When Yasser Arafat died in a military hospital in Paris on November 11, 2004, it took barely seven hours for the Executive Committee of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) to appoint his successor: Mahmoud Abbas. Then 68 years old, Abbas stepped into enormous shoes, taking over not only as head of the PLO, but soon after as President of the Palestinian Authority (PA) and leader of the ruling Fatah party. Today, more than two decades later, Abbas is 89—and the question of who will succeed him is more urgent than ever.
A swift transition like the one that followed Arafat’s death is unlikely this time. Abbas is the last active representative of Fatah’s founding generation, the movement that once spearheaded Palestinian resistance and has since dominated political life in the occupied territories. But unlike Arafat, Abbas has not groomed a political heir or designated a successor. On the contrary, he has consistently avoided allowing any potential rival to amass too much influence—an approach some observers view as a deliberate strategy to preserve his own grip on power.
In Ramallah, nervous anticipation is mounting. The closer the Abbas era draws to its end—whether through resignation, illness, or death—the more intense the speculation over his succession becomes. One thing is clear: if Abbas were to step down suddenly, a dangerous power vacuum would emerge. The political and institutional structures are fragmented, and there is no clearly defined mechanism for an orderly transition. As a result, a growing number of players are maneuvering for position.
One of them is Hussein al-Sheikh. In May 2024, Abbas unexpectedly appointed him as deputy chairman of the PLO—a position that had only been created two days earlier. Many saw this as a clear signal: al-Sheikh might be the president’s preferred successor. As Secretary General of the PLO’s Executive Committee and a central figure in managing security and administrative relations with Israel, the 64-year-old wields considerable influence.
Yet despite his formal power base, al-Sheikh lacks broad support among the Palestinian public. He is widely seen as a representative of the status quo—a system many view as corrupt, authoritarian, and disconnected from the lived reality in Gaza and the West Bank. Especially among younger Palestinians, he is not seen as a figure of hope, but rather as a symbol of political stagnation. Even within Fatah, his position is far from secure. His appointment as deputy PLO chairman may have been a strategic move—but it is not a decisive one.
Other prominent figures are also being mentioned as possible successors. Among them are Mohammed Dahlan, the exiled former security chief in Gaza, and Marwan Barghouti, a charismatic Fatah leader imprisoned in Israel since 2002. Both command significant followings, but their bids face major obstacles: Dahlan is deeply controversial within Fatah and personally rejected by Abbas, while Barghouti’s long imprisonment severely limits his ability to act politically.
Another potential candidate is Prime Minister Mohammad Shtayyeh. His close ties to Abbas, diplomatic experience, and technocratic image could make him a transitional figure—but it remains unclear whether he could survive the internal power struggles in the long term.
The succession issue reveals a structural flaw in Palestinian governance: the system is centered around a single figure—Abbas—not on institutional stability or collective decision-making. The PLO, once a broad umbrella organization of various factions, has largely become synonymous with Fatah. The Palestinian Authority, meanwhile, suffers from a massive legitimacy crisis, exacerbated by the lack of elections in recent years.
Should Abbas exit the scene unexpectedly, the result could be a chaotic scramble for power—with an unpredictable outcome. The consequences could stretch far beyond Ramallah: at stake is not just the future of Fatah, but also the functionality of Palestinian institutions, both domestically and on the international stage. Israel, regional powers such as Egypt, Jordan, and Qatar, and not least the United States are watching developments with growing concern.
This uncertainty stems from the unique characteristics of Palestinian politics. Palestinians live partly in diaspora and partly in a homeland that remains under varying degrees of Israeli control. The aspiration for independence remains unfulfilled—even though nearly 150 countries have recognized the State of Palestine, declared in 1988. Over time, this reality has given rise to a complex web of institutions that coexist and at times overlap.
A constitutional scholar from Nablus recently described this situation as the “three-body problem” of Palestinian politics. The three bodies in question are the PLO, the Palestinian Authority, and the State of Palestine.
Founded in 1964, the PLO is an umbrella organization comprising multiple parties and groups. It is internationally recognized as the sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people and is the signatory to the Oslo Accords with Israel. That peace process led to the creation of the Palestinian Authority in 1994. The PA administers parts of the West Bank and functioned as the government in Gaza until the Hamas takeover in 2007.
Though many Palestinians view the PA as powerless in the face of Israeli occupation, it has gradually gained weight—if only because it functions as a quasi-government with significant financial resources. In theory, it is overseen by a parliament and leadership elected by the people. In practice, however, the internal Palestinian split since 2007 has paralyzed many of these mechanisms.
In practice, all power converges on Mahmoud Abbas. He is the head of the Fatah party, chairman of the PLO, president of the Palestinian Authority (PA)—and, since 2005, also holds the title of President of the State of Palestine. Since 2013, after Palestine was granted observer state status at the United Nations, the PA has also referred to itself as the “State of Palestine.” Technically, however, the State of Palestine is not tied to the PA, but to the PLO, which proclaimed it in 1988. These institutional overlaps confused many observers when, in late April, the PLO Central Council followed a proposal by Abbas and created the new position of deputy PLO chairman. The confusion was compounded by the official announcement stating that the new PLO deputy would also serve as vice president of the State of Palestine. Some reports subsequently claimed that Hussein al-Sheikh would become vice president of the PA—or even that he would automatically succeed Abbas in the event of his death or resignation.
But the move was not a succession plan—it was a political maneuver. Abbas, the PLO, and the PA are under mounting pressure from the Gulf states, which have begun to condition their support for the entrenched and widely seen as corrupt leadership in Ramallah on visible reforms. The appointment of a deputy to Abbas was reportedly a demand from Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. Al-Sheikh’s first congratulations came from Riyadh, and he is expected to travel to Saudi Arabia in the coming days. Among Palestinians, however, al-Sheikh remains widely unpopular. And even within the PLO, his power base is limited. With this appointment, Abbas is walking a tightrope between the power centers of Fatah and the PLO on one side, and the reform demands of Saudi Arabia and other Gulf states on the other. He has given al-Sheikh a title—but not real power.
Despite his recent promotion to deputy chairman of the PLO, Hussein al-Sheikh is far from being a designated successor to Mahmoud Abbas—at least in formal terms. Should Abbas die suddenly, al-Sheikh would not automatically inherit any of his roles. Not even within the PLO, where his influence has grown, is there a rule or mechanism that would ensure he assumes leadership in the event of Abbas’s departure.
As in 2004 after Yasser Arafat’s death, the PLO Executive Committee would need to convene to appoint a new chairman. According to existing law, the president of the Palestinian Authority would have to be elected in a general vote—a scenario that seems remote, given that no such election has taken place since 2006. Even within Fatah, the party Abbas also leads, a special congress would be required to decide the succession. In other words: none of the three central leadership roles that Abbas currently holds are tied to a designated deputy.
Al-Sheikh is certainly a powerful actor in the Palestinian political landscape—thanks to his proximity to Abbas, his role as a liaison with Israel, and his access to the PA’s financial and administrative machinery. But he is far from the only potential candidate. Another name often mentioned is Majid Faraj, the head of Palestinian intelligence. Faraj is known as a discreet yet highly strategic power broker with strong ties to Western intelligence agencies and a solid reputation within the security establishment.
A conceivable—and increasingly likely—scenario is that the concentration of power amassed under Abbas will be divided after his death. Instead of a single successor taking over all three positions, the PLO, PA, and Fatah might be led, at least temporarily, by different individuals. In theory, this institutional disentanglement could open the door to more collective forms of leadership. In practice, however, it risks further destabilizing an already fragile political order.
Observers refer to this situation as the “three-body problem” of Palestinian politics: three central institutions with overlapping mandates but no clearly defined hierarchies or succession mechanisms. What was originally intended as a division of labor could, in the post-Abbas era, devolve into an open power struggle—between rival factions, old loyalties, and new alliances. Without the unifying figure of Abbas, long-suppressed rivalries may erupt.
Such a power struggle would pose not only a domestic challenge. It would also draw in regional and international actors—from Israel, Egypt, and Jordan to the United States and the European Union. The leadership vacuum at the top of the Palestinian political system would be not just an institutional gap, but a strategic liability—with immediate consequences for stability in the West Bank and beyond.
