How informants, coercion, and internal fractures are reshaping the battlefield behind bars.
A source within Gaza’s resistance security apparatus used this line to sum up two decades of tracking Israeli espionage networks.
A counterpart in Lebanon argues that “the issue is more complex than just overconfidence in oneself, and it goes beyond that to overlapping and intertwined factors that lead to this result.”
Both views converge on a similar point. Prevention begins with doubt, directed inward as much as outward. Those who assume they are immune are often the least guarded. Under occupation, confrontation continues even when it is not visible.
Prisons as the starting point
The prison system has long been one of the central arenas where this conflict is fought. For some factions, including the Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ), exposure was the preferred method. Identifying collaborators inside detention facilities and stripping them of value without killing them was seen as a way to avoid internal rupture.
Other groups took a harsher path.
One former prisoner, later killed in the current war, recalled an incident from Gaza Central Prison (Al-Saraya) in the 1980s, during the period of Israeli civil administration. He had wanted to go to Egypt to complete his studies, but he was arrested and imprisoned, and dragged into the conflict two years before the outbreak of the First Intifada (1987).
During interrogation, he told his captors they had misjudged him. He had not been politically engaged, he said, but imprisonment forced a shift. Nevertheless, he was placed in a cell with Fathi al-Shiqaqi, founder of the PIJ.
On the first night, six new detainees were brought in. Shiqaqi and his companion prolonged their night prayers “until their legs were hardened,” and then they fell asleep from exhaustion.
The man said, “Fathi and I did not know how to continue our conversation, and then just before the dawn call to prayer, an idea flashed in my head! We remembered that we spoke English well, so I started the conversation by asking Fathi and began speaking casually about the newcomers.” Fathi is said to have replied, “I think they are Al-Asfour [birds].”
Three of the six reacted instantly. Shiqaqi addressed them directly. They had not been trained for this, he remarked, and told them to go back to sleep. By morning, the deception was over. Punishment followed.
The use of “birds” – Palestinian informants planted among prisoners to extract confessions and intelligence – dates back to the 1970s. Recruited or coerced by Israeli intelligence, they are embedded among detainees, presenting themselves as fellow prisoners before steering conversations toward information sought during interrogation.
Facilities such as Megiddo and Kfar Yona became known for this system. The methods differed, but the objective did not. The informant presented himself as a fellow detainee who had endured interrogation without breaking. He might claim imminent release and offer to carry messages.
The most sensitive role went further. These operatives were used to shape internal dynamics, deepen divisions, and at times push ideas that could trigger violence within prison society.
Between exposure and violence
How to deal with collaborators remains unresolved.
In contrast to the more disruptive approach associated with Shiqaqi and his companion, a harsher path took hold in other quarters. What some factions described as “revolutionary violence” included the detention of suspected collaborators inside prison, their interrogation under already coercive conditions, and, at times, internal proceedings that could lead to execution.
In some cases, these were carried out by long-term prisoners, especially those serving life sentences with no expectation of release outside an exchange.
Yet even where organizations formally opposed executions inside prisons, practice often diverged from policy. Some members bypassed internal decisions altogether. Others confronted or killed suspected informants on personal grounds rather than under organizational instruction. This pattern cut across factions and was not confined to any single political current.
“Spies are the lemon peel the occupation discards once it is done with them,” said a former prisoner who spent two decades in Israeli jails on charges linked to a Palestinian Islamic organization.
His own sentence was extended after he killed a detainee accused of espionage. More than 20 years later, the man’s family continues to insist on their son’s innocence and to seek accountability. Some self-confessed collaborators, such as Mosab Hassan Yousef, traced the start of their espionage to what he described as a process of pressure and “doubling down” that ultimately pushed the detainee toward betrayal.
In the absence of a state framework, some leaders justified such measures. In a 1993 interview, Hamas founder Sheikh Ahmed Yassin framed the issue in stark terms:
“It is not our habit to give half-solutions. In our case, either the accused is innocent, or he repents, or he is killed. You cannot impose house arrest or the like. These are the conditions in which we live without a state.”
Faisal al-Husseini, then a member of Fatah's Executive Committee, offered a different reading. In a 1992 interview, he argued that the indiscriminate killing of suspected collaborators reflected the absence of clear direction. “The unified command did not issue instructions to punish the agents,” he said, “so others took it upon themselves. The unified command should have conducted investigations … but it did not.”
These debates defined the pre-Operation Al-Aqsa Flood environment. The events that followed 7 October 2023 introduced new dynamics that reshaped conditions inside and outside prisons.
New structures after 7 October
The scale of arrests after Operation Al-Aqsa Flood introduced new layers of control inside detention facilities.
One of the clearest is the role of the “shawish.” Appointed by prison authorities from among detainees, the shawish manages a section of prisoners, often numbering a few dozen. The position brings limited privileges and partial protection from routine punishment.
Testimonies from recently released prisoners point to mixed outcomes. Some used the role to ease conditions. Others aligned closely with prison authorities, enforcing discipline harshly and exploiting their position.
Privileges remain limited but can carry weight. Testimonies point to slightly better food, exemption from some collective punishments, and closer contact with guards. In a system where deprivation is measured in grams, even small differences matter.
More concerning is the rise of what detainees call “guardians” or “advisors.”
These individuals operate alongside the Israel Prison Service and military intelligence. Their role is persuasion. They engage detainees one-on-one, presenting themselves as intermediaries who can ease pressure or prevent harsher interrogation.
The approach is psychological, aimed at convincing the detainee that resistance is futile, that the authorities already possess full knowledge, and that cooperation offers the only path to easing the pressure.
The “guardian” may claim knowledge of the detainee’s background or network. He may insist others have already confessed, that operational details are known, and that silence has no value.
Models for the work of spies inside Israeli prisons
New arrivals are the primary targets. The information sought goes beyond what technology can easily obtain. Tunnel networks, weapons storage, and internal structures are key.
According to sources within Gaza, this method has produced tangible results, including the exposure of networks, identification of individuals, and the uncovering of sensitive operational details.
At the same time, those who take on these roles often frame their actions differently. Some present it as correcting what they see as strategic mistakes made on 7 October. The justification is not always material. It is often political.
Material gain remains limited. Better food, fewer punishments, marginal improvements. In periods of intensified repression, even these distinctions disappear.
Pressure, solidarity, and fragmentation
The post-7 October prison environment is defined by extremes. Overcrowding, prolonged confinement, and sustained pressure have pushed detainees to their limits.
Accounts describe moments of internal tension, especially over differing views of the events that triggered the war. Yet these divisions have not led to collapse.
External pressure has, in many cases, reinforced cohesion. Harsh treatment by prison authorities has narrowed the space for internal disputes.
According to testimonies from detainees in northern Gaza, some prisoners affiliated with factions have directed sharp criticism at Operation Al-Aqsa Flood, but this has not altered their broader positions or morale.
As one detainee put it:
“The brutal behavior of the occupation with the prisoners, and the enormous state of hatred in dealing with them, reduced the spaces of resentment and criticism, as the prisoners were ruled by the dead, and this created a state of solidarity and solidarity in passing the harsh days of captivity.”
Responses still vary. Patience and breaking points differ. But the broader pattern shows adaptation rather than fragmentation.
The wider implications
Prisons offer a concentrated view of a wider reality. Within them, the full spectrum of the Palestinian experience is present. Individuals detained for minor acts sit alongside those involved in major operations. Organizational affiliations, regional identities, and personal histories intersect under constant movement and reshuffling.
Outcomes remain unpredictable. A detainee may enter without political ties and leave deeply embedded in an organization. Another may move in the opposite direction.
The most dangerous cases are those that remain hidden. An individual who cooperates without detection can emerge with credibility intact, able to move into positions of influence over time.
Beyond prisons, the picture grows more complex. Networks extend across borders. Recruitment, control, and exposure become harder to trace. For resistance movements in Palestine and Lebanon, this remains one of the most sensitive files.
A recurring pattern
In the First Intifada (1987–1993), hundreds of Palestinians were killed on suspicion of collaboration. Later Israeli assessments suggested many had no confirmed links to intelligence networks. The cost of misidentification was severe.
In the Second Intifada (2000–2005), the numbers dropped, partly due to shifts in Israeli control. Direct administrative presence was reduced, changing how collaboration operated.
The current phase brings a different set of pressures, with targeted assassinations, the steady dismantling of networks, and a widening confrontation involving Iran and Lebanon, all raising the stakes, while public announcements of arrests add a further layer of strain.
An unresolved file
Occupation, confinement, and sustained pressure do not produce uniform outcomes. Responses diverge, shaped as much by personal limits as by political conviction.
What makes this issue particularly pressing is not only the sensitivity of the current moment, but also the troubling record of past experience. During the First Intifada, 942 Palestinians were killed on accusations of collaboration. According to Israeli sources, only 40 percent had links to Israeli institutions, while the total Palestinian death toll was 1,300.
During the Second Intifada, more than 4,000 Palestinians were killed, while an estimated 200–400 were executed on accusations of collaboration. The lower figure is largely attributed to Israel's shift from relying on visible collaborators to using covert informants within Palestinian organizations.
What does not shift is the weight of the issue. Inside prisons and beyond them, collaboration continues to shape the conflict. Patterns seen before are likely to reappear under new conditions, making this issue central to understanding the conflict itself.
No comments:
Post a Comment