The Militia War Against Libya’s Youth

Since 2011, militias have always posed a threat to Libya’s young male population, who – without many economic opportunities or sense of belonging – become susceptible to the recruitment campaigns that promise youth the chance to “protect the revolution”. Of course, the biggest incentive is not ideological but financial; the salary offered by militias dwarfs that which can be obtained in the public or private sector. The militarization of youth is a problem that requires a strong nation to tackle, but in Libya’s fragmented system of governance, the problem is only getting worse.

There is a small but active group of young people, made up of civil society activists, culture enthusiasts, tech geeks, and others, who are creating their own spaces within this chaos. They organize events and sessions to come together and celebrate their passions, and along the way attract other disillusioned youth in the country. These small but strongly bonded networks are often the only outlet for creative self-expression, and a lifeline for young people who feel “different” from the mainstream.

But the militias and military, increasing affected by religious influences, are now beginning to crack down on these safe havens. A few days ago, a Comic Con event was raided in Tripoli by Salafi militia, who accused them – among other things – of “inciting violence” and “crimes against public morals and Islam”. Despite the fact that the organizers had received a security clearance for the event, many of them were still arrested, and there are reports that some attendees in custody have been abused.

This kind of action has become a trend in Libya, where a popular youth event – after gaining publicity online – leads to outraged responses from people and a swift reaction from the dominating military group. The Earth Hour event in Benghazi witnessed the almost exact same crackdown, when, despite obtaining security clearance, negative online reactions led to the arrest of the organizers. What’s incredibly frustrating is that the outrage is incited by young people behaving, well, like young people. Hosting concerts, singing, dressing up as favorite characters, things that are typical behaviour for youth in any country, are shocking for a population that has grown up in isolation from the rest of the world.

This year has been particularly bad for Libyan culture. Tanarout, a popular cultural center in Benghazi, was forced to shut down because of the harassment of neighbours. Youth writers who contributed to a book – Sun on Closed Windows – received death threats when an explicit excerpt of one of the stories made its way online. This particular incident also led to the closure of another cultural center in Tripoli for several days. Earlier this year, books were confiscated in Marj on the basis that they were also spreading “immoral” ideologies.

The list of ideologies that militias and the conservative populations seem to be terrified of is rather extensive and thematically incoherent: Satanism, atheism, shi’ism, Freemasonry, Zionism, homosexuality and, ironically, ISIS ideology. In most cases, it’s young people who are the victims of these bizarre allegations and highlights the growing divide between generations. The misunderstanding of youth and their trends happens in any society, but in Libya it can put your life at risk.

What’s particularly problematic is that the medium which puts young people in danger is social media, the same platforms that youth use to get together and share their ideas, interests and points of view. It’s saddening that this same medium which gives them some escape from their reality also poses a threat to their safety. Any online post that shares info about an event will inevitably see the comments section filled with enraged citizens worried about the morality of their society. In particular, the pictures of women seem to rile up the more vitriolic trolls. “Look at those whores,” one commenter says about a picture of girls who are modestly dressed and holding books. In order to respond to this public outcry, the militias swoop in and “save” these susceptible youth by arresting and beating them.

The crises and war have turned Libyans into a nation of people who can readily accept violence and death, in the process making them intolerable to the celebration of life, culture and the vibrancy of youth. As spaces for self-expression continue to shrink in the country for young people, more and more are looking towards countries where being yourself isn’t a crime. Meanwhile, the militias continue to protect a revolution that started as a call for individual freedom, by taking those freedoms away one by one.

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Learning From A Revolution

Don’t put your trust in revolutions. They always come round again. That’s why they’re called revolutions. People die, and nothing changes.” ― Terry Pratchett, Night Watch

Here it is; the five year mark. You remember, don’t you? Standing in front of the courthouse, our faces flushed from the rally and the excitement, telling any journalist who asked us about our prediction for the new Libya, “Just come and see what it’ll look like in five years!”

We gushed about our “new country”, our arrogant enthusiasm justified by the innocent hope and happiness that underlined it, as though we already visited the future and knew with confidence what would happen. Hard to believe it’s only been five years. It feels like fifty.

Must be a record,”Fastest Destruction of a State”. Most effortless, too. We were so busy being tricked with all the parades and fireworks – the superficial festoons of freedom – that we didn’t notice the men behind the curtain, who came out and took apart the puppet show that we thought was real.

Five years later, we are shocked, ashamed, horrified. Those journalists we spoke to five years ago can’t even enter the country anymore to see the results of the revolution. We’ve lost everything in what one can argue is an ironic twist of karma, what we did to the pro-Gadhafi side is now being done to us by creatures more terrifying than they (or we, for that matter) ever were.

I always tell myself that I’m not going to write an anniversary post, after the third year when I slowly, painfully realized that it had become a sham, that the revolution and the achievements and the country weren’t really ours anymore. But that fateful day comes round, and I find myself reminiscing at how so much could change in such a short span of time.

The February 17 revolution, whether I like it or not, will always be a core event for me. It has left me with beautiful memories and a wretched life. It made me hopeful, it helped me discover my value as a person and unearthed new traits I didn’t know I had, it opened my eyes to a new outlook on life, and it turned me into a monster.

It never ceases to amaze me how an otherwise normal person, a member of society and a generally decent individual, can so easily be made to support massive amounts of violence, bloodshed and destruction. In any other setting, they would be horrified. But manipulated by ideology, influenced by the poisonous effect of mob mentality, they turn into something not at once evil, but at once repulsive, hideous.

This is what happened to me in 2011. I’m not trying to justifying my behaviour and beliefs during that time, by saying I became blinded by revolutionary fervor and lost myself in the din of possibilities, because there was a small voice, in the back of my head, who hesitantly pointed out the problems that were also appearing. I ignored that voice, allowed it to become lost among the screams of “Libya is free, Libya is free!” all around me. That’s on me.

Sadly, many Libyans have not learned from the mistakes of 2011. Instead, they have transplanted their obsequious cheerleading onto other, more fragmented causes. Those too, will fail them, and there will be an existential scrabble to find, or create, new belief systems, and on and on until there will be nothing left to believe in. One could look upon our situation and conclude that revolutions forge hope while war creates misery, but we couldn’t have had one without the other

The revolution was not built on mendacious or malicious reasons. We were fed up, people were oppressed and unjustly treated, the status quo needed to change. It was not for a love of chaos that we marched against the regime. But the moment the first black flag unfurled on the battle field, the moment the first family was forced out of their home for what they believed, we should have stopped. Taken a step back. Reassessed where the revolution was going. But we didn’t, pushed on by our own momentum, unable to assess anything, unable to feel anything but our own vague thirst of freedom.

We did stop, eventually, too late, suddenly realizing the setting we were in. Mouths agape, we ask in horrified voices, what happened? How could it all have fallen apart like this? Like those from whom the veil of madness is abruptly lifted, we gaze in awe at the very destruction we supported.

We sit now in our broken country, angry at ourselves, at each other, at anyone who comes near, disillusioned, hopeless, wishing we could turn back the clock five years earlier.

If I could go back in time to my young, foolish, naive 20 year old self, I would shake myself by the shoulders and shout, “Stop! Don’t do it! Thousands will sacrifice themselves for nothing! You will lose everything you hold dear! It’s not worth it!” But hindsight, they say, is 20/20. My younger, foolish, naive self will probably look at me, laugh, and say, “What are you talking about? Just come and see what it’ll look like in five years!”


When people ask me about the February 17 revolution, I don’t hesitate anymore in admitting that I regret being part of it, part of the movement it became that is still ongoing to this day. I think the turning point for me, the moment of revelation of “Oh crap, what have we done,” came sometime in 2013, when I realized that things weren’t going to end well in Benghazi. No one is denying that February 17 began with noble intentions, but it’s very difficult to extract what the revolution used to be from the movement we see today. Even without the numerous foreign elements that invaded the country, a lot of injustices were committed in the name of February 17 by Libyans themselves.  

What I’ll say is, I don’t regret protesting against Gadhafi, because while life under his rule was better, it was still horrible. He needed to know that we were fed up, that we wanted our country back and that we wanted to achieve our potential at citizens. I believe our mistake was in demanding a complete upheaval of the regime, because we had literally nothing to replace it with, and no experience or background in nation-building. No amount of revolutionary zeal and good intentions can run a country, and that was our fatal flaw. The ultimate goal was to improve Libya, and I believe that we could have, and should have, done it a much different way, one that didn’t involve creating sides and that didn’t lead to the large losses we see today.

 

The Death of Democracy in Libya

Yesterday, Libya’s House of Representatives held an urgent session in their Tobruk headquarters to vote on an issue of the utmost importance. No, not the peace process. Or the war. Or the terrifying ISIS threat. Nope, the issue that brought an unprecedented number of representatives together (ever since their first session) was, of course, extending their mandate in Libya.

For those of you with hazy memories, the House of Representatives was set up to replace the expired General National Congress, which, to no one’s surprise, also extended their mandate. The idea was that new elections would instill a better legislative body that the Libyan people could put their faith in – faith that the GNC had ripped to shreds.

These elections happened in 2014, right after the launch of Operation Karama in Benghazi. By that point, many citizens were fed up with the process of voting in new officials, hence the low turnout for the HoR elections. Those who did vote were the more optimistic citizens, who held on to the hope that a new governing body might pull Libya back from the abyss.

Elections were held, votes counted, and the HoR – which was to be based in Benghazi – was formed. However, certain political groups did not win as many seats as they had intended, and plans were set in motion to handicap the HoR before it had even begun working. Airports were attacked, representatives threatened, suspicion cast on the relocation to Tobruk (due to the conflict in Benghazi), etc. Ultimately, the GNC refused to hand over power, citing incredibly vague reasons that were a cover for their actual excuse, “Nu uh, we don’t wanna.” In order to cement their position, they strong-armed the Supreme Court into passing an order to dissolve the HoR, under duress by their militias.

I was one of the people cheering on the HoR, because I was fed up with the malicious incompetence of the GNC and their childish attempts to derail what was becoming an increasingly off-balanced democratic transition. Anything would be better than them, and a government that was closer to my own city might actually focus on the multitude of problems we were facing for a change.

But over time, the HoR lost the desperate trust of the people. Their repeated promises to fight terrorism and fix the country never materialized into anything more than bold words spoken through a microphone. The usual divisions predictably appeared within the HoR itself, and they repeated the same unprofessional gaffs as their predecessors. It became harder to defend their actions to those on the other side of the conflict. During one session – at the height of the war in Benghazi – members voted on raising their own salaries, a move that sparked universal fury (the first time all sides in the conflict agreed on something) and marked a steep loss in the tenuous support they had already had. But, the one fact that could be reliably turned to was that the HoR, despite their incompetence, were voted in democratically and recognized by the international community.

In the backdrop of all this was the threat (or, to some, the promise) of a military council, to replace the fragmenting HoR. This threat/promise continues to grow as the HoR’s mandate comes to an end.

According to the amended constitutional declaration of 2011, the HoR’s term ends with the completion of the constitution, or within 18 months from the start of the CDA’s work. In exactly 14 days from now, that 18 month deadline will be reached. We have no constitution, a government in the West that refuses to hand over power, and now a government in the East that is doing exactly the same thing that caused us to demand a new government in the first place. Hope, Libya’s last remaining hope, is a Government of National Accord, that combines the GNC, HoR, and nearly all the political factions in Libya fighting for a piece of the pie.

The HoR, as part of their Roadmap Committee, proposed a backup plan in the event that the national dialogue fails and a unity government isn’t formed; extending their mandate. Yesterday’s vote was a step towards ensuring that this plan was implemented, much to the ire of Libya’s enraged population.

The deadline to accept the national dialogue proposal is supposed to be October 20th, as it coincides with the end of the HoR’s term. By extending their mandate another six months, the HoR is basically inviting UNSMIL to extend this confounding process of forming a new government, which in turn will prolong the war.

Except, Libyans can’t wait another six months. We can’t wait another day. This plan should have been signed months ago so that the process of ending the conflict can begin, a conflict that is now entering its second year. The latest report by the UN indicates that over 2 million Libyans are directly affected by the war and need assistance. This extension is a blatant act of despicable, self-important selfishness that clearly shows how ignorant and insensitive the HoR is to the suffering of the country. Their excuse, that they don’t want to leave the country in a political vacuum, is an exact repetition of what the GNC said, confirming in the minds of Libyans everywhere that these government are just two sides of the same coin.

This move signifies something more than just another shameless power grab by corrupt Libyan politicians; it’s another nail in the coffin of Libya’s democratic transition. Every succeeding election saw a smaller turnout than the one before it, as every governing body we elect fails us. It’s incredibly common to hear citizens say “I’d rather cut my finger off than dip it in ink again” (a reference to dipping your finger in ink after casting a ballot). It’s one thing for your fellow countrymen to screw the country over while you look on helplessly, but it’s an entirely different thing when you know that you were the one who voted them into office to begin with. There is a phobia now surrounding elections, since our governments seem unable to hand over power without pointless extensions and wars. Libyans who staunchly supported the revolution now lament the loss of Gadhafi, and seriously discuss the potential benefits of reinstating military rule under Khalifa Heftar. The unity government itself is an un-democratic concept, as it centers around the distribution of power to political entities that had refused to hand it over.

It’s been said often since the end of the revolution that Libyans aren’t ready for democracy. I think the problem is that Libyans aren’t ready for politics. Either way, democracy can’t save Libya now, and the term itself has become a hated word. All that is desired is some semblance of stability, regardless of the cost. Some say that you cannot have a stable country without freedom, but Libya has neither stability nor true freedom. We are caught between greedy politicians, a growing terrorist threat and an indifferent international community. If the unity government is not formed, Libyans will not rally around the HoR, and we can’t keep waiting for perpetually unending dialogue negotiations. There are any number of scenarios that could happen by Oct. 20, each one more ominous than the last.

Surviving War Between Semesters: Life of a Benghazi University Student

Faculty of Engineering campus, with the Faculty of Science in the background. Benghazi University before the war

Faculty of Engineering campus, with the Faculty of Science in the background. Benghazi University before the war

If I were to apply for graduate school right now, my summer activities list might look something like this:

  • Cultivated ability to identify the areas of a house least likely to be hit by missiles
  • Obtained negotiation skills to survive dangerous check-points
  • Learned to drive around careening tanks

Obviously these activities don’t actually involve architecture or urban planning (unless you count the house part, which I doubt many universities will). Part of being an ‘Arab Spring’ student is that much of our education involved learning skills that don’t raise our employability level so much as they contribute to staying alive, as we gain our academic credentials in almost bold-faced defiance of the reality around us.

But regardless of the circumstances, my academic life in Benghazi University has always been an unorthodox experience. Even before the revolution, students had to navigate the political and social complexities of Libya. Gadhafi’s face stared at us from the ‘Political Theory’ courses that were mandatory for all students, which we swallowed in bitter silence. His revolutionary guard lurked every corner; you never knew who was listening. Three-day conferences for all new university students about the ways of the Jamaheria were unavoidable, as men in badly tailored suits droned at us about respecting the system.

And then the revolution happened, layering the already politically saturated campus with even more confusing ideologies. Life on campus was, to me, a mirror image of our society at large. But the need to graduate and excel in our chosen field dominated over our interest in the political squabbles happening in the halls of the General National Congress in far-away Tripoli. We were all conscious that a degree meant starting a new phase of life, and every civil disobedience that stopped university for days delayed this phase, every fallen rocket threatened to destroy our futures.


Unlike most teenagers on the brink of adulthood, I knew exactly what I wanted to do in my life. I’ve always had a passion for visual design, and from a young age I would diligently pull out my accrued collection of art supplies and practice drawing. As I got older, I realized that architecture provided the balance I needed – flexibility and a chance to freely express myself, with a structure that appeased the mathematics-oriented part of my mind that I inherited from my engineer parents. “It’s final,” I declared to my friends one afternoon in the sixth grade. “I’m going to be an architect!”

And then we moved to Libya.

The education institution in Libya is not an encouraging system. Students memorize rather than learn, teachers are punitive rather than nurturing, and the end goal is not to acquire knowledge but rather to acquire a degree.

This is why I fully expected that enrolling at Benghazi University (at the time, Garyounis University) would not be the ivy-league experience I had envisioned for myself. I went to the entrance exams like a person condemned. What could I hope to learn in a place where the furniture was at least 30-years old and the professors a group of aging memories from better days long since passed?

Instead, I found myself in a system that challenged me, that pushed me into doing better, that stretched my limits and my abilities in a way that, I would dare to say, competes with top tier universities. Yes, our furniture was old and our resources were limited, but with the internet and the support between students, we honed our skills and fought toe-to-toe with the multi-headed dragon that is architectural education. Our professors were ruthless; they would expect nothing but the absolute best we could produce. They managed to take a group of students with no background in arts (some had never even made a simple craft before), and turned us into individuals that could define the dimensions of a room by sight, that could cut paper with millimeter precision, and who, with more practice, could become real architects.

My younger self would never admit this, but my education at the architecture department of Benghazi University is one of the richest academic experiences I had ever known.


We were on a semester break when the 2011 revolution happened. Benghazi was freed in five days, and no one knew what would happen next. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. The university was closed, only the staff were allowed inside as they determined what to do with the fate of thousands of students. But the students, being young and seizing the opportunity that freedom afforded them, were already engaged in several activities and projects in Benghazi’s burgeoning civil society. No one was really concerned about resuming our studies. The campus wasn’t going anywhere, and we were learning a host of new skills. Med students got a chance to turn theory into practice as they volunteered in hospitals, media students were being snapped up by the rapidly-growing collection of news channels and press. Others also got the chance to test out new fields, pursuing their true passions rather than whatever they were stuck learning at university. Like many other architecture students, I began using my design skills to produce graphics for various organizations, easily learning new software programs and skills on the spot in the charged atmosphere of the revolution. Anything felt possible in those days.

After the last stronghold in the country fell and the country was ‘officially’ liberated, we were informed that classes would resume.


An incident at university under the Gadhafi regime still comes to mind after all these years. The Gadhafi family had a row with the Swiss government, although the details of the incident were murky, as was everything related to the Gadhafi family in those days. One day soon after I saw two revolutionary guards marching up to the entrance of the library, a miniature coffin covered in the Swiss flag being carried on their shoulders. They put the coffin down and shuffled aimlessly about as students glanced at it in passing, perhaps afraid that even staring too long might rouse suspicion. However, I think the guards realized the comical pitifulness of the effigy. It was removed half an hour later.


Truthfully, I don’t remember much about campus life after the revolution. What I do recall is the enthusiasm of the students and teachers alike. It could have been the 9-month vacation that rejuvenated everyone, or the abstract notion of freedom that still made us giddy. I threw myself back into my work with renewed enthusiasm, developing my abilities as an architect. There were subtle but noticeable changes in the university itself, as students became more vocal about their rights and the administration attempted to boost the reputation of the university. Every grievance was fronted by the question, “Why did we have a revolution if this kind of thing is happening?” Another change was the posters that adorned many of the buildings. On these posters were the names and faces of students who fought and died in the revolution, and each department honoured their fallen comrades.

But it wasn’t long before the deteriorating security situation of the city began to reflect on campus life. There was a sense of general uneasiness, and the campus would clear out by the afternoon. Before, we were wary of the guards, but now we were concerned about something not as tangible; the uncertainty of the situation we were in. Uneasiness also returned on a political level, as the factions forming in Libyan society were also forming among the student body. As the political problems escalated, people were discussing their beliefs less and less, the one tried-and-tested mechanism we knew of to protect ourselves. The backdrop to this tense environment was the ominous sound of rockets from the nearby militia base, which kept everyone on edge. Why did we have a revolution?


The instability in Benghazi came to a head after the army forces decided to fight back against militias and extremist groups. United under the banner of Operation Karama, fighting escalated in many parts of the city. Because of Benghazi University’s proximity to the February 17 militia base, this meant rockets launched by the militia against fighter jets invariably landed in our campus. Just as they had done three years previously, classes were indefinitely suspended.

We thought that the suspension wasn’t going to last more than a few months, but we had underestimated the intensity of the situation. Unlike the revolution, where the fighting happened in other parts of Libya, this was going on within our city. Passing by the empty university, I could see militia cars parked next to the gate of our campus.

But it wasn’t until October 15th that we realized how bad it was going to get. Benghazi University became a battle ground, as army forces attacked the militia groups hiding inside the campus itself. Picture after picture of the campus buildings on fire and in ruins dotted social media as we collectively mourned the loss of our university. The administration had assured the students that all their records were safely moved and were available in a temporary location. But it didn’t quite lessen the blow we felt. Benghazi University was the first university established in Libya, and it was up in flames.


It’s September 4th, 2015, and Benghazi University has been closed for one year and four months. Tomorrow classes will resume. The university has designated several public schools across the city to be used temporarily. The medical college campus is still intact, as it is located in another part of the city.

I’m overcome by feelings of happiness and despair at the thought of returning. Happiness because I finally have a chance to graduate, but despair in knowing that it won’t be the same. Many students have left, either transferred to another university or unable to return because of the war. Many professors, too, have gone.

I won’t get to present my thesis in the studio where I had learned to become an architect. I won’t get to take a graduation photo in front of our department building with the rest of my class, and I will never get the chance to take once last stroll through the faculty as a student. I know these are minor, almost negligible grievances, especially compared with what many others have lost during this war. But it doesn’t hurt me any less.

They say college life is supposed to be the best years of your life, but for us they were years mixed with anxiety and hardship and fear. We didn’t see students hanged on campus like our parents before us had witnessed, but we’ve experienced our fair share of horror. I guess Benghazi University has had a more turbulent history than most other universities.

I’m sure that one day, in the future, the buildings will be repaired, the campus will be cleaned up, and new books will line the library shelves. The university will continue to produce doctors, lawyers, engineers and others professionals for Libya. My only hope is that these new generations will not have to experience university life the way we did, and that campus life will finally reflect a city at peace.

Project Silphium, a Conversation on Women’s Rights in Libya

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Activists in Tripoli, Libya, taking part in the 16 Days campaign. (Picture taken from the GVB Program FB page here)

You might have heard about the 16 Days of Activism against Gender Violence, a campaign that seeks to end violence against women. Every year it starts on November 25 (International Day Against Violence Against Women) and ends on December 10 (International Human Rights Day). These 16 days are used to raise awareness on a multitude of issues such as rape, domestic violence and female genital mutilation, to name a few.

An excellent Op/Ed piece in Libyan Youth Voices has been published recently entitled “Sound the Alarm, Tightening Spaces for Women in Libya“, which highlights a series of worrying developments concerning women in Libyan society.  From the article:

There used to be a glass ceiling in Libyan society, I know it was there because I experienced it first-hand. However, the glass ceiling has since shrunk to a wooden shed. I’m afraid to actually admit this out loud but if everyone keeps brushing off these accumulating incidents, we’re going to end up in a cement grave.

With the eroding state of the country and the ever-growing war, how can Libyan women combat these problems? One group of Libyans decided to utilize the power of the internet and launch Project Silphium, a blog with real life stories and experiences, written by Libyan women for Libyan women. From the blog’s description:

Silphium was a plant that was used in Cyrene (Shahat) as a medicine. Project Silphium on the other hand heals through lots of rants, views and opinions of Libyan women with real life stories and struggles, aiming to reach out and empower women all over Libya.

The blog is the efforts of both Libyan men and women, working as writers and designers. While it’s still relatively new (less than a week old), it has already attracted a lot of attention. One of the co-founders told me that the idea came from the frustration that much of the news articles on Libyan women didn’t represent them and how they felt.

They also expressed excitement at the reaction the blog was getting, especially that “young people are responding” and contributing their experiences.

Part of the success of this project can be attributed to the simple yet powerful impact that sharing real life stories can have. Under the cloak of anonymity, Libyan women can send in their own stories/rants in either English or Arabic. Having a safe platform with which to express yourself and to be heard is one of the greater aspects of the internet and one that has proven to be a profound change-maker.

So far the blog has featured posts like “There’s More To Life Than Just Men and Make-up“, “انا مسلمة و اطالب بحقوق المرأة” (I am Muslim and I Demand Women’s Rights) and “انتِ اكثر بكثير من زوجة رجل ليبي” (You Are More Than Just the Wife of a Libyan Man).

This will give outsiders a chance to hear the raw and diverse narrative of women in Libya, and hopefully, will give Libyan men a chance to better understand the emotions and struggles of their fellow citizens.

(You can check out Project Silphium’s Facebook page here or, if you’re a Libyan woman, contribute your own story and send it to projectsilphium@gmail.com )

Dispatches from Benghazi: Crisis Alert

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October 2014| A makeshift barricade outside Buhdaima, a district targeted by missiles and car bombs.

It has been exactly one month since the last phase of Operation Karama began in Benghazi, launching a full scale street war in the city between the Libyan army and the terrorist group calling itself ‘The Revolutionary’s Shura Council’.

Today also happens to be the one year anniversary of the Gharghour massacre in Tripoli, in which a militia went on a murder spree in our nation’s capital. It is a depressing fact that those who participated in this massacre are now controlling Tripoli, in a fashion very similar to Gadhafi’s grip on the city during the Libyan revolution.

But I’m not posting today to complain some more about the war (which sucks) or to reminisce on past crimes (which also suck). No, this post is more of a plea. If you are from an aid agency or humanitarian group, or if you know someone who is, Benghazi needs your help.

Benghazi is currently facing a major humanitarian crisis. A petition is being circulated, started by a group of Libyan activists, which demands that Benghazi be declared a disaster zone. While groups like the Libyan Red Crescent and the ‘We’re Benghazi’s Family’ campaign are doing their best to help people, they can’t do it alone. There are several issues the city is currently dealing with.

Piles of trash outside a public building in the Laithi district

Piles of trash outside a public building in the Laithi district. 

1) Environmental Crisis: Because mobility has become restricted in the city due to the fighting, no one has been collecting the garbage. It’s been piling up, and while there have been several attempts in various neighbourhoods to clean up the trash, it’s not enough.

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Refugee supplies being stored in a classroom, in one of Benghazi’s public schools. (Photo courtesy of Idris Elbadri) 

There’s been a noticeable increase in flies and other insects, which could potentially spread diseases, and this could get worse as we transition further into the rainy winter season.

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A classroom inhabited by one of the families from Bu’Atni, who have been here for months. (Photo courtesy of Idris Elbadri)

2) Refugee Crisis: Several areas have been evacuated in Benghazi due to the intensity of the clashes, including Sabri, Souq Al-Hout, Selmani and Garyounis. Those who do not have family members to stay with must seek refuge in public schools. These schools are already hosting several families from the previous months’ fighting, and more schools are being opened as the number increase.

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An apartment in Garyounis caught fire after a rocket hit it.

3) Infrastructure Crisis: Street warfare is the clumsiest type of war, because you can’t ensure what your weaponry will hit. Several houses, public buildings and utilities have been hit by stray artillery, and Benghazi’s infrastructure was already bad to begin with. The University of Benghazi is currently part of the battle field as the militia groups hide inside the campus buildings, and the damage has been reported to be extensive.

4) Financial Crisis: With the closure of the banks, people are finding difficulty in purchasing essential products as their available cash depletes. Those who run private businesses are also facing heavy losses to their livelihood.

There have also been reports of food and medicine shortages in some districts, an education crisis because schools and university have been closed, along with other problems, but I think you get the general idea. Telecommunications have become limited in the city, which is why not many people realize the full extent of the crisis here. The United Nations is currently engaged in a political tug-of-war and have all but ignored the human aspect of Libya. The Interim Government and House of Representatives have also been less than helpful. Regardless of which side you support, the safety and security of civilians should come first.

5 Inspirational Libyan NGOs and Civil Society Groups

There are quite a lot of people gleefully declaring that Libya is a lost cause. “Whelp, that revolution was a pretty bad idea, huh?” they’ll smirk. And while a large part of you wants to slap the smugness off their face, deep down inside you know that Libya is indeed looking bleaker by the day. With Tripoli International Airport blown to smithereens and a political schism deepening the fault lines in the country, one can only wonder with trepidation what the future holds for Libya. 

However, while militias and politicians are in the limelight, there are groups in Libya working behind the scenes trying to keep the pieces of the fractured country together. I wanted to highlight my favorite ones here, as a salute to the work they’re doing. 

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Barbary sheep, know as ‘Waddan’ in Libya, one of the endangered animals the Wildlife trust advocates for (Source: Facebook)

5. Libyan Wildlife Trust (الجمعية الليبية لحماية الحياة البرية والبحرية

What I love about this organization is the focus they’re putting on a very ignored aspect of Libya; its wildlife and environment. Libya has some amazing animals, but we also have a very limited mentality when it comes to taking care of them A lot of illegal poaching goes on in Libya’s deserts, and it’s this organization that’s working towards ending these practices. 

They’ve also organized campaigns like free veterinary check-ups, asking people to set up water bowls for birds in the summer, and seminars on wildlife and environmental awareness. And even if you can’t actively participate in their events, you can go on their page and read up on Libya’s amazing wildlife and sea-life. 

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A co-op debate with both the Libyan Debate Club and Sijal, under the motion “Foreign intervention will help Libya’s crisis”

4. Libyan Debate Club & Sijal 

(نادي المناظرة الليبي & سجال)

Quick, think of the most ideal solution to Libya’s current crisis. Did you think ‘dialogue’? Well, Libya’s debate club and Sijal group think so too. The Libyan Debate Club was first started in Benghazi, and the members later traveled across Libya to give workshops and help start up other debate clubs in different cities. What’s great about them is their involvement in the Libyan political scene. Their last series of debates involved candidates for the House of Representatives elections.

Sijal was created by former LDC members, and they’re also holding debates that focus on the current events in Libya. Their last two debates have been about foreign intervention in Libya and Benghazi University’s suspension of classes due to the conflict. Both LDC and Sijal hold workshops to train people on the art of debate. 

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A lesson on indoor/outdoor safety by Children First at a school in Benghazi (Source: Facebook)

3. Children First (أطفالنا اولا)

When it comes to child development, Libya is still in its early stages. Children First is a small, Benghazi-based operation that packs quite a punch. Their main focus is on child safety, and they’ve done work on child abuse awareness and a nation-wide campaign for child car safety.

Libyans have a very limited sense of personal safety, and this often applies to their children as well. Libya has one of the highest rates of car accidents in the world, and many deaths can be avoided if people took more precautions. It was seeing kids sticking their heads out of car windows and refusing to wear seat belts that partially inspired Children First to take action.

2. The Libyan Red Crescent (الهلال الأحمر الليبي)

Red Crescent volunteers helping foreign workers evacuate Benghazi

Red Crescent volunteers helping foreign workers evacuate Benghazi (Source: Facebook)

 The past few months of fighting witnessed by Tripoli and Benghazi have been some of the worst in the country since the revolution. With the evacuation of international organizations in the country, there’s a huge humanitarian crisis looming over the country. The Libyan branch of the Red Crescent has been working non-stop to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Comprised of several divisions, they do everything from transporting dead bodies from the conflict areas, delivering medicine, evacuating civilians and patrolling traffic intersections. They always train potential volunteers and overall run a very tight ship (the same which cannot be said of government relief groups that have achieved very little). 

1. Libyan Scouts (حركة كشاف ليبيا)

Benghazi Girl Scouts learning first aid methods

Benghazi Girl Scouts learning first aid methods (Source: Facebook)

I could dedicate an entire blog post to the Scouts of Libya and sing their praises. What makes this organization so admirable is its longevity (65 years and counting!) and the fact that they operated under Gadhafi’s dictatorship without being corrupted or stopped (and not for his lack of trying, either).

Boy Scouts marching band in a culture parade in Benghazi, 2012

Boy Scouts marching band in a culture parade in Benghazi, 2012

The Scouts don’t just organize events, they foster generations of active, conscious citizens. By staying away from politics and focusing on helping the community, the Scouts have done more for Libya than any other organization. A person who joins the Scouts in their youth can go on to be troop leaders and teach the next generation. They teach preparedness, community service, discipline, leadership and host exchange programs with Scout groups in other countries. They also have a Naval division, and you can occasionally spot their colourful sails as they glide on the Mediterranean. 

What’s also amazing about the Scouts is their gender equality. Both Boy and Girl Scouts work side by side in campaigns and march together in parades, a refreshing change in a society still struggling with the issue of women’s rights and visibility.

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This is by no means a complete list. A multitude of diverse organizations exist in Libya, each doing important work. Honourable mentions include Benghazi Ubader (لأجلك بنغازي ابادر) which does clean-up campaigns and renovates public parks in Benghazi,  Civil Initiatives Libya (a national project dedicated to fostering civil society), My Code of Ethics (a campaign started to encourage citizens to be more responsible) and Volunteer Libya (which does a wide range of work).

My biggest fear for Libya is the crippling of its recently-born civil society. Extremists groups have not been inconspicuous in their hostility towards civil society activism, since the enemy of totalitarian rule is a conscious nation that strives for freedom of expression. It is vital to keep civil society alive if we ever want a chance at seeing Libya rebuilt as a civil, democratic country.