Rebels must be weaned off a heady cocktail of power and freedom for sake of law and order, writes MARY FITZGERALD, Foreign Affairs Correspondent, in Tripoli
FOR THE gangly youths that have fought on Libya’s frontlines since February, the past six months will always be remembered as a time that changed their lives forever.
They lost friends to Gadafy’s bullets and shells; learned to use a gun or heavy artillery for the first time; bonded with strangers while fighting in the harsh desert and tasted victory over a tyrant who had ruled their country for more than four decades.
“This war made me grow up,” says one teenage fighter in Tripoli.
“It has been an adventure like no other. We have felt both great joy and sorrow.” It may also be an experience some will struggle to leave behind whenever it is time to return to their former lives.
The swagger of many of the younger fighters manning checkpoints or returning from the few remaining frontlines shows that they clearly relish the authority provided by the guns that swing so casually from their scrawny shoulders.
“They’ve had this adventure, and it has given them such self-importance. They can overdo it sometimes, displaying this new power they feel for the first time,” says Dr Adel Abu Azza, a psychiatrist who worked in several Dublin hospitals during the 13 years he lived in Ireland.
In recent months, Dr Abu Azza has worked as a medical logistics co-ordinator for the Tripoli Revolutionary Brigade, one of the first rebel units to enter Tripoli more than two weeks ago.
The brigade is led by Irish-Libyan Mahdi al-Harati, and its ranks contain several Libyans with family or professional connections to Ireland.
Libya is still very much in its revolutionary honeymoon stage. While pockets of support for Gadafy remain and the deposed leader is still at large, most Libyans are either still revelling in this moment of liberation, or looking to the future.
Dr Abu Azza is under no illusions as to the difficulties ahead.
“Starving people of freedom for so long and then giving it to them for the first time can create problems because they might not be able to handle it, they might overdose on it,” he says.
“It’s the same as if you were very hungry and you had lots of food put in front of you, you might not know when to stop. You can become intoxicated in a dangerous way.”
Like many Libyans, Dr Abu Azza worries about the number of guns on the streets. “Something needs to be done about it immediately. It should have been considered before, but people got hooked on getting rid of Gadafy rather than thinking about how to handle things when Gadafy collapses.”
Outside, the evening air crackles with the sound of celebratory gunfire, still a nightly soundtrack in Tripoli despite calls for it to cease.
A number of people have died from injuries sustained from falling bullets fired skywards by jubilant fighters.
“You need to be very calm to deal with these young guys because you didn’t just give them power, you gave them freedom and power, and unlimited power at that,” says Dr Abu Azza.
“All of this, together with an education that is sometimes lacking, is a recipe for pending disaster. I hope that doesn’t happen. We are working on it.”
The country’s interim government, the National Transitional Council, has announced plans to draft thousands of those who took up arms to oust Gadafy into the police force and find jobs for the rest.
Some 3,000 fighters are to be trained as police and national security officers. Training schemes and scholarships will be set up for others.
“They are coming from a hot environment,” says Faraje Sayeh, Libya’s interim minister for capacity building. “Now we will calm them down and try and find ways to reintegrate them into civil society.”
Interim interior minister Ahmad Darat estimates that the fighters would be required for about a month longer as the council seeks to extend its control over the entire country.
“They will give up their weapons. It’s just a matter of time and organisation,” he says.
There are plans to bring the constellation of brigades and militias that sprang up during the uprising into a unified, organised structure.
“These military formations we have were born out of necessity. None of these groups are intent on staying as armed forces independent of the national army or the police. And there is consensus on this,” says Aref al-Nayed, director of the council’s “stabilisation team”.
At a checkpoint some 60km east of the coastal town of Misrata, fresh-faced fighters in jeans and T-shirts mill around, Kalashnikovs in hand. Abdul Salam al-Bkush (24) says a system has been introduced to control the use of weapons. “We are much more organised now. At night we give back the rifles, we have them only when we need them.”
The youths talk of what they might do in post-Gadafy Libya. Ibrahim Shawsh (22) dreams of studying law.
“There is no problem in giving back our rifles,” says 19-year-old Ali al-Arbed. “We will go back to our normal lives.”