Mohammad al-Asfar: Libya’s Patient Revolutionaries
[Mohammad al-Asfar is a novelist. This essay was translated by Ghenwa Hayek from the Arabic.]
The revolution in my country is aflame, and has achieved considerable success, internally and internationally. Each time a city is liberated, makeshift institutions to manage everyday life and defend freedom arise, and more members of the former regime’s leadership, whether they are political, cultural or business figures, join in.
Our flag is no longer a solid green field; the one we carry now is red, black and green with a crescent and star in the middle. The colors are a reminder of the darkness and colonization we have suffered in our history.
For decades, we lived in terror, surrounded by spies and informants, facing the risk of imprisonment or “disappearance” at any moment. No one could intervene on your behalf; there were no real courts, no human rights, nothing.
Everything before this revolution was dedicated to enriching the tyrant and his family. Everything was for their benefit: the army, the police, water, culture, education, hotels, restaurants, the flag. Even sex was regulated: many people couldn’t marry until the regime organized a mass wedding or they were “gifted” a bedroom for the wedding night.
Fifteen years ago, in a single night, the tyrant and his mercenaries murdered 1,200 people at the Abu Salim prison in Tripoli, where political prisoners are held. The bodies were piled in a mass unmarked grave — prisoners from all over Libya, of all ages, killed without even a symbolic trial. My only brother was one of them.
I wrote about the massacre in my first novel. And my second. And my third. And I was not the only one who couldn’t forget. The brutality of that summer evening was one of the sparks that ignited this revolution. The families of those victims began the current protests, here in Benghazi, and were soon joined by the young men of the revolution....
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The revolution in my country is aflame, and has achieved considerable success, internally and internationally. Each time a city is liberated, makeshift institutions to manage everyday life and defend freedom arise, and more members of the former regime’s leadership, whether they are political, cultural or business figures, join in.
Our flag is no longer a solid green field; the one we carry now is red, black and green with a crescent and star in the middle. The colors are a reminder of the darkness and colonization we have suffered in our history.
For decades, we lived in terror, surrounded by spies and informants, facing the risk of imprisonment or “disappearance” at any moment. No one could intervene on your behalf; there were no real courts, no human rights, nothing.
Everything before this revolution was dedicated to enriching the tyrant and his family. Everything was for their benefit: the army, the police, water, culture, education, hotels, restaurants, the flag. Even sex was regulated: many people couldn’t marry until the regime organized a mass wedding or they were “gifted” a bedroom for the wedding night.
Fifteen years ago, in a single night, the tyrant and his mercenaries murdered 1,200 people at the Abu Salim prison in Tripoli, where political prisoners are held. The bodies were piled in a mass unmarked grave — prisoners from all over Libya, of all ages, killed without even a symbolic trial. My only brother was one of them.
I wrote about the massacre in my first novel. And my second. And my third. And I was not the only one who couldn’t forget. The brutality of that summer evening was one of the sparks that ignited this revolution. The families of those victims began the current protests, here in Benghazi, and were soon joined by the young men of the revolution....