Eastern Libya’s Rulers Crack Down on Protests—Not Shoddy Infrastructure

DERNA, Libya—As bodies kept washing up on the shores of the Mediterranean, victims of the floods in the eastern Libyan city of Derna that killed at least 11,300 people and displaced another 40,000, hundreds of protesters gathered outside Al Sahaba Mosque, on the edge of the devastated Wadi Derna, where waves battered and buried more than 1,000 houses.

Soldiers of the Libyan National Army (LNA), the de facto rulers of the eastern Libyan government, who rival the internationally recognized Tripoli-based government, watched as the crowds gathered. They had set up checkpoints but didn’t deter the crowds at first. The mosque, which had previously been closed to the public, was once again open. People started shouting, decrying corruption, demanding accountability, and taking aim at the head of the eastern Libyan parliament, Aguila Saleh, who had allocated a colossal 10 billion dinar ($2 billion) in government relief funds—money many believed would end up being used for corrupt purposes rather than for reconstruction.

In Libya, dissent is usually crushed immediately, so when the protests went on, many speculated that the LNA may have had a hand in organizing them in the first place. 

“In its initial stages, it appears that the protests were aimed at channeling public anger against Aguila Saleh and deflecting attention away from other local authorities,” said Claudia Gazzini, the International Crisis Group’s senior Libya analyst. 

But the crowds—locals as well as Libyans who had traveled to Derna from all over the country—quickly swirled out of control and even set fire to now former Mayor Abdulmenam al-Ghaithi’s house. (Ghaithi, by the way, is Saleh’s nephew.) They demanded accountability, including from Khalifa Haftar, the LNA’s top leader, who built his empire in the east.

“People have long been frustrated with their authorities who lack any legitimacy and enrich themselves while allowing the state to atrophy under them,” said Tarek Megerisi, a senior policy fellow at the European Council on Foreign Relations. “This disaster shocked all of Libya, and [the protests] were reminiscent of the revolution in the demonstrations of solidarity and unified calls for accountability,” he said. “This is, of course, what the Libyan government fears.” 

A soldier blocks the photographer from taking a picture of the devastated city of Derna on Sept. 17.

I stood watching the crowds gather outside Al Sahaba on Monday, Sept. 18, when the soldier who had escorted us motioned me and another female journalist into a car. As we protested, he shoved us onto the seats, closed the door, and drove off. Authorities soon cracked down on other journalists, too, temporarily detaining several who had managed to report the uprising. A telecommunication blackout followed the next day.

Press freedom isn’t Libya’s strong suit. The country, home to some 7 million people, is an informational black hole; according to Reporters Without Borders, it ranks 149 out of 180 on the press freedom index. Most reporters have fled the country or try to ensure their safety by working under the protection of one of the warring sides. 

“The east of Libya is a police state, where whispers are monitored and dissent is crushed by the LNA. There’s an ever-watchful eye on social media, a suffocating grip on the media,” said Anas El Gomati, director of the Libyan think tank Sadeq Institute. “To speak out or criticize Haftar’s regime has been met with brutal retribution.” 

A cracked wall displays the graffiti words “Libya reunited” amid the destruction in Derna on Sept. 11.

While Libya’s rival governments usually deal with, at best, a handful of foreign reporters visiting the country, foreign media arrived in droves after the floods. Authorities in both Tripoli and Tobruk initially facilitated relatively easy access, waiving difficult visa requirements and issuing emergency entry permits. The LNA media unit offered accommodation to journalists who had traveled to Derna, providing clean rooms and food. They seemed to want journalists to cover the disaster. But it was a short window of opportunity, quickly slammed shut by suspicion and fear. 

“There’s an inherited culture of mistrust and an assumption that any foreigner could be serving the interests of another foreign country. That’s why there’s a lot of distrust,” Gazzini said. 

In Derna, journalists were harassed, detained, asked to delete photos, interrupted during live broadcasts, and questioned. Part of this might have been the army wanting to control the narrative and keep negative reports at bay; another part certainly was fear. 

An officer steps out of an armored vehicle amid tightened security after protests erupted in Derna on Sept. 18, a week after the devastating floods.

I was first questioned by the LNA’s intelligence unit the night of the protests. It was already past 10 p.m. The soldier driving the Toyota Land Cruiser was supposed to take us—two female journalists—from the army’s media headquarters to a designated journalist tent run by an aid group. We had opted to move from the army media accommodation as restrictions had tightened and we had essentially been kept locked in—even before the protests—unable to report freely. Instead, the car pulled into a different driveway, and I was asked to step outside to “answer a few questions.”

When I was ushered upstairs, I was interrogated and told how to report (no negative coverage) by a man in plainclothes who never introduced himself. He eventually promised we’d be taken to our requested destination—the media tent run by the aid group. We weren’t. We were taken back to the army media headquarters and put under strict military watch for the remainder of our time in Derna. Two days later, they decided we needed to leave altogether. We managed a few more hours of reporting, but only under military escort, coupled with the demand that we leave the city as soon as possible.

The Al Sahaba Mosque is seen largely intact amid rubble from the floods in Derna on Sept. 18.

“International media outlets have been urged to withhold reporting,” said Libyan journalist and human rights defender Noura Eljerbi. “This perplexing situation suggests a concerted effort to control the narrative and hinder impartial reporting.”

Alongside several other media outlets, we were eventually herded onto a bus and escorted six hours back to Benghazi, and the following day to the airport. An army officer helped me clear immigration: He wanted to ensure that I left the country. It wasn’t my choice, but there was no choice to be made.

Meanwhile, almost three weeks after Tropical Storm Daniel made landfall here, more than 10,000 people remain missing, and thousands more are homeless. Sadly, thanks to fear and loathing and mistrust, there are few journalists left in the devastated city to tell their tales.

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