Radaa Returns Without a Sound And the Story Is Still Being Written
In the doctrine of armed groups that emerged post-Libyan revolution, there’s an unwritten rule: “Once you lose territory, you don’t get it back.” This principle has remained largely unchallenged until now. Because if Libya has taught us anything, it’s that it’s always full of surprises.
Recently, Major General Emad Al-Trabelsi, Minister of Interior in the so-called “Return of Life” government, announced the removal of all armed factions from central Tripoli and the handover of their headquarters to the Ministry of Interior. Regardless of how many times these same headquarters have been “handed over” before (this might be the 36,000th time), let’s acknowledge that the main factions most notably the Stability Support Apparatus and Special Deterrence Force (Radaa) did, at least on the surface, comply.
Now, based on the armed group logic mentioned earlier, once a faction vacates its position, it doesn’t return. But, as always, there’s an exception to every rule and Radaa is the exception. In recent weeks, the force has quietly reoccupied all of its previous bases in central Tripoli, without a single gunshot, and with no dramatic show of force.
Some observers argue, “What works for Radaa doesn’t apply to others.” And that’s valid. Though the group seemed to comply with the Minister’s disarmament campaign, many believe it wasn’t a surrender but a strategic pause. Radaa has long been linked to the camp of former Central Bank Governor Sadiq Al-Kabir whom it protected personally and institutionally. After Al-Kabir’s fall, some interpreted Radaa’s retreat as a political loss. Yet others point to the force’s consistent pattern: it chooses its battles carefully, strikes with precision, and never acts without intent.
Take, for example, the night when protestors gathered near the house of Prime Minister Dabaiba in Shat Road furious over Foreign Minister Najla Al-Mangoush’s normalization statements with the Zionist entity. While most expected Radaa to stay out of it, they did intervene. And many believe that intervention averted a national catastrophe. In that moment, the force didn’t just act it sent a clear message: “Tripoli is ours. We decide where it starts and where it ends.”
Barely a week passed before Radaa’s vehicles resumed their patrols through the capital, retaking positions as if they had never left. Meanwhile, the Ministry of Interior’s plans to secure the capital became nothing more than a faint whistle from an empty building.
So, what happened to the Minister’s grand plan?
As we’ve said before, we’re not issuing fatwas or passing final judgment. We’re just trying to understand a shifting power map that directly affects every citizen in Tripoli and indirectly shapes the life of every Libyan from Tobruk to Ghat.
And what we understand so far is this: what applies to most militias in Libya does not apply to Radaa. This group, unlike its rivals, has evolved. It’s no longer a purely military body it’s becoming a structured, disciplined institution. Less militia, more apparatus. Its behavior suggests strategic planning, political literacy, and an intent to outlast the chaos.
From dismantling the Nawasi Brigade to the strange, opaque incident involving Mahmoud Hamza, to its calm, unchallenged repossession of key facilities Radaa has defied all precedents.
No other armed group in Libya has ever managed such a return.
But enough of that. Tell me, dear reader, how do you see your future in Libya?
Ask yourself honestly. Then keep the answer to yourself.
Because hope, in Libya, is a dangerous thing it might just get caught in a “security plan” by the Ministry of Interior. And unlike Radaa, you don’t get to take it back.