On October 7, 2023, Yahya Sinwar gave the direct signal to launch the “Al-Aqsa Flood” operation from Gaza. A year later, on October 17, 2024, Israel killed Sinwar in Gaza. Between these two dates, the man was writing a story of war, death, and “the end of a brave man.”

Sinwar, the leading figure of Hamas, has been at the center of many debates that erupted during the period between these dates. These debates, however, converge on one central theme.

The Axis of Resistance had already begun to “mythologize” Sinwar after the operation, but his killing, especially with the visuals documented by Israel, only fortified this process of myth-making, providing a narrative of valor to the supporters of the resistance.

Such a belief, however, often remains detached from the actual consequences and outcomes of the decision to initiate the “Al-Aqsa Flood” — from its inception to the moment of Sinwar’s death. Historically, the resistance has crafted its myths by ignoring the heavy costs they carry.

In the resistance’s narratives, the “mythologized” figure is always someone characterized first and foremost by courage. And here was the last in this extraordinary line of legends, heading towards his fate in a spectacle that seemed to check all the boxes of supposed bravery.

Israel’s public documentation of Yahya Sinwar, both before and after his death, aligned well with the current narrative of resistance about his courage. He was dressed in military fatigues, suggesting that he was always ready for battle, and indeed, for death. These visual elements catered to an imagination seeking to counteract the images of death, misery, and Palestinian displacement that Sinwar’s decisions had brought about since the night of the operation.

The elevation of Sinwar’s myth did not shy away from politics; in fact, it was intertwined with a narrative that serves the Axis of Resistance’s theme of dignity and betrayal. This was symbolized most poignantly by “Sinwar’s couch.”

“The tattered, dusty, and bloodstained couch is the throne of Arab dignity, and he is its prince, now an immortal legend,” read one of thousands of social media posts eulogizing Sinwar after his death, highlighting the sentiments of betrayal felt by many Arabs.

Was Yahya Sinwar brave? Yes, he was, but his courage, seen between those two dates, appeared unchecked. It was a courage detached from the necessary wisdom to manage and guide people’s affairs. The “tunnels” of Gaza served as a barrier between him and the suffering of his people, magnifying the disconnect created by a mindset drawn from past religious legacies and radical contexts known in places like Syria and Iraq. Together, they formed the foundation of a hyper-narcissistic worldview.

For those who wish to credit him with a degree of “courage,” it must be acknowledged that, in the end, he died on Palestinian soil, confronting the deadly drone with only his final stick in hand. He wasn’t in the hotels of Qatar or Turkey, nor hiding away in the backrooms of Iran’s Islamic investment republic.

A measure of courage is acceptable, so long as it does not serve as a new source of myth — myths that have brought nothing but misery and death to their people, vastly disproportionate to the promises they held of shaking Israel’s resolve. Promises, it must be noted, that lead to a continuous, heavy toll of death on civilians long before any “earthquake” can ever manifest, if at all.

To be consumed by the courage of the man, without critically examining it and going beyond the rhetoric of the resistance, has been a death sentence for the people of Palestine. And it reflects a fatal flaw for us in southern Lebanon, as we have borne our share of such myths.

Moving away from myth and death requires activating reason, not pacifying the masses with tales of bravery. To activate reason, one must first detach from political Islam in both its exploitative and exploited forms.

In reality, Sinwar’s final stand on the soil of Gaza offers a singular point of recognition for his bravery as a fighter until the end. But intensifying this bravery narrative should have involved breaking away from the genocide that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu had been awaiting to exploit. Yasser Arafat, in this context, was arguably more courageous when he made the difficult decision to leave Beirut.