WHOM does one call when one wants to talk to the Muslim Brotherhood, Egypt’s main Islamist group? Most of its leaders are in prison, many of them sentenced to death. Other members are in hiding from the regime of Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi, the general-turned-president who toppled the Brotherhood-led government in 2013 and then banned the group over alleged terrorism. Hundreds more have fled Mr Sisi’s persecution for more sympathetic countries such as Turkey and Qatar.

To make matters more difficult, the Brotherhood cannot agree on who speaks for it these days. Late last year Muhammad Montasser, a pseudonym for the group’s combative spokesman, was sacked by some of its leaders. But other leaders rejected the move, which, they said, did not follow procedure. The disagreement is symptomatic of a deep conflict inside the Brotherhood over its leadership and priorities. After 88 years of religious, political and social activity, which inspired the creation of similar groups across the region, the Brotherhood is tearing itself apart.

On one side are several members of the Brotherhood’s old governing council, known as the “guidance office”, such as Mahmoud Ezzat, the acting “supreme guide”, and Mahmoud Hussein, the secretary-general. Referred to as the “old guard”, they have prioritised the group’s survival and advocated a gradualist approach to changing the state. But many members want to take a more confrontational stance. They are represented by new (though still old) leaders such as Ahmed Abdel-Rahman, who heads a Brotherhood office in Istanbul, and Muhammad Kamal in Egypt, whose place in the guidance office was suspended by the old guard.

Whereas some members of the Muslim Brotherhood turned to violence after Mr Sisi’s coup, the old guard publicly opposes such action—and implies that its rivals do not. That is “totally wrong”, says Amr Darrag, a leader living in Istanbul who sides with the more confrontational wing of the organisation. He sees the group’s “stagnation” under old leaders as being a force pushing young people towards violence. Others accuse the old guard of negotiating with the regime, a charge it denies.

There are echoes of old debates over how to take on Egypt’s past authoritarians, such as Gamal Abdel Nasser and Anwar Sadat. The Brotherhood’s founder, Hassan al-Banna, favoured violence in some circumstances; but during its long history the group has mostly preferred a peaceful approach. Even during the uprising against Hosni Mubarak in 2011, the Brotherhood’s leaders kept a low profile. Many members, though, joined the protests. The division appeared again after the coup that ousted the Muslim Brotherhood government of Muhammad Morsi, as many of the rank and file rejected their leaders’ gradualism.

The new leaders say they want to reform the group’s centralised decision-making process and empower women and young members. But the divide does not fall neatly along generational lines. Many members are fed up with both sides, which have traded accusations in public. Mr Hussein, for example, has been accused of taking bribes from the Turkish government. Others invoke the blood of Brotherhood martyrs to rally support. “The narratives used are very polarising,” says Abdelrahman Ayyash, a former member. “There is no chance of reconciliation.”

That might please Mr Sisi, who seems intent on crushing the group. But his actions are driving people towards extremism, say members. When the internal debate over violence heated up last year, Mahmoud Ghozlan, a member of the old guard, wrote a forceful response titled “Our Strength is Our Peacefulness”. Several days later he was arrested along with a Brotherhood cleric who had denounced violence. Both face a possible death sentence. Members inside Egypt must wonder if there is any other way to confront such a ruthless regime.