THE Palestinians’ new national museum is a striking monument to the state they don’t yet have. Designed by a firm in Dublin, the museum itself is angular and modern, with glass curtain walls topped by smooth white limestone. From afar it looks almost like a low-slung bunker perched on a hill north of Ramallah; inside, though, it is light and airy. A terraced garden stretches out below, filled with dozens of local species: almond and fig trees, mint and za’atar.

Only one thing is missing—the exhibits. When the first visitors arrive in June, they will tour an empty building. The curators had spent years planning an inaugural exhibition, “Never Part”, about the personal effects that Palestinian refugees took when they fled their homes. But the museum’s director, Jack Persekian, resigned in December, citing “disagreements” with management, and the show was postponed.

The saga of the $24m museum feels like a microcosm of Palestine’s broader problems. The idea of building it was first conceived in 1997, but the plans were soon suspended amid the violence of the second intifada, or Palestinian uprising. The organisers did not break ground until 2013, and the project, which they aimed to complete within a year, was plagued by a series of cost overruns and delays.

The museum blames many of those on Israel, which controls the border between Jordan and the occupied West Bank. The Austrian-made emergency-exit signs were inexplicably delayed by Israeli customs authorities; so were light fixtures from Germany. The Jordanian landscaper, meanwhile, has not been able to get a visa, so he supervises the grounds via video chat.

These are common complaints among developers in the area. Bashar al-Masri, a wealthy businessman who is building Palestine’s first planned city, keeps six months of inventory on hand to cope with the inevitable delays at the border. The need for vast warehouses, filled with everything from cement to marble, adds to the cost and the logistical challenges.

The museum is run by a private organisation, which at least spares it from the West Bank’s incessant political feuding. Mahmoud Abbas, the unpopular president, is in the 11th year of a four-year term, and is increasingly paranoid about his grip on power. Last year he sacked Yasser Abed Rabbo, a vocal critic who was, in effect, the number-two man in the Palestine Liberation Organisation. In an added fit of pique, Mr Abbas also booted him from his job as director of the Mahmoud Darwish Foundation, which runs a museum dedicated to Palestine’s national poet.

Over the past decade the Palestinians have built many of the trappings of a state: a police force, a central bank. At the inauguration ceremony on May 18th, Mr Abbas called the museum another important step. “The only thing left is declaring independence, which you will all declare soon,” he said. Yet the peace process is comatose, Israel’s government is unyielding and the Palestinians are hopelessly divided between Mr Abbas and the Islamist group Hamas, which controls Gaza.

Few believe him—including, it seems, the museum’s directors. Without an independent state, the 1.8m people in Gaza cannot visit, nor can the 3m refugees who live in neighbouring countries. So the curators are planning a series of satellite shows. The first exhibition in Palestine’s national museum, about the history of local embroidery, will be in Beirut.