Tempered by siege and baptised by fire, battle-hardened Hamas has emerged not as a mere militant faction but as a masterclass in strategic endurance. Their stubbornness, their refusal to lay down arms, their relentless media warfare—none of it is random. It is the cold calculus of survival. And if you’re still asking why they don’t play fair, you haven’t been listening to Machiavelli.
“Never play fair when others are cheating,” Machiavelli warned. “Fairness is a weapon invented by the weak to restrain the strong.” Hamas understands this better than anyone. In a world where diplomacy is often a masquerade and promises are currency without backing, they do not mistake handshakes for peace. They see through the performance. They smell the deceit. They know that the man who clings to rules while others conspire against him is not noble—he is prey.
They were forged in the crucible of confinement. Years in Israeli prisons taught them the calculus of pain, the choreography of silence, the slow art of waiting. In solitary cells, they learned to endure, to listen, to plot. Israel, ever eager to fracture resistance from within, dangled promises—money, freedom, protection. Some took the bait. Others pretended to.
The illusion of control is the oldest lie of empire. Intelligence agencies filed reports, marked names, and celebrated conversions. But the men who smiled in interrogation rooms were not converts. They were craftsmen of duplicity, students of betrayal. They gave just enough to be believed, just enough to be trusted.
October 7 shattered the illusion. The state awoke to find its own machinery turned against it. The double agents had not defected—they had infiltrated. The betrayal was not a failure of loyalty, but a triumph of strategy. This is the cost of occupation: the belief that domination breeds submission. But in the dark, under the weight of concrete and steel, something else was born. Not obedience. Not fear. But cunning. The kind that waits years to strike. The kind that wears your uniform, speaks your language, and knows exactly when to disappear.
This is why Hamas does not disarm. To face treachery with honesty is to step into battle unarmed. They’ve learned that morality is praised only after the crowd is secured. Until then, survival belongs to the one who bends, breaks, or replaces the rules. And in the last two years, Hamas has rewritten the rules of perception warfare.
They weaponised suffering—not to evoke pity, but to shift the global lens. Images of hostages, bombed-out hospitals, and grieving families weren’t just tragedy; they were strategy. In the age of viral media, optics are ammunition. And Hamas fired relentlessly. While Israel dropped bombs, Hamas dropped narratives. Slowly, methodically, they turned global opinion against Netanyahu. The once-unquestioned darling of the West became a pariah state in the eyes of millions. Even within the United States, sympathy for Palestinians is surging—not because Hamas softened, but because they sharpened their message.
“The one who cheats first writes the law, and the law always favours the victors.” Hamas didn’t wait for permission to shape the narrative. They seized it. They understood that in politics, in war, and in the game of power, victory forgives all methods and defeat justifies none. They didn’t purify the poisoned well—they claimed a sharper poison of their own.
This is not a morality tale. It’s a survival doctrine. Machiavelli didn’t whisper. He warned. “If you lack the spine to be ruthless, you’ll kneel to someone who isn’t.” Hamas has spine. They’ve taken the pain, the demonisation, the sanctions, the isolation—and they’ve kept walking. Because saints don’t rule this world. Predators do. The bold, the calculated, the cold-blooded. And Hamas, for all its shortcomings, has shown it understands the terrain.
The world isn’t built on fairness—it’s built on force. While others recite rules, Hamas rewrites realities. They don’t ask permission to exist; they carve space with grit and blood. They don’t wait for the system to accommodate them—they become the disruption. And in a game where hesitation is fatal, they don’t blink. They endure. They adapt. They strike.
They recognise what many ignore: power dictates, not negotiates. The global stage isn’t a roundtable of equals; it’s a battlefield of interests. And Hamas, for all its vilification, has mastered the art of asymmetric warfare—not just with rockets, but with symbols, silence, and spectacle. They’ve turned every funeral into a broadcast, every hostage into a headline, every ceasefire into a chess move.
Consider this: If you hold a gun and I hold a gun, we can talk about the law. If you hold a knife and I hold a knife, we can talk about rules. But if you have a gun and I have nothing, what you hold isn’t just a weapon—it’s my life. Hamas knows this imbalance. They’ve lived it. And they’ve refused to negotiate from weakness. They understand that the concepts of law, rules, and morality only hold meaning when they are based on equality. And when power speaks, even money takes three steps back.
So why don’t they forgive? Why don’t they forget? Because Machiavelli taught them better. “Never forgive a betrayal,” he said. “Once they betray you, they’ll do it again.” Hamas doesn’t forget the broken ceasefires, the shelled schools, the diplomatic double-speak. They protect their power. They protect their peace. And they do not hand their enemies another sword.
Forgiveness is a sermon. Survival is a strategy. And Hamas has chosen the latter. They do not seek applause—they seek leverage. They do not chase approval—they chase outcomes. In their world, broken loyalty is loyalty lost forever. And mercy, if it ever comes, arrives only after victory.
Society preaches forgiveness. Machiavelli preached survival. So, who do you follow? The church or the crown?
Hamas chose the crown. They chose the long game. And in doing so, they’ve exposed a vicious truth: in the arena of power and statecraft, it’s not the fairest who win. It’s the fiercest.
The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.