a Palestinian population still divided and partially under Hamas control. The optics of a Saudi official meeting Palestinian leaders on contested ground could have been exploited by Hamas and other militant factions as validation of their resistance, complicating efforts to isolate and dismantle the group militarily. Israel’s government also needed to maintain credibility with domestic constituencies and international partners who view any political concessions during wartime as potentially undermining Israeli security.
Yet, while Israel’s security rationale is understandable, the bluntness of the rejection arguably missed an opportunity for more sophisticated diplomacy—one that could have balanced caution with engagement. Instead of outright blocking the visit, Israeli authorities might have considered calibrated alternatives designed to avoid legitimizing Hamas while maintaining channels of communication with Saudi Arabia’s foreign policy apparatus.
One plausible approach could have involved conditioning the visit on specific parameters: limiting meetings to Palestinian Authority officials rather than Hamas representatives, restricting the timing to avoid clashes with sensitive military operations, and ensuring transparent coordination with Israeli security services to mitigate risks. Such a framework would have allowed Israel to demonstrate respect for Saudi Arabia’s diplomatic overtures toward Palestinian governance without endorsing Hamas or undermining its security priorities.
Moreover, Israel could have leveraged the visit as a platform to signal willingness to explore indirect engagement with Riyadh—especially given Saudi Arabia’s increasing importance as a regional power broker with influence over other Gulf states and moderate Arab publics. Facilitating controlled diplomatic exchanges, even if symbolic, might have helped Israel counterbalance Iranian influence in the region and strengthen the fragile coalition seeking stability, economic cooperation, and political reform.
From a political optics standpoint, a more measured response could also have mitigated accusations that Israel was acting in an extremist or intransigent fashion. The outright barring of the Saudi minister, while defensible from a security perspective, played into narratives of Israeli obstinacy and alienated a key Arab interlocutor whose endorsement or at least tacit approval would be invaluable for any future peace or normalization efforts.
That said, the question of timing remained crucial. Even a carefully managed visit risked being interpreted as premature recognition of Palestinian statehood or sovereignty claims, something Israel’s leadership was unwilling to countenance amidst ongoing military operations. It is also likely that Israel’s decision reflected internal political dynamics, with Prime Minister Netanyahu and his coalition wary of any gestures that might be seen as conceding ground politically while the conflict was unresolved.
Ultimately, the Israeli response reflected a zero-sum calculation: maintaining tight control over the diplomatic environment was prioritized over incremental engagement. Yet, as Middle East diplomacy grows more complex and Saudi Arabia emerges as a reluctant but pivotal actor seeking to navigate between modernization ambitions and regional legitimacy, Israel’s challenge will be to develop a more agile, multifaceted diplomatic strategy.
Balancing security imperatives with diplomatic openness will require Israel to refine its approach to Arab interlocutors like Saudi Arabia’s foreign policy establishment—finding ways to manage political symbolism without sacrificing hard security goals. Had Israel engaged more flexibly in the case of the attempted Saudi visit—crafting a compromise that respected both parties’ red lines—it might have avoided alienating Riyadh while preserving its own security calculus.
In this sense, Israel’s outright rejection was a missed diplomatic opportunity. It underscored the enduring tension between Israel’s existential security concerns and the broader geopolitical imperatives of regional integration and peacebuilding. Moving forward, Israel will need to strike a more delicate balance—one that protects its core political and security interests while avoiding unnecessary antagonism toward emerging regional partners who can either help contain threats or deepen isolation.
What’s Next for Israel and the Saudis After the Latest Diplomatic Skirmish?
The diplomatic standoff over the blocked Saudi Foreign Minister’s attempted visit to the West Bank marks more than a momentary rupture; it symbolizes the complex and often fragile nature of the evolving Israel–Saudi relationship. Both countries find themselves navigating a geopolitical landscape marked by shifting alliances, domestic pressures, and competing visions for the region’s future. The question now is how this latest skirmish will shape their next moves and the broader trajectory of their interaction.
To fully understand the current dynamics, it is essential to place the incident in its historical context. For decades, Israel and Saudi Arabia were entrenched adversaries, with Riyadh firmly supporting Palestinian claims and refusing any official contact with Israel. The two countries’ relations were largely defined by mutual hostility, underpinned by Saudi Arabia’s leadership role in the Arab and Muslim worlds and its vocal opposition to Israeli policies. However, the regional upheavals of the past decade—most notably the rise of Iran as a regional hegemon, the Syrian civil war, and shifting U.S. policies—began to redraw this landscape. Quiet security cooperation, intelligence sharing, and informal dialogues gradually emerged, fueled by a shared interest in countering Iranian influence.
The Abraham Accords of 2020, though not including Saudi Arabia, set a precedent that increased momentum toward broader normalization between Israel and several Arab states. Riyadh, while not formally joining these accords, signaled a willingness to engage indirectly, balancing its strategic calculations with the sensitivities of its population and leadership. This backdrop frames the current tension: the blocked visit reflects both the possibilities and limits of this cautious rapprochement.
For Israel, the incident underscores the precarious balancing act between maintaining a hardline security stance against Hamas and managing the delicate overtures toward normalization and regional partnership. Jerusalem remains deeply wary of any diplomatic actions that might be construed as undermining its military campaign or inadvertently empowering Palestinian factions deemed hostile to Israeli security. Nevertheless, Israel also recognizes the strategic value of cultivating quiet ties with Riyadh, especially as Saudi Arabia’s influence over Gulf Arab states and its role as a potential mediator with Iran grow increasingly significant.
In the aftermath of the snub, Israel faces the task of repairing and recalibrating its communication channels with the Saudi foreign policy establishment. This will require discreet diplomacy to reassure Riyadh that its broader regional ambitions—including economic modernization, countering Iranian influence, and gradual normalization with Israel—are not threatened by tactical disagreements over Palestinian issues. Israel’s challenge will be to demonstrate flexibility without compromising its core security principles, signaling openness to dialogue while maintaining firm red lines.
From the Saudi perspective, the blocked visit was a diplomatic setback but not a derailment. The Saudi foreign policy establishment is likely to interpret the refusal as a reminder of the limits Israel places on Arab engagement during conflict periods. Riyadh, however, remains committed to its longer-term strategy of cautiously advancing normalization while preserving legitimacy with its domestic and regional constituencies, who remain deeply invested in the Palestinian cause. Pushing for Palestinian state recognition before the definitive defeat of Hamas is part of this effort to maintain credibility and exert influence over the shape of the post-conflict order.
Moving forward, Saudi Arabia will likely continue its dual-track approach—publicly advocating for Palestinian rights and statehood while quietly exploring channels of cooperation with Israel. This approach reflects Riyadh’s broader calculus of balancing reformist ambitions with traditional regional sensitivities. The Kingdom’s foreign policy apparatus may seek to leverage its emerging regional role to act as a mediator or broker, offering a platform for Palestinian political reconstruction that aligns with Saudi interests in stability and counterterrorism.
Despite recent tensions, neither Israel nor Saudi Arabia appears ready to abandon the cautious rapprochement that has been developing behind the scenes for years. Both sides understand that the strategic benefits of cooperation—especially in countering Iran’s regional influence and fostering economic ties—outweigh episodic disagreements. The diplomatic skirmish, while unfortunate, may serve as a catalyst for more carefully managed communication and clearer frameworks to handle sensitive issues in the future.
Looking ahead, the trajectory of Israel-Saudi relations could take several possible paths. One likely scenario involves institutionalizing discreet, regular diplomatic and security contacts that carefully avoid public provocations. Saudi Arabia might continue to publicly advocate Palestinian rights while quietly coordinating with Israel on security and economic matters. Israel could ease some restrictions on symbolic visits or meetings, provided these do not empower Hamas or contradict its security interests.
Alternatively, given the delicate nature of direct engagement, the two countries might increasingly rely on intermediaries such as the United States, the United Arab Emirates, or European actors. These third parties could mediate specific agreements or coordinate on shared regional challenges like Iran, preserving Saudi domestic and regional legitimacy while allowing gradual Israeli-Saudi cooperation to deepen behind the scenes.
However, there remains a risk that a hardened stance on either side could lead to stagnation or deterioration. If Israel continues to block all Saudi diplomatic gestures during conflict periods, or if Saudi Arabia escalates demands for Palestinian recognition prematurely, distrust could deepen, regional polarization might intensify, and any momentum toward formal normalization could stall.
Conversely, the region could experience a catalytic event prompting a breakthrough. This might come in the form of a new U.S. administration pushing renewed peace efforts, a major escalation in conflict with Iran, or significant progress in Palestinian political reconciliation. Under such circumstances, Israel and Saudi Arabia might find themselves compelled to compromise on contentious issues to seize emerging strategic opportunities.
Ultimately, the outcome will hinge on each side’s ability to separate conflict-related disputes from broader strategic priorities. Israel will need to maintain strict security vigilance while remaining receptive to Saudi overtures aimed at gradual normalization. Meanwhile, Saudi Arabia must balance its assertive advocacy for Palestinians with pragmatic engagement with Israel, all while managing the expectations of its domestic audience and regional partners.
The diplomatic dance between Jerusalem and Riyadh remains tentative and cautious, marked by mutual mistrust but driven by overlapping strategic interests. The recent controversy surrounding the blocked West Bank visit serves as a reminder that progress will be incremental and fraught with challenges. Yet, both parties appear committed to continuing dialogue—even if in carefully calibrated and sometimes opaque ways—highlighting the complexity and high stakes of the Middle East’s shifting geopolitical order.
The New Entente: Why France and Saudi Arabia Are Converging on Palestine—and What It Means for the Region
As Israel doubles down on its military campaign in Gaza and the United States struggles to bridge widening international divides, a new axis of diplomatic coordination has begun to emerge in an unexpected place: between France and Saudi Arabia. In recent weeks, both countries have aligned publicly on two major fronts—first, in their shared push for immediate recognition of a Palestinian state, and second, in cautiously coordinated support for a post-Hamas political roadmap in Gaza. While each actor retains distinct motives rooted in their own strategic calculus, the convergence is real, and increasingly consequential. The question is why these two states—so different in culture, geography, and governance—are now moving in such visible tandem, and what this means for the balance of power in the Middle East and beyond.
Historically, the Franco-Saudi relationship has ebbed and flowed, shaped less by ideological alignment than by pragmatic calculations. In the Cold War era, France cultivated close ties with the Arab world as part of its post-colonial strategy to remain relevant in the Mediterranean and maintain influence in North Africa and the Levant. French support for the Palestinian cause, often framed in Gaullist terms of strategic independence from Washington, became a cornerstone of its Middle East diplomacy, contrasting with the U.S.’s more steadfast alignment with Israel. At the same time, Saudi Arabia—then a conservative, oil-rich monarchy wary of Soviet encroachment—sought Western military and economic partnerships but remained cautious about overt political entanglements.
The two countries’ interests overlapped most concretely in the 1970s and 1980s during major arms deals, especially the infamous “Sawari” naval contracts and Riyadh’s purchase of French military hardware, which helped solidify France as a key supplier outside the American defense umbrella. Political coordination, however, remained secondary to economic ties, and diverging stances on Iran, Lebanon, and the Gulf wars limited deeper strategic alignment. While France maintained a vocal pro-Palestinian stance, Saudi diplomacy was largely reactive, focused on defending pan-Arab legitimacy while containing Iranian influence.
What has changed in recent years is not just the regional environment—but the nature of strategic ambition in both capitals. France under President Emmanuel Macron has become increasingly assertive on the world stage, seeking to carve out an independent European posture distinct from both American hegemony and Chinese-Russian revisionism. Macron has positioned France as a “middle power” with moral authority, framing recognition of Palestine and calls for a Gaza political solution as expressions of normative diplomacy grounded in humanitarian law. Meanwhile, Saudi Arabia, under the stewardship of its foreign policy establishment, has embraced a multidirectional foreign policy doctrine—less ideologically rigid, more transactional, and increasingly invested in shaping regional order rather than simply reacting to it.
The Gaza war has created an opening for these latent ambitions to align. For Paris, the humanitarian catastrophe and diplomatic vacuum offer an opportunity to regain lost credibility in the Arab world, and to reassert France’s historical role as a balancing power. For Riyadh, the optics of a muscular European power—especially one not beholden to Washington or Tel Aviv—speaking forcefully in favor of Palestinian rights offers valuable cover to push its own agenda: namely, the marginalization of Hamas, the containment of Iranian influence, and the reassertion of Saudi leadership in Arab diplomacy.
This convergence is not without limits. France is acting from a place of moral positioning and European posturing, while Saudi Arabia is maneuvering from the shadows of regional realism. Yet both understand the strategic utility of their partnership. Coordinated statements at the UN, parallel initiatives to recognize Palestinian statehood, and behind-the-scenes consultations on possible post-war governance models in Gaza signal a new phase of tactical collaboration. Neither country has illusions of solving the conflict alone, but by amplifying each other’s messages, they are seeking to reframe the terms of the debate—shifting attention away from Israel’s military narrative and the U.S.’s hesitant diplomacy, and toward a vision of Arab-European partnership driving future stabilization.
For Washington, this emerging alignment presents a challenge and a potential opportunity. On one hand, it underscores growing European and Arab impatience with U.S. indecision, and reflects the price of America’s refusal to articulate a clear post-war vision. On the other, the Franco-Saudi axis could serve as a useful interlocutor—pressuring Israel to consider long-term political concessions while preserving regional stability. Much depends on whether the Biden administration (or the current Trump administration, now returned to office) sees France and Saudi Arabia as strategic assets or diplomatic irritants. Either path carries consequences.
For Israel, the partnership between Riyadh and Paris is more troubling. France’s symbolic recognition of a Palestinian state—especially when echoed by a major Arab power—raises the specter of international isolation. While Riyadh has stopped short of formally recognizing Palestine or suspending quiet normalization talks, its alignment with French diplomacy risks shifting the regional center of gravity away from U.S.-led conflict management and toward a more multipolar, and potentially less forgiving, diplomatic arena.
Looking forward, bilateral cooperation between France and Saudi Arabia is likely to deepen, at least tactically. Paris is eager to translate its diplomatic messaging into influence, possibly through involvement in Gaza reconstruction or through European-led mechanisms for monitoring ceasefires and supporting civil institutions. Saudi Arabia, meanwhile, could offer financial and political backing for moderate Palestinian elements willing to fill the vacuum left by Hamas. Quiet coordination on these fronts is already underway, with both sides leveraging their complementary strengths—France’s access to European institutions and soft power; Saudi Arabia’s financial clout and regional reach.
At the same time, deeper friction cannot be ruled out. If French advocacy for Palestinian recognition grows too aggressive, it could force Saudi Arabia to recalibrate in order to avoid alienating potential Israeli or American partners. Conversely, if Riyadh reverts to passive diplomacy or hedges too obviously, France may question the utility of the partnership and seek alternative Arab interlocutors, such as Jordan or Egypt, who are equally invested in Palestinian political reconstruction.
Several plausible scenarios could shape the trajectory of this cooperation in the months ahead. In one scenario, France and Saudi Arabia succeed in positioning themselves as co-sponsors of a multilateral initiative to restructure governance in Gaza post-Hamas. This could take the form of a provisional international trusteeship framework, backed by Arab and European states, with the UN offering political cover. Such an arrangement would allow both states to assert diplomatic leadership while avoiding direct confrontation with Israeli or American red lines. If this occurs, the Franco-Saudi axis could become an institutionalized track of diplomacy, perhaps through a standing Arab-European dialogue forum on Palestine, allowing sustained engagement over the long term.
In another, more fraught scenario, Israel escalates its opposition to European recognition efforts by imposing diplomatic costs, such as restricting access to Gaza for reconstruction missions or lobbying Washington to discredit French-led initiatives. If Riyadh stands firm in the face of such pressure, the Saudi-European partnership may deepen, possibly pushing France to press the EU for broader action, including sanctions on settler activity or conditionality tied to Israeli aid. This would mark a sharp deterioration in Israeli-European relations and might force the U.S. to mediate between its European and Middle Eastern allies, a role the Trump administration may approach with transactional rigidity rather than multilateral finesse.
Alternatively, a third scenario envisions Riyadh quietly backing away from further public coordination with France if domestic or regional pressures shift—particularly if violence flares again in the West Bank or if Iranian proxies escalate activity against Saudi interests. In such a case, France would be left diplomatically exposed, potentially doubling down on its Palestinian recognition campaign but without sufficient Arab backing to give it traction. This could fracture the emerging alliance and return both countries to their more traditional, parallel tracks of diplomacy.
Yet even if formal coordination stalls, the shared diplomatic muscle memory built in this phase is likely to endure. Both capitals have discovered in each other a useful foil to U.S. inaction and Israeli unilateralism, and that realization—born of crisis—may outlive the current conflict. The real test will come when the guns fall silent and diplomacy must begin in earnest: will France and Saudi Arabia still see each other as partners in a constructive process, or as convenient allies for a fleeting moment of moral clarity?
Either way, the seeds of deeper Arab-European strategic alignment have been sown. Whether they blossom into a new diplomatic architecture or are choked off by entrenched rivalries will depend less on intent than on the next moves made in Gaza, in Washington, and in the halls of the Arab League and European Union. The war may have opened a temporary window, but only deliberate and sustained cooperation will turn that opening into a durable shift in regional power dynamics.
Rival Visions for Gaza: The Emerging Saudi-Qatari Cold War Over Palestinian Future
A new and indirect “Cold War” between Qatar and Saudi Arabia over the future of Hamas and post-war Gaza is not only plausible—it is already quietly taking shape beneath the surface of Arab diplomacy. While the two Gulf monarchies officially reconciled at the Al-Ula summit in 2021, the scars of their ideological and geopolitical rivalry remain, particularly in their divergent approaches to Islamist movements, regional influence, and the political future of the Palestinian territories.
Historically, Saudi Arabia and Qatar have viewed Gaza—and the Palestinian issue more broadly—through different strategic lenses. Qatar has long cultivated relationships with political Islamists, most notably the Muslim Brotherhood and its offshoots, including Hamas. Doha’s support for Hamas has never been merely humanitarian; it is rooted in a broader vision of regional influence that leverages ideological soft power, financial patronage, and media dominance (most visibly through Al Jazeera) to project itself as a champion of pan-Arab causes and a counterweight to the traditional Arab heavyweights.
Saudi Arabia, by contrast, has treated Hamas with suspicion, viewing it as a destabilizing actor linked to Iran, Turkey, and Qatar’s broader Islamist agenda. While the Kingdom once offered rhetorical support for Palestinian resistance, its posture toward Hamas hardened over the past decade, especially as Riyadh reoriented its foreign policy away from ideological patronage toward more pragmatic, state-centric diplomacy. The Saudi leadership increasingly views Hamas not as a legitimate representative of the Palestinian people, but as a problem to be neutralized—politically, financially, and eventually militarily.
In the current moment, these underlying differences are being reactivated under the pressure of the Gaza war. As Israel seeks to dismantle Hamas militarily, and international actors debate the shape of post-war governance, both Qatar and Saudi Arabia are positioning themselves to influence the outcome—each in ways that risk clashing with the other’s strategic vision.
Qatar has doubled down on its role as mediator, hosting ceasefire talks, engaging directly with Hamas leaders, and insisting on the group’s inclusion in any future political arrangement in Gaza. It portrays itself as an indispensable interlocutor, one of the few actors with access to all parties—from Hamas to Israel to the U.S.—and has used this status to shield Hamas from total diplomatic isolation. Moreover, Qatar continues to deliver financial aid to Gaza, arguing that humanitarian support must be decoupled from political agendas.
Saudi Arabia, meanwhile, is aligning more closely with Egypt and the UAE in favor of a “post-Hamas” political order in Gaza—one that restores the Palestinian Authority’s control, excludes militant actors, and is backed by Arab and international guarantees. Riyadh’s growing diplomatic coordination with France, and its recent calls for recognition of a Palestinian state independent of Hamas, underscore its desire to shape the political endgame and avoid ceding influence to Qatar or Iran. Behind the scenes, Saudi officials have become increasingly vocal about the dangers of allowing Hamas to claim a political victory from the war, even if it survives militarily.
This divergence sets the stage for a new era of strategic competition—not necessarily through direct confrontation, but through competing diplomatic tracks, influence campaigns, and post-conflict reconstruction strategies. We are unlikely to see overt hostility between the two Gulf states; both have learned from the 2017–2021 blockade that intra-Gulf ruptures come at high cost. But a proxy struggle over Gaza’s political future is already visible in several key arenas.
In the diplomatic sphere, Qatar continues to push for Hamas’s inclusion in any political settlement, while Saudi Arabia quietly encourages Western and Arab partners to isolate it. In the media realm, Qatari platforms such as Al Jazeera frame the Gaza war in terms of resistance and victimhood, while Saudi-aligned outlets emphasize Hamas’s recklessness and the need for Palestinian unity under legitimate state institutions. In economic terms, both may vie for roles in Gaza’s post-war reconstruction: Qatar with its history of direct cash infusions and infrastructure projects, and Saudi Arabia through multilateral pledges tied to governance reforms and regional stabilization frameworks.
Looking forward, three potential trajectories could define this cold but consequential rivalry.
One scenario envisions an uneasy compromise in which Qatar is allowed to remain a humanitarian actor in Gaza, but political leadership is reshaped by a Saudi-backed coalition involving Egypt, Jordan, and the Palestinian Authority. In this outcome, Qatar’s influence would be curtailed, but not eliminated, preserving regional cohesion while sidelining Hamas politically.
A second, more unstable scenario involves the hardening of parallel tracks: Qatar continues to support Hamas-aligned networks under the banner of resistance, while Saudi Arabia deepens its coordination with anti-Islamist actors and potentially even Israel to create a firewall against any return of Hamas to power. This would resemble the post-Arab Spring split, in which Riyadh and Doha supported rival forces in Libya, Syria, and Egypt—only this time, the battleground would be Gaza, and the stakes would be a fragile Palestinian statehood bid.
A third, less likely but not impossible scenario is strategic convergence. If Hamas is decisively weakened and the Palestinian Authority is restructured with broader legitimacy, both Qatar and Saudi Arabia might agree to support a unity government that includes reformed elements of Hamas under strict conditions, supervised by Arab-led monitoring mechanisms. This would require an extraordinary level of diplomatic coordination and mutual compromise—unlikely, but not out of the question if U.S. and European partners push hard for Arab consensus.
In all cases, the fate of Gaza is no longer just a function of Israeli military decisions or Palestinian internal politics—it has become a proving ground for the re-emergence of intra-Arab competition, with Qatar and Saudi Arabia leading rival bids for regional relevance. Whether this competition remains contained or metastasizes into another open proxy struggle will depend largely on the extent to which both capitals are willing to subordinate ideology to long-term stability—and whether they are ready to envision a Palestinian future that does not serve as a theater for their rivalry.
New Lines in the Sand: How the Saudi-Qatari Contest Over Gaza Differs from the 2017 Gulf Rift
While echoes of the 2017 Gulf crisis still resonate in the current Saudi-Qatari rivalry over Gaza, the nature of the confrontation has undergone a profound transformation. No longer framed by ideological trench lines or personality-driven vendettas, today’s competition is more calculated, more institutional, and more strategically nuanced. The battlefield has shifted from cable news networks and siege diplomacy to the far murkier terrain of post-conflict reconstruction, soft power realignment, and regional narrative dominance. Gaza, battered and fragmented, has become both the arena and the prize—not for ideological supremacy per se, but for long-term regional relevance.
In 2017, the crisis between Saudi Arabia and Qatar erupted in spectacular fashion: borders were sealed, ambassadors were withdrawn, airspace was closed, and Doha found itself abruptly isolated by a coalition led by Riyadh and Abu Dhabi. The justification was broad and damning—accusations of terrorism financing, illicit ties with Iran, and Qatar’s ongoing support for Islamist movements, most notably the Muslim Brotherhood. The crisis was framed by Saudi Arabia and its allies as a decisive break with decades of ambiguity, a redrawing of moral and political lines in the Arab world. At its heart, it was also a campaign by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman and his Emirati counterpart Mohammed bin Zayed to reshape the regional order in their image: centralized, authoritarian, and staunchly anti-Islamist.
At that time, Saudi Arabia’s foreign policy was driven by a reformist fervor and personal ambition. The Crown Prince sought to prove that the Kingdom could lead the Arab world into a new era—one defined by rapid modernization at home and assertive leadership abroad. This translated into high-stakes risks: the Yemen war, the rupture with Canada, the confrontation with Lebanon, and the dramatic showdown with Qatar. Riyadh’s vision was ideologically tinged, even if selectively so—it sought to curb Islamist influence, counter Iran, and assert a vision of national sovereignty incompatible with Qatar’s support for cross-border ideological movements.
Qatar, for its part, doubled down on its soft power arsenal. Al Jazeera became even more critical of the Saudi-led bloc, Turkish-Qatari relations deepened, and Doha emerged as a refuge for Islamist political figures and dissidents. While its ideological posture remained intact, it also began to reposition itself as a pragmatic mediator, leveraging its ties to both Western capitals and non-state actors to offer services no one else could.
The current competition over Gaza bears the imprints of that past crisis but has been reshaped by new realities. Today, Saudi Arabia is not led in this matter by its reformist project or personalistic grandstanding. The push for Palestinian statehood recognition, the effort to isolate Hamas diplomatically, and the coordination with European actors like France are all being steered by Riyadh’s foreign policy establishment—professional diplomats, security advisors, and strategic planners who view Hamas not through an ideological lens but as a disruptive node in a precarious regional balance. This institutional posture seeks stability, not revolution. It is focused less on exporting Saudi governance models and more on preventing chaos from spilling across borders. Unlike 2017, when foreign policy was used as an extension of domestic transformation, today it is being employed to guard against external entropy.
Qatar, by contrast, remains wedded to its long-standing formula: deep relationships with non-state actors, humanitarian diplomacy, and strategic ambiguity. But it, too, is evolving. Under pressure from Washington and Tel Aviv, and sensitive to regional optics, Doha has moderated its tone. Its relationships with Hamas leaders continue, but it has also facilitated hostage releases, enabled ceasefire negotiations, and taken steps to appear as a stabilizing intermediary. That said, Qatar still views political Islam—especially when localized, as in Hamas’s case—as a legitimate actor in regional equations. Where Saudi Arabia sees de-radicalization and demilitarization as preconditions for any future political order in Gaza, Qatar views engagement and inclusion as practical necessities.
What sets this emerging cold rivalry apart from the 2017 crisis is its form and tempo. This is not a zero-sum blockade or an overt media war. It is a slow-moving contest of diplomatic alliances, reconstruction initiatives, and influence over who gets to manage Palestinian state-building. Unlike in 2017, when the rift tore apart the Gulf Cooperation Council, today the two countries continue to share diplomatic space, participate in the same economic forums, and appear publicly conciliatory. Yet the underlying divergence is profound. They are not just competing over Gaza—they are proposing rival models of how conflict zones are stabilized and how legitimacy is assigned in a post-American Middle East.
This new contest has broader implications for regional alignments. Saudi Arabia is increasingly anchoring its diplomacy in multilateralism, working with Egypt, Jordan, and France to build a framework for post-Hamas governance that excludes both Iran and radical proxies. This pragmatic axis is designed to stabilize, not transform, and is underpinned by the assumption that failed states are breeding grounds for transnational threats. Qatar, meanwhile, is maintaining its traditional bet: that access, not coercion, is the key to influence—and that in a fragmented Arab order, no one can be permanently excluded. Doha is investing in post-war humanitarian aid, positioning itself as an indispensable conduit to Hamas, and using its media and financial reach to shape the postwar narrative.
Looking forward, several scenarios may unfold as this rivalry intensifies. If Hamas is indeed militarily degraded but not entirely removed, Qatar will likely double down on its role as a mediator, emphasizing reconstruction and political reintegration. In this case, it could use its channels to pressure Hamas into adopting more pragmatic postures, thereby presenting itself as a stabilizing force. Saudi Arabia, wary of legitimizing any Hamas-linked governance, may push for an Arab-led civilian administration in Gaza, possibly through the Palestinian Authority—backed by international guarantees. This could lead to friction, as Qatar would see such a move as marginalizing its influence and dismantling the power structures it has long supported.
If instead Hamas collapses entirely, Saudi Arabia may seek to take a leading role in designing the new governance framework, perhaps through a regional consortium involving Egypt, Jordan, and the EU. Qatar would be excluded from this inner circle, but could still exert influence through reconstruction funding and backchannel diplomacy—potentially aligning with Turkey to build an alternative axis of influence. In this case, the rivalry could become less visible but more strategically significant, shaping not just Gaza’s future but the broader question of how Arab states manage post-conflict political transitions.
Should a negotiated ceasefire freeze the conflict without clear winners, both Riyadh and Doha may pursue parallel influence tracks—Saudi Arabia through institutional arrangements and donor conferences, and Qatar through grassroots outreach, NGOs, and political patronage. The competition would then play out in international forums, Arab League summits, and the corridors of Western capitals, with each trying to convince the U.S. and Europe of the viability of its approach.
In all scenarios, the absence of ideological framing masks a deeper strategic rupture. Where Saudi Arabia now emphasizes statehood, order, and controlled diplomacy, Qatar continues to champion engagement, flexibility, and informal power. The Gaza crisis has thus become a mirror of their evolving identities—not just as rival Gulf monarchies, but as competing models of regional stewardship in a post-hegemonic Middle East.
The quietness of the current confrontation should not be mistaken for lack of consequence. Unlike 2017, this is not a contest to punish or isolate; it is a race to define. The Saudis want to shape the post-Hamas political architecture; the Qataris want to make themselves indispensable to it. In doing so, both are redrawing the lines of influence not only over Gaza, but over the future balance of power in the Arab world.
Diplomacy in the Absence of Resolution
As the war in Gaza grinds on, the political and diplomatic battle over its aftermath has already begun. Israel, while successfully degrading Hamas’s infrastructure and beginning to close off its access to humanitarian aid as a strategic tool, remains entangled in a complex political equation. Despite military pressure and international mediation efforts, Hamas continues to reject ceasefire proposals that fall short of its maximalist demands—effectively suspending any hope for a near-term resolution. This rejectionism, combined with Israel’s tightening control over aid channels, reinforces Jerusalem’s view that only decisive military pressure can break the deadlock.
Yet military operations are only one dimension of the unfolding conflict. France and Saudi Arabia have emerged as key diplomatic players, seeking to influence the post-war political architecture before the final shots are fired. Their push for recognition of a Palestinian state—while still premature by Israeli and U.S. standards—is part of a larger strategy to assert relevance in the absence of a credible peace process. The rapprochement between Paris and Riyadh, while driven by different motives, reflects a shared understanding that whoever defines the post-Hamas framework will wield significant long-term influence.
At the same time, Israel’s rift with Saudi Arabia over the blocked West Bank visit illustrates the cost of ceding diplomatic ground, even to potential partners. While the Israeli government sought to prevent the legitimization of Palestinian political actors during wartime, its blunt approach risks alienating key Arab stakeholders whose cooperation will be essential for any durable regional settlement. Riyadh’s foreign policy establishment, no longer driven by reformist zeal but rather by calculated strategic necessity, will not easily forget the slight.
The regional picture is further complicated by the reactivated rivalry between Saudi Arabia and Qatar. Though more muted than the 2017 Gulf crisis, today’s competition over Gaza is no less consequential. No longer about ideology or leadership cults, this struggle is now centered on pragmatic questions of reconstruction, governance, and post-conflict legitimacy. Gaza is no longer simply a humanitarian catastrophe; it is a strategic arena in which regional powers are testing new models of influence, each hoping to fill the vacuum Hamas may soon leave behind.
In this fractured, contested, and highly volatile environment, no single actor will be able to dictate terms unilaterally. The United States, distracted by political transition and global competition, remains essential but increasingly constrained. Israel must now navigate between battlefield gains and diplomatic backlash, while France and Saudi Arabia seek to build a new consensus from the margins inward. As regional players sharpen their tools and reconfigure their alliances, the future of Gaza—and perhaps the wider Middle East—will be shaped not by a peace accord, but by the convergence of competing visions imposed before the war is even over.