by Lin Noueihed
Al Wefaq at first joined the dialogue, but withdrew when it realized that no major concessions were on the table. After taking part in two elections in 2006 and 2010, it refused to participate in the by-elections held in September 2011 to fill the eighteen seats vacated when its MPs had resigned during the February uprising. Amid opposition calls for a boycott, turnout at the election was a dire 17 per cent. The result, predictably, led to a lower house with a dismal number of Shi'ite representatives and no opposition deputies at all.75
Gone were the days when Al Wefaq and its allies took part in a lopsided political process in the hope of building trust and effecting gradual democratic change from within. In October, Bahrain's alliance of opposition parties issued the Manama Document, which called once more for direct negotiations between the opposition parties and the royal family to discuss democratic reforms that would empower the elected house and bring in an elected government, but this time the parties also warned that the alternative to talks was more unrest.
Reluctant to engage in direct talks but realizing that something had to be done to begin the arduous task of restoring trust, the government commissioned in June an independent investigation into whether security forces had violated international human rights law during the crackdowns.
The calibre of the investigating team, led by Cherif Bassiouni, a respected Egyptian-American international human rights lawyer, went some way to inspiring trust in the Bahrain Independent Commission of Inquiry (BICI), and its findings made for grim reading. The commission found that Bahrain's security forces had used excessive force to suppress protests. It said a total of thirty-five people had been killed, including five security personnel, and that five people had died as a result of torture in custody, suggesting that the security services and interior ministry followed ‘a systematic practice of physical and psychological mistreatment, which amounted in many cases to torture, with respect to a large number of detainees’.76
In light of the findings, Bahrain referred to the public prosecutor all cases of abuse involving the police. It also hired senior US policeman John Timoney, and John Yates, a former Assistant Commissioner of the UK Metropolitan Police, to help reform the police force and establish a code of conduct.77 King Hamad set up a commission to lead reforms and stopped all cases against the country's athletes. But to those in the opposition camp, the BICI report smacked too much of an effort by the state to draw a line under the crisis that had shaken the economy and badly damaged Bahrain's overseas image. The United States was already holding up a $53 million arms sale until Bahrain took concrete action to improve its record.78
Seeing both the BICI and the new commission as little more than publicity stunts, aimed at proving to the international community that the government was accountable and transparent, Al Wefaq and other opposition parties remained unconvinced. The problem for Bahrain's opposition was the government's effort to treat the 2011 uprising as an unfortunate incident, a blip in an otherwise smooth trajectory of reform, reconciliation and growth, a problem that could be resolved by sacking a few police officers, releasing some prisoners and improving its rights record. For them, none of those measures addressed the political grievances that had precipitated the uprising and that still festered unresolved in an uninterrupted cycle of protest and crackdown.
While it has never called for the overthrow of the monarchy and has consistently pushed for more meaningful and speedier reforms, Al Wefaq's constituency remains angry over the deaths, the arrests, the beatings and torture that took place in jail, the mass redundancies suffered by Shi'ites and the clampdowns on protests that felt increasingly like collective punishment.
Government supporters, meanwhile, have been persistently told that the Shi'ites are part of an Iranian plot to overthrow the whole system, though the BICI report found no evidence of Iranian meddling. Many Sunnis no longer believe that the Shi'ites will be content with reforms alone. Many are convinced that the more the royal family gives, the more the Shi'ites will demand and the weaker the regime will appear. The king and the crown prince have faced severe pressure from inside the royal family and from Sunni tribal groups not to appear soft and not to give away more concessions. Their true commitment to change was unclear. They were willing to offer enough reforms to ease unrest and placate the Shi'ites and other opponents, but it now appeared they would stop short of ceding any real power to ordinary Bahrainis, whatever their religious beliefs.
The sectarian dimension taken on by the conflict poisoned Bahraini society in 2011, even though divisions in the country had not been simply sectarian in nature. Demands for more political rights had crossed religious divides. Historically, both Sunnis and Shi'ites had been involved in union and nationalist movements. In the 1990s, Sunnis had joined calls for the restoration of the constitution.
But in the battle for the aftermath of Bahrain's own spring, people who had previously called for unity found themselves pressured to join one or another camp. Though the Al Khalifa family have not attempted to legitimize their rule using any religious rationale and have generally not attempted to suppress Shi'ite religious practices,79 a campaign to knock down unlicenced Husseiniat, small Shi'ite mosques, or ma'atim, the funeral halls used during the commemoration of ‘Ashura and other Shi'ite holidays, could only have been felt as a collective punishment for the Shi'ite community.80 By the end of March, even before thousands of Shi'ites had been expelled from jobs and universities, the hope that had marked King Hamad's ascension to the throne had faded. The curfews and crackdowns on Shi'ite villages, along with the information war, created two different experiences and narratives of the uprising, and widened divisions.
The intervention of Gulf personnel, particularly from Saudi Arabia, complicated efforts to find a middle ground and, to Bahrain's Shi'ites, it was difficult not to see the intervention as an attack on their community by a Sunni royal family in Riyadh that had survived largely through its pact with a group of religious zealots who would not tolerate any kind of diversity at home and were holding back change in their neighbours. In reality, Bahrain's sovereignty was materially compromised even before the Gulf intervention. Its financial reliance on Saudi Arabia meant that its monarchy could not always act independently and the economic impact of the 2011 uprising, which saw companies decamp to Dubai and the Formula One Grand Prix cancelled for the year, had only reinforced Bahrain's dependence on oil and on Saudi largesse.
Reforms offered by the Al Khalifa family found their limits in the regional interests of their larger and richer neighbour, yet Bahraini grievances cannot be resolved with armed force. Major popular movements for reform and rights have taken place throughout the past century and are likely to continue as long as the current regime monopolizes power.
Bahrain has been spared armed conflict by the simple fact that its people are unarmed, resorting to rock-throwing and petrol bombs when faced with police. Unlike countries with porous borders like Libya, Yemen or even Egypt, Bahrainis who wish to turn to more violent means of pushing for change will face huge difficulties getting their hands on weapons.
And even if the fight does become militarized, protesters will be no match for Gulf forces equipped by the United States and funded with oil wealth. Bahrain's opposition cannot rely on international help. US President Barack Obama's advice to the Al Khalifa family to engage Al Wefaq directly in serious talks was well received by the opposition, but Washington is unlikely to take action against its old ally nor further undermine its relationship with Saudi Arabia. As it withdraws from Iraq and struggles with its debt, the US is likely to value even more its naval presence in the Gulf and its close ties with Saudi Arabia.
By the end of 2011, trust between the Al Khalifa family and the Shi'ites had broken down, and trust between the Shi'ite and Sunni communities had reached a new low. What happened in 2011 has set Bahrain's political process back years, and it will take major concessions from both sides to restore the trust that had already begun to fade before the Arab Spring. In the meantime,
the country appears set for a period of prolonged unrest that risks further polarizing society and radicalizing increasing sections of the opposition. Those Bahrainis seeking meaningful reforms were increasingly coming to realize they were unlikely to see their wishes fulfilled until there was major change in Saudi Arabia. Libyans, in contrast, required no such condition to topple their own leader in 2011.
CHAPTER 7
Libya's Revolution from Above
Be generous to the soldiers, and take no heed of anyone else.
– Roman emperor Septimus Severus, born in Leptis Magna AD 145
A portrait of Muammar Gaddafi used to hang in the customs hall at Tripoli International Airport, head wrapped in traditional cloth and eyes masked behind reflective sunglasses. ‘Partners not wage workers’, read a nearby sign. A mute line of newly-arrived Korean or Chinese construction workers, already in shiny overalls and orange hard hats, waited to have their passports processed by customs officials who wielded a stamp in one hand and a cigarette in another. Young families returning from a holiday in Europe breezed through the desks reserved for Libyans only, while sweating Western businessmen in the queue marked ‘foreigners’ muttered expletives under their breath.
Endearingly amateurish posters on the back wall advertised Libya's world-class archaeological sites like Leptis Magna or Sabratha. Nearby, a glass cabinet displayed the dusty wares of the local duty-free company, including an inauspicious male aftershave called ‘Surge’ and some antique-looking packs of Lego. A faded billboard showing a Green Book emitting rays of sunshine across the world, circa 1978, stood over the baggage reclaim belts downstairs.
In the waiting hall, cockroaches occasionally scuttled under metal chairs occupied by transit passengers from Bamako, Conakry or Cotonou bound for London, Paris or Brussels. It was rumoured that drug mules flying in from sub-Saharan Africa would secrete their stash in the ceiling panels of the toilets, where corrupt airport officials would later collect them. A desk in the corner of the hall sold more legitimate products, including colourful sheets of postage stamps extolling various aspects of life in Gaddafi's Libya. They ranged from light-hearted pieces, such as ‘Flora and Fauna of the Jamahiriya’, to others with a graver political slant like ‘American Aggression 1986’, an arty tableau of images telling the story of Ronald Reagan's Operation Eldorado Canyon.
Outside on the tarmac lay sparkling new Airbus planes sporting the insignia of Afriqiyah Airways, their interiors decked out in green synthetic leather and tailfins decorated with the 9.9.99 date of the Sirte Declaration that called for the formation of the African Union. Next to the dilapidated terminal, a fleet of cranes and cement mixers were thumping away at what was planned to be one of Africa's biggest new airports. Like many of the major projects that Libya embarked upon in the mid-2000s, it was given the hopelessly ambitious deadline of 1 September 2009, the fortieth anniversary of the ‘Fateh revolution’. By the time the 2011 uprising began it was already about four years behind schedule.
This was Gaddafi's Libya in the final years of his marathon rule. A bizarre mishmash of new and old, sinister and comic, rich and poor, mundane and unique. A hall of mirrors in which no one really knew what was happening, or who was in charge. A country with breathtaking scenery whose people are among the friendliest in the region. A canvas for competing global interests and a must-visit destination for those seeking cash at a time when funds were drying up almost everywhere else. The diversity of individuals who passed through Tripoli in those years ranged from Steven Schwartzman, CEO of Blackstone, one of the world's largest private equity firms, to Omar Hassan al-Bashir, the Sudanese president wanted by the International Criminal Court (ICC) for crimes against humanity.1 With so many high-profile courtiers, it was not surprising that Gaddafi and his sons seemed shocked to find themselves almost totally friendless in their hour of need.
That hour would not have come – at least not in 2011 – without the dramatic events unfolding in Tunisia and Egypt, whose successful uprisings inspired disillusioned groups in Libya with various axes to grind. But even they would have failed to tear down the Gaddafi regime without a controversial military intervention that has been variously described as everything from a neo-imperial regime change to a humanitarian rescue mission. It moved Libya's revolt and the entire Arab Spring into a new phase. Over a long, hot summer, the ensuing conflict killed tens of thousands of people, armed hundreds of thousands more, and eventually found closure shortly after a bloodied man was dragged out of a concrete drainpipe in Sirte on 20 October.
That conflict could be best defined by a simple faultline. It was waged between those who fought for Gaddafi, and those who fought against him. But with that question answered, and the old enemy vanquished, it broke down into a cacophony of other battles as different domestic groups – some still fighting in the name of their deceased leader – laid their claim to power and perks in the new Libya. Simmering racial and tribal tensions, bottled up for decades, reared their heads in the absence of a strong central state and the presence of abundant weapons. Islamic extremists, crushed or watched carefully by Gaddafi, were free to make their voices heard. Other, more subtle hostilities divided international powers who sought their own rewards for supporting the uprising.
In theory, Libya has achieved the most far-reaching change of any country in the Arab Spring. But it is also the country that carries the highest risk of losing those gains and descending into violent instability. Unlike Tunisia or Egypt, the battle over the role of religion will not be the central one in the aftermath of Libya's revolution. Understanding its myriad conflicts requires going back to consider how Gaddafi was removed in the first place, and what the country has inherited from a man whose legacy will take decades to dissipate.
The Man who Came in from the Cold
On 29 May 2007, with a grinning Tony Blair by his side, BP chief executive Tony Hayward signed a landmark agreement with Shukri Ghanem, the chairman of Libya's National Oil Corporation (NOC). Under its terms, the British energy company would invest a minimum of $900m to prospect for oil in what BP called its ‘single largest exploration commitment’.2 One of the concession blocks it had secured was as big as Kuwait, but the deal was noteworthy not just for its size but for its political message. Libya was open for business, and even its former enemies were scrambling to get through the door.
The agreement came three years after Blair had first visited Gaddafi in Tripoli and shaken his hand to end two decades of diplomatic warfare. For London and Washington, rehabilitating the Libyan leader from malevolent pariah to cooperative autocrat involved a controversial rapprochement with a man they considered responsible for numerous acts of overseas terrorism. But it was also hailed as a triumph for years of patient diplomacy designed to engage, not overthrow, a regime that almost from its very creation had stirred up international trouble.
That regime was born on 1 September 1969, when a group of young army officers took control of strategic buildings in what was then Libya's capital city, Benghazi. Their declaration of a Libyan Arab Republic meant that King Idris, the country's first and last monarch, who was in Turkey at the time, would never again set foot on Libyan soil.
The twenty-seven-year-old, charismatic and handsome Muammar Gaddafi declared himself Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces and de facto leader of Libya. He and his colleagues took their inspiration from the anti-colonialist, nationalist and socialist tenets that were so in vogue at the time and that formed the ideological backbone of Hafez al-Assad's Syria and Gamal Abdel Nasser's Egypt. But as the idea of pan-Arab unity soured in the 1970s, Gaddafi dreamed up his own odd, utopian philosophy of governance that became the subject of his multi-volume Green Book, completed in 1976. In theory, his political system meant the direct rule of the masses, an ultimate democracy that Gaddafi described as a jamahiriya, or a ‘collection of republics’, comprising people's congresses at the local and national level and in which virtually the entire economy would be nationalized.
The ensuing p
olitical, social and economic experiment was partly built on fear, with a pervasive military and security apparatus suppressing opposition and publicly executing those behind the many failed attempts on Gaddafi's life over the years. It was also funded by oil. Flush with cash during the 1970s price spikes, Gaddafi spent billions on the military and on grandiose projects like the Great Man-Made River, a system of giant underground tunnels designed to pump water from desert aquifers to the populous coastal towns. Oil was what allowed Gaddafi to so aggressively assert his independence and helped set his regime on a course to international isolation.
Within a year of his coup, he had evicted the US and British military presence from Libya and nationalized the Libyan branch of Barclays bank. His right-hand man, Major Abdul Salam Jalloud, had renegotiated oil production agreements with Western firms and, in the process, revolutionized the way that oil-rich countries around the world agreed terms with foreign energy companies. Gaddafi funded political factions and guerrilla groups from Lebanon to Latin America, running an often inept campaign of assassination against his own political opponents abroad and intensifying his enmity towards the West in the charged Cold War environment of the 1980s.
This culminated in Ronald Reagan's decision to launch air strikes on Libya in 1986 after the bombing of a Berlin disco that killed two US servicemen. A few years later, Gaddafi stood accused of the December 1998 bombing of Pan Am flight 103 over the Scottish town of Lockerbie, which killed 270 people, most of whom were US citizens. By now, wide-ranging political and economic sanctions were in place, effectively cutting off Libya from much of the outside world for a decade. Gaddafi became the global face of rogue leadership and these were dark days for Libyans themselves, trapped in an oppressive cage that restricted their travels, fed on an insipid diet of state propaganda, and left shops lacking in foreign products in a country with an underdeveloped industrial base.