On April 15, Jordanian authorities announced the arrest of 16 individuals linked to the Muslim Brotherhood, accused of preparing rocket and drone attacks from within the country. The state’s narrative was assertive and unmistakable: This was not an external operation misdirected inward, nor an ideological protest gone too far. It was a domestic threat. According to official reports, the operatives were trained in Lebanon — a country with which Jordan shares no direct border — and stashed explosives in Amman and Zarqa. Authorities and sources close to the intelligence community noted that planned meetings had taken place with figures in Turkey and Saudi Arabia.
The Brotherhood’s response, however, went in a very different direction. Despite the fact that these preparations started well before Oct. 7, 2023, it attempted to reframe the plot as part of the broader “resistance axis,” painting it as an extension of the region’s moral confrontation with Israel — not an act of subversion against Jordan. In this telling, the operatives were not saboteurs but committed activists. No details about the intended targets or timing have been publicly disclosed, leaving the narrative open to competing political framings, with accusations concerning internal security on the one hand and defenses that point to external targets on the other. That distinction is more than rhetorical. It speaks to a deeper and increasingly contested question: Who gets to define resistance in today’s Middle East?
After 18 months of unrelenting war in Gaza, the boundaries between sanctioned struggle and unsanctioned action have grown increasingly blurred. Nonstate actors, who perceive regional governments as persisting in a policy of inaction, are increasingly asserting themselves as the rightful interpreters — and executors — of defiance.
In this climate and context, resistance has evolved from a political strategy into a moral currency — a means of extracting legitimacy. The war in Gaza has become both a regional and global litmus test of moral credibility. Jihad — long invoked in the context of Palestine as a response to the perceived failure of Arab states to act — is now being rebranded by Islamist movements and ideologues as legitimate resistance, rooted in sacred values. While this framing is not new, what distinguishes the current moment is the scale and brutality of the war in Gaza. That intensity has amplified the emotional and moral force of jihad as a concept, pushing it further into the mainstream of resistance discourse — not as extremism, but as obligation.
These values, seen as absolute and nonnegotiable, are invoked to justify and even sanctify extrastate action. For many — especially younger generations disillusioned with conventional politics — legitimacy now flows from moral clarity rather than institutional recognition.
The longer the war continues, the more power and legitimacy splinter. States are no longer judged solely by what they control, but by what they are seen to stand for. Movements like the Muslim Brotherhood have exploited this fragmentation — not only through confrontation, but through symbolism. Frustration becomes a mobilizing force, silence is cast as betrayal and the definition of justifiable defiance grows ever broader. “Moral imagination” begins to replace political realism.
Jordan, more than many of its neighbors, is exposed to this ideological tension. Although the Brotherhood has been officially dissolved there, it remains politically active through the Islamic Action Front, which secured the largest bloc in the 2024 parliamentary elections. Its messaging — invoking dignity, solidarity with Palestine and a rejection of complacency — resonates, especially in areas with large Palestinian-Jordanian populations and among youth alienated from politics. For many of them, Gaza is not distant; it is personal, rooted in kinship, geography and identity.
The Brotherhood’s electoral success was not simply about governance; it was a contest over narratives and moral authority. Its performance at the polls confirmed that a significant portion of Jordanians were aligned with its framing of resistance and its public affiliation with Hamas. That political traction makes any aggressive move against the Brotherhood far more complicated. The group’s statements following the April arrests only hardened the impression of ideological escalation, a message the state is unlikely, even unable, to ignore.
For the Jordanian government, the issue is not ideology — it is authority. Modern states are grounded in a monopoly over the legitimate use of force. Whether directed internally or externally, violence must flow through the state. Jordan has chosen diplomacy and humanitarian assistance as its channels of support for Gaza. Any deviation from that posture, even in theory, is seen as a direct challenge to the coherence of the national project.
The regional context adds another layer of complexity. Lebanon, not Syria, was reportedly the training ground. In recent years, Syria has served as the main corridor for transnational threats. But with the new regime under transitional President Ahmad al-Sharaa seeking international rehabilitation and positioning itself as a counterterrorism partner, the calculus around this is shifting. Iran-backed militias and Hezbollah have been pushed out or weakened. Israeli strikes — alongside the normalization of cross-border incursions — have rendered Syrian territory increasingly physically accessible, but given that Israel has expanded its military footprint in southern Syria beyond the Golan Heights, it is now a less viable location for resistance infrastructure.
Lebanon, meanwhile, is in a moment of transition. A new president and government are navigating growing international pressure — particularly from Washington — to disarm Hezbollah and reduce Iran’s operational footprint. While Hezbollah’s capacity is being constrained, a new ideological vacuum is emerging. Gray areas are expanding. For groups aligned with the resistance axis against Israel, Lebanon now offers symbolic weight and logistical opportunity, even if those dynamics are better read as long-term trends than informing immediate tactics. Although the training of the Jordan cell preceded the war in Gaza, the plot’s exposure in its aftermath has added urgency and symbolic weight to its narrative, reinforcing the sense of a region where resistance to Israel is being redefined — and reactivated.
Turkey and Saudi Arabia are also both relevant here. In Turkey, where exiled Muslim Brotherhood members from many countries are often based, there may be no direct operational involvement — but ideological alignment and support, political networks, and organization and planning capacities easily transcend borders. Proximity to Jordan enables forms of coordination, influence or strategic support, even if indirectly. Saudi Arabia, by contrast, was referenced as a site of meetings some of the plotters had during a trip to perform the Umrah pilgrimage. While there is little to suggest those encounters were logistical, the locations themselves — Ankara, Mecca, Beirut — reflect a geographic breadth that underscores the regional significance of the operation. Even spiritually symbolic gatherings can, in certain political moments, become part of a wider choreography of resistance.
What emerges is not a singular plan but a shifting landscape. Iran’s proxy structure is contracting. As traditional staging grounds like Syria and Yemen become untenable, proxy warfare is giving way to looser, ideologically driven networks. And in that reordering, Jordan — stable, central and bordering Israel — is not a target, but a space, a canvas, a symbol.
But Jordan cannot afford, or accept, that role. Amman has long positioned itself as a stabilizing force, not a staging ground. Even the perception that its territory could serve as a base for resistance activity threatens to unravel its careful diplomatic balancing act. It risks eroding public trust, undermining alliances and dragging Jordan into a type of confrontation it has tried to avoid. Yet in the resistance playbook, threat itself becomes strategy. Hypothetical pressure carries symbolic weight — not only for Israel, but for regimes across the region viewed by their publics as inert.
The reported inclusion of drones in the alleged plan speaks to this shift. Operational or not, their presence signals a recalibration. Drones are key tools of asymmetric warfare, enabling conventional boundaries to be bypassed. They suggest that confrontation is not just possible, it is adaptive. Their mention alone reopens the psychological terrain of resistance.
For Jordan, the challenge is not simply internal security; the government’s reaction has to take into account this regional recalibration. Arab allies, particularly the UAE, Egypt and Saudi Arabia, have long encouraged a tougher stance on the Brotherhood. While rarely stated outright, such expectations shape aid, diplomacy and positioning. The unspoken consensus is that the Brotherhood is a liability. The message is: Contain it.
Amman has resisted suppressing the Brotherhood in line with the more aggressive approaches taken by regional allies. But the margin for neutrality is narrowing. The April arrests may mark a turning point. Should Jordan shift toward a more assertive line, it will need political cover and financial assistance — not only because the Brotherhood retains broad grassroots support, but because its moral framing, particularly around Palestine, remains potent. Unlike in other countries where the group has been fully marginalized, the Brotherhood in Jordan remains deeply embedded in political and social life, with a legacy spanning more than 70 years. To confront it outright, especially in the wake of its gains in the 2024 elections, would risk significant political upheaval and social instability. Mishandling the situation risks inflaming tensions far beyond the movement’s official reach.
From Washington, Jordan is not simply asking for more aid. It is looking for something deeper: It wants recognition that its role in the region — balancing diplomacy, domestic stability and security cooperation — can’t be treated like that of any other ally. Amman wants its red lines respected (no further displacement of Palestinians into the country and ongoing custodianship of Muslim and Christian religious sites in Jerusalem) and its sovereignty taken seriously, especially at a time when many in the region view Western policy as one-sided or transactional. What Jordan is really asking for is a policy lens distinct from other countries in the region, one that accounts for the specific pressures it faces, both at home and from its neighbors. It wants U.S. engagement to reflect the asymmetry of risk it carries in trying to hold together a fragile regional order. In a moment when narratives can be as powerful as missiles, consistency — in both policy and principle — matters.
The stakes are larger than Jordan’s security. As the Gaza war continues, regimes across the region risk being overtaken — not by revolutions, but by irrelevance. When legitimacy is measured by sacred values, and governments are seen as morally compromised, authority erodes from within, slowly, but decisively. The April arrests may have disrupted a plot, but they did not resolve the deeper crisis: the widening gap between what states can control and what their publics now demand. As alliances shift, Jordan stands not just between powers, but between narratives. If the war in Gaza drags on, and resistance to it continues to be defined outside of state frameworks, with legitimacy dictated by immediacy rather than strategy, the old formulas will no longer hold. Jordan’s task is not simply to prevent escalation but to remain credible in a world where credibility is slipping from the hands of governments and toward the imaginations of those who claim to fight for something sacred.
The risks are real. In a landscape shaped by prolonged inaction and a deepening sense of individual powerlessness, frustration is no longer contained by national borders. As moral outrage intensifies, so does the potential for violence. Intelligence services across the region may succeed in intercepting plots, but they will be operating in an environment where both actors and targets are evolving. What’s emerging is not just a threat against Israel — but against anyone perceived to be complicit in, or enabling, the violence in Gaza. The boundaries of the battlefield are expanding, and with them, the cost of perceived silence.
“Spotlight” is a newsletter about underreported cultural trends and news from around the world, emailed to subscribers twice a week. Sign up here.