10 years on, Libyan revolutionaries live with wounds, unfulfilled dreams

A hawker at Martyrs’ Square in Tripoli on Tuesday sells Libyan flags. (AFP)
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Updated 17 February 2021
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10 years on, Libyan revolutionaries live with wounds, unfulfilled dreams

  • The UN has backed a new effort to unite Libya’s warring sides through an interim government

MISRATA: As revolution swept their region in 2011, three young Libyans joined mass protests against Muammar Qaddafi’s four-decade rule. They now live divided by Libya’s frontlines, their futures irrevocably shaped by the uprising.

The first demonstrations against Qaddafi’s rule began in the eastern city of Benghazi on Feb. 17, 2011. A decade on, Libya is still split between rival factions, and shell and shrapnel holes scar its cities.

The UN has backed a new effort to unite Libya’s warring sides through an interim government and national elections at the end of the year. But many Libyans remain skeptical.

Usama Ali Al-Aguri, a graduate from Benghazi, was unemployed in 2011 and at the time decried what he called the “injustice that we suffered and heard of from our fathers and grandfathers.”

As the fighting spread through the summer of 2011, he joined the assault on Tripoli. When he and a comrade went to reconnoiter an attack, Qaddafi’s forces spotted them.

“There was massive shooting at us. I got a bullet in my leg,” he said. His comrade was killed. He ended up in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down.

He condemns many of those who emerged as leaders in 2011. “The revolution has been stolen from the honorable people now in their graves,” he said.

As the country fell further apart, he joined many others from the east in backing Khalifa Haftar, head of the eastern military forces whose push to capture Tripoli failed last year.

Al-Aguri said his injury changed his life. Now 34, he lives for his two children, he said, and for work he goes each morning to the cattle market to buy and sell livestock.

Hisham Al-Windi came from a family that did well under Qaddafi — his father was a diplomat. But after taking part in protests, he learned he was wanted by police and fled to Tunis.

Traveling to the south of Tunisia, he crossed through a border post held by the rebels and joined their battle in the western mountains. “I was several months in the fight,” he said.

Al-Windi was among the first fighters to storm Qaddafi’s Tripoli compound. Wandering through the rooms where the leader had lived, he found an item known to all Libyans — his brocaded military hat.

Interviewed that day on television wearing the hat, Al-Windi voiced his hopes for the future, briefly gaining international recognition as a face of Libya’s uprising.

“I wanted to say first that Libyans were not as bad as people thought. And I was also saying ‘Qaddafi is finished and we need to rebuild’,” he said.

He now works in Tunis and is hopeful for change.

“People say to me: ‘You took part in this disaster. How do you like it now?’ Well of course I don’t. But it doesn’t mean you have to choose between Qaddafi and chaos. Revolution is a process. We must build a new Libya that we deserve,” he said.

In Misrata, Malek Salem Al-Mejae, then aged 20, began to fight in 2011 when his city came under attack by Qaddafi’s forces.

That July, he, too, was wounded, losing a leg.

“I was in the back of the truck. A missile fell behind us,” he said. “Some of my friends were killed. I received treatment in Tunisia, then returned to Libya.”

He had hoped to see far greater progress in Libya than he has in the last decade, and blames Libya’s post-revolutionary leaders for the country’s failure to unite.

“Unfortunately the situation is as you see it after 10 years of wars. The politicians, who were entrusted with the task, were not up to the standard.”


Refugees, migrants in Lebanon find rare sanctuary from Israeli strikes in Beirut church 

Updated 59 min 20 sec ago
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Refugees, migrants in Lebanon find rare sanctuary from Israeli strikes in Beirut church 

  • Beirut church offers safe haven for displaced migrants, refugees
  • Many refugees lived through 2024 war, but are now more vulnerable

BEIRUT: When Israeli strikes began pummelling Beirut’s southern suburbs early on Monday, Sudanese refugee Ridina Muhammad and her family ​had no choice but to flee home on foot, eventually reaching the only shelter that would accept them: a church.
Eight months pregnant, Muhammad, 32, walked with her husband and three children for hours in the dark streets until they found a car to take them to the St. Joseph Tabaris Parish, which has opened its doors to refugees and migrants.
They are among 300,000 people displaced across Lebanon this week by heavy Israeli strikes, launched in response to a rocket and drone attackinto Israel by the Lebanese armed group Hezbollah.
Just 100,000 of the displaced are in government shelters. Others are staying ‌with relatives ‌or sleeping in the streets. But migrants and refugees say government ​shelters ‌were ⁠never an option ​for ⁠them, saying they were turned away during the last war between Hezbollah and Israel.
Muhammad’s oldest daughter, now seven, stopped speaking after the 2024 war.
This time, they are even more vulnerable: their home was destroyed in this week’s strikes and Muhammad is due to give birth at the end of the month.
“I don’t know if there’s a doctor or not, but I’m really scared about it because I haven’t prepared any clothes for the baby, nor arranged a hospital, and I don’t know where to go,” she told ⁠Reuters as her younger daughter leaned against her pregnant belly.
Muhammad ‌said she was registered with the United Nations’ refugee agency (UNHCR) ‌but had not received support.
“Us, as refugees, why did we ​register with the UN, if they are not ‌helping us in the most difficult times?” she said.
Dalal Harb, a spokesperson for UNHCR ‌Lebanon, said the agency had mobilized but reaching everyone immediately was extremely challenging given the scale and speed of displacement. The UNHCR operation in Lebanon is currently only around 14 percent funded, she said.
The Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS), which helped the church host displaced in 2024, is doing so again.
Michael Petro, JRS’ Emergency Shelter Director, said the church was ‌full within the first day of strikes, with 140 people from South Sudan, Ethiopia, Bangladesh, and other countries sheltering there.
“There are many, many more ⁠people coming than there ⁠were in 2024, and we have fewer and fewer places to put them,” he said.
Petro said he was told weeks ago that government shelters would be open to migrants if war erupted.
But when the strikes began and even Lebanese struggled to find shelter, the policy seemed to change, he said.
“We’re hearing from hotlines up to government officials and ministries that migrants are not welcome,” Petro said.
Lebanon’s Minister for Social Affairs Haneen Sayyed did not respond to a request for comment. On Thursday, Sayyed said Beirut shelters were full.
When Israeli strikes began, Othman Yahyeh Dawood, a 41-year-old Sudanese man, put his two young sons on his motorcycle.
They drove 75 kilometers (46 miles) from the southern Lebanese town of Nabatieh to St. Joseph’s, where they had sheltered in 2024.
“I know the area ​is safe and there are people who ​will welcome us,” he said.
“We don’t know where to go; there’s war there (in the south), war here (in Beirut), war in Sudan, and nowhere else to go,” he said.