On the ground in Libya, knowing anything for sure is a challenge

Saturday night, as the bombs were about to fall, our minders brought the international media into Muammar Gaddafi’s fortress, the Bab al-Azizia in central Tripoli, where hundreds of ululating supporters, bussed in from poor neighbourhoods, had volunteered to serve as human shields to protect their Brother Leader. We, and they, expected him to come and speak.  The carpet had been laid, the microphone was set. It was, weirdly enough, a magical evening. The music rocked, old crones danced, young men waved their flags, children sang and  all proclaimed their love for the Leader, the vibe surprisingly chilled, more Glastonbury than Berlin 1939 as we waited for the Colonel.  But around 10pm, when the crowd heard through their mobile phones that cruise missiles were targeting Tripoli, they began to stream for the exits. Perhaps they had overstated their passion for the Leader. In the end, Gaddafi addressed his people from an undisclosed location.

Since I arrived here, dozens of people have told me “Gaddafi is my Father,” or “I would die for him.” Only five times have Libyans sidled up to me and whispered, “We hate him,” or “Don’t believe the regime.”  But I take the latter more seriously than the former. Each time I feel a thrill, admiration for these brave men willing to risk their lives to tell the truth. But does that mean that the much more exuberant Gaddafi supporters are not sincere? To be honest, I have no way of knowing. Epistemology is problematic in a police state.

This is a fierce regime, utterly intolerant of dissent, and brutal. According to its laws, a family, even an entire village can be punished for the acts of a single individual. The “spontaneous” rallies we are brought to, where the frenzied masses repetitively chant “Allah, Muammar, Libya is all,” are unconvincing and repugnant. Our minders are disappointed in us.  They lecture us, “Why don’t you tell the truth?” They wonder why we are sceptical of their staged rallies.  In part it is because they seemed to have learned public relations in 1970s Eastern Europe but maybe they have a point. Who am I to assume that all those chanting people are faking it?

At a pro-government rally in Green Square two weeks ago, as off-duty policemen fired their rifles in the air and loudly proclaimed their adoration of the Colonel, I espied a group of men at the edge of the crowd, quietly watching. They did not cheer, nor did they jeer, no emotion revealed itself on their poker faces. Aha, I thought, the silent majority, the opponents of the regime. Perhaps I am wrong to take sidelong glances more seriously than proclamations of devotion. Inshallah, perhaps soon we will find out how much love the people of Libya really have for the Brother Leader.