In Libya Alone, Corpses Speak!
Between 2012 and 2014, a high-ranking figure in Bashar al-Assad’s military regime decided to begin documenting photographic evidence of thousands of Syrian detainees who perished under torture in Assad’s Nazi-style prisons. It seems that this person could no longer bear the scale of horror, and from that decision emerged what later became known as the Caesar Files.
“Caesar” was a pseudonym used by this individual to conceal his identity as he smuggled the photographic evidence graphic documentation of brutal killings committed against thousands of Syrians to a friend, who also used an alias: “Sami.” Sami organized and archived the material, and the files were released to the public in late 2014 after both men successfully fled Syria. These files played a major role in implicating the Assad regime before international courts, contributing to its diplomatic isolation. Eleven years later, we finally saw Sami in a televised interview on Al Jazeera Caesar, however, still remains anonymous.
I don’t recount this story as a historical anecdote, but rather as a lens through which to understand Sami’s testimony, which focused on how to arrange and preserve evidence in order to indict Assad’s regime and bring perpetrators to justice. What struck me was his firm refusal to make any concessions under the guise of reconciliation with criminals, and his deep awareness that Assad’s fall would not mean the fall of the entire regime. He understood that dismantling such a criminal system required sustained and determined effort.
But Sami’s words forced me to confront an important question:
Where are the individuals who ruined Libyan lives during the 42 years of Gaddafi’s rule? Setting aside NATO and the February revolution weren’t those people criminals? And had February not occurred, and an opportunity arose to hold the former regime accountable, would we have actually done so?
These questions led me to reflect on the concept of responsibility in Libyan society. It seems that, even in our everyday dealings, we tend to dilute responsibility to the point where identifying the truly accountable becomes nearly impossible. For example, if a child turns out well, the parents proudly claim credit. But if the child behaves poorly, they quickly retreat behind the phrase, “He was raised by fate,” to escape blame and shift responsibility onto destiny.
In Libya’s semi-official institutions, most administrative investigations into violations end with collective responsibility. The real perpetrator is rarely identified. This pattern was evident in the Derna flood case, where more than twenty people were indicted. It reflects the nature of Libya’s administrative structure: duties are scattered and roles are overlapping. In times of reward, one person is pushed to the spotlight. In times of punishment, responsibility is dispersed among all.
Even when we attempted to establish our state after Italian colonization and internal conflict, we dodged accountability. We coined the phrase “let the past be past” only to discover, over half a century later, that “nothing truly passed.” On the contrary, Libyans became even more fragmented. Today, there is hardly a region in Libya without someone who feels oppressed or a group, be it tribal or ethnic, that believes it is being persecuted. But if everyone is a victim, then who is the perpetrator?
Who killed Libyans in the dark prisons over the past half-century? Who killed the corpses we still dig up daily in Tarhuna? Who murdered the citizens whose bodies were dumped along the shores of Tripoli over the past twelve years? Who killed the corpses that were discarded on Benghazi’s Zait Street? And who has killed people in public hospitals over the past sixty years due to a lack of resources?
What I believe is this: anyone who has held high office or aspires to in Libya’s corridors of power has no real interest in establishing a true system of justice where offenders and criminals are held accountable, sooner or later.
That’s why we never see those in power seriously pursuing justice against their predecessors. At most, we witness theatrical show trials that end with no real convictions. In the past twelve years, no final and binding court verdict has been issued against any figure from the Gaddafi regime. In fact, most were released under the pretext of “medical conditions,” and those who remain will soon be freed as well.
A society that fails to take responsibility for raising its own children and blames fate for their misbehavior will never fully grasp the concept of justice. The countless corpses that piled up over the past sixty years remain without a Caesar. Meanwhile, the bodies still walking our streets await their inevitable fate na fate that may be determined by luck alone. Only luck decides whether they keep walking or join those who have already fallen.
That’s why, every time you see a group of corpses in Libya’s streets, don’t approach them until you ask:“Do you know Caesar’s files?”