The Message? A celebration of what is now being marketed to the world as the "Abraham Accords"—a supposedly visionary blueprint for regional peace and economic prosperity, neatly wrapped in the language of shared religious heritage.
But behind the glossy visuals and lofty rhetoric lies a far more troubling story—one of political manipulation and ethical trespass. The campaign's sheer scale is, in itself, a red flag. Beyond the costly outdoor displays—reportedly exceeding $14,000 per month per billboard in central locations—advertisements have spread across public buses and trains, flooded digital media, and even appeared on major international outlets, such as the BBC and CNN.
Delivered in both Hebrew and English, the campaign clearly targets two audiences. One is the Israeli public, still reeling from the ongoing war in Gaza. The other is the broader international community, which Israel now seeks to convince that its actions are part of a consensual, inclusive peace project. Though officially funded by a domestic Israeli civic alliance, the campaign's scope, sophistication, and timing raise serious questions about deeper state-level involvement—possibly including Israel's intelligence and national information agencies.
The stated aim is simple: to manufacture a domestic consensus around the Accords, while presenting them to Arab and global audiences as an established, irreversible reality. Yet the timing—unveiled amid continued airstrikes on Gaza and operations against Iran—suggests something more cynical. This is not peace-making, but narrative laundering: a calculated effort to frame active conflict as the necessary prelude to future harmony.
One billboard reads, "There is a time for peace, and a time for war." The subtext is unambiguous: destruction today is the cost of unity tomorrow. Images of Arab leaders shown alongside Netanyahu and Trump are meant to reassure Israeli viewers that this path enjoys Arab blessing and global legitimacy.
But here lies the ethical breach.
Many of the Arab leaders featured in these visuals have never publicly endorsed the Abraham Accords. Some—like Egyptian President Abdel-Fattah El-Sisi—have, in fact, taken firm positions against key elements of the initiative, particularly the displacement of Palestinians. The unauthorised use of their images in political advertising on this scale violates not only diplomatic norms but also well-established standards of media ethics and individual privacy.
This is not mere misrepresentation—it is strategic disinformation. By portraying pan-Arab endorsement, the campaign attempts to soften Arab resistance to normalisation and obscure the human cost of Israel's military campaign in Gaza.
At another level, the campaign exploits long-standing divisions within Arab societies themselves. By equating Palestinian resistance with Islamist extremism, Israeli messaging tries to resonate with publics weary of political Islam and militancy. In doing so, Israel casts itself as the region's stabilising force—its adversaries, the sole agents of chaos.
But the campaign's architects appear to underestimate the widespread moral outrage—across the Arab world, the West, and even within Israel itself—at the suffering endured by Palestinians. No public relations blitz can erase the images of bombed-out hospitals, children buried in rubble, or families fleeing carnage. And to appropriate Arab faces and identities to legitimise this devastation is to add insult to injury—layering propaganda over pain.
This raises a fundamental legal and ethical question: What are the consequences of using the likenesses of foreign heads of state in political advertising without their explicit consent? Globally, media codes of ethics are unequivocal: such usage is prohibited unless authorised, especially when the messaging is potentially misleading. That the campaign was launched through Israeli domestic channels—where scrutiny may be less stringent—before being broadcast internationally only compounds the problem.
Ultimately, this campaign is not about peace. It is about controlling the narrative. It seeks to recast coercion as consensus, bombardment as diplomacy, and silence as assent. It offers a textbook example of how political marketing, severed from ethical grounding, becomes a weapon—one aimed not at reconciliation, but at reality itself.
If the Abraham Accords are to mean anything beyond spectacle and spin, they must be anchored in transparency, justice, and mutual dignity, not in doctored images, orchestrated consent, or the collective amnesia of a region still reeling from its past.
Yasser Al-Ansary is a political communication specialist and commentator on Middle East media narratives.
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