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| Women celebrate after the Gaddhafi regime collapses. Image from here |
When the Arab Spring began in 2010-2011, it
seemed like the conversion from dictatorial governments to democracies was
really all that there was to the revolutionary movements. But with time, the
impact that these movements and the ensuing civil wars had on gender dynamics
soon became cause for concern. In Libya, there were many horrific reports about
how Muammar Gaddhafi ordered that his troops take on supplies of Viagra to engage
in rape as a weapon in their war against the rebelling forces. These incidents
were reflective of a continuing community status quo that preceded the
revolution – where women were subjected to untold horrors in the hands of the Gaddhafi
regime. Laila (name changed) shares her story with us.
My story
doesn’t begin with the Arab Spring, actually, but pre-dates it considerably. I
was born to a conservative Libyan family in Misrata, where we lived until I was
five. It was a simple life, I had a very normal childhood and that was that.
When I turned five, my father managed to get a job in the government, so we had
to move to the capital city, Tripoli. I was quite excited about the shift –
because so many people told us plenty of things about the place, and it was
such a dream.
The first
few years were magnificent. I went to a school I loved, and I had lots of
friends. On many occasions, Muammar Gaddhafi would visit our school. The one
time that he did – that remains in my memory for reasons you will soon know -
changed my life for the worst. He surveyed many girls in the school campus,
peering at us as if we were curios in a museum. By the time school had ended, a
list of girls was rounded up. I counted six of us, all in different ages on the
teenage spectrum. The next thing we know, we were rounded up and taken away.
I didn’t
know what it was for, but a sense of fear did prevail over me. I was wary of
everything, and I didn’t open my mouth to voice my concern to the other girls.
Some of them cried, some of them were mumbling away incoherently as they tried
to make head or tail of what was happening to us. We were taken into his living
quarters – a place called Bab Al Azizia. I didn’t know that this would be my “home”
for the next many years. In the days to come, I would be part of his harem of
women – women he would rape and abuse without as much as a care. We were not
the only women facing this – sometimes, there would be foreigners – beautiful exotic
women who came from all over the world. They would be raped, too, but they
would all be given gifts and money and sent back to wherever it was that they
came from.
As for us
girls – we really had nothing to do except to be there for each other. Some of
us would come back nursing wounds and pain like nothing before. We would cry to
each other, and find solace in the other’s reassuring embrace, remembering our
powerless mothers who had to let this happen in the face of terrible force and
threats. We were brutally raped, injured and forced to do terrible things to
appease his filthy, lust-filled ways.
On one of
the days, I got lucky. I ran away after throwing them off my trail when I
offered to help go to the marketplace. I do believe they searched for me – I am
not sure what came of it for the ones that were sent out to look for me.
Eventually, I lived in hiding, scavenging and becoming unidentifiable. I did
not attempt to reach my family – I did know that my father was still with the
government and things could turn worse for him if he found me at his doorstep.
In 2011,
the revolution began. I gave it my everything - participating in it with all
the strength I could possibly muster. I was just in my late teens – the promise
of a future without Gaddhafi was a powerful and inspiring dream. At one point,
though, I was thrown back into the old life that I lived – men in uniform began
to rape and beat me ruthlessly, I was used over and over again, and the
violence was destructive to my emotional, mental and of course, physical
well-being.
I was
crippled by the pain, and I recollect only vaguely: I woke up in different
places, each time feeling like someone had hit my head hard. Finally, it all
ended – one of the men who aided the rebellion – took me under his care. I do
believe, as I am told even today, I put up a fierce resistance. The irony makes
me smile even today – I did nothing to protect myself against the carnivorous
animals that harmed me all the time, but here I was, the first man who tried to
protect me got a horrible dose of my rudeness. He saved me from being abused
even further, and kept me in safe quarters. We got married a while after it all
settled.
The
revolution may have changed a lot in the political landscape for Libya. It is a
good thing of course, because the tyranny no longer continues. But it is still
so painful that there are so many of us still in want of Justice. I don’t
believe there is any closure until we have that.