THE SPECTATOR: Huda Abuzeid, whose father was killed by the Libyan regime, says that we must not turn a blind eye to its acts of intimidation and violence
There is a joke about Libya which goes something like this: why does Libya has [sic] a population of both six million and four million? The answer is that one million are abroad and the other million are in prison.
It’s not a funny joke, but it’s a revealing one. As the country prepares to celebrate 40 years of Muammar Gaddafi’s rule, and despite various of our politicians desperately trying to tell us how much Libya has changed and the numerous Sunday supplement articles extolling the virtues of Libya as a holiday destination, Libya remains one of the most intolerant, totalitarian and repressive regimes in the world. Libyan citizens regularly ‘disappear’ — arrested by the authorities. Their loved ones are often left in the dark.
Since 2003 Libya has been extolled by Britain as an example of a reformed state. Tony Blair was quick to take the credit, rushing over to Gaddafi and saying, ‘People should not forget the past, they should move beyond it.’
On hearing that, I felt physically sick. With that one sound-bite, Libyans inside the country and those who like me were living abroad knew that the political will to push for justice in the many unresolved cases was lost.
Cases such as the murder of my father, Ali Abuzeid, whose body I found in his west London shop on 26 November 1995. He had been stabbed to death. A key member of the leading Libyan opposition group in the 1980s, my father had put all his efforts into ridding his homeland of its dictator. My childhood years were spent worrying about him every time he travelled, learning to be careful around other Arabs. I once had to leave Tunisia accompanied by secret police when they found out that a hit squad had been sent to assassinate him after a failed attempt to overthrow the Libyan regime.
Back in London, I remember hearing his name mentioned in a speech by Gaddafi, who had called for him and others to be hunted down. At one point there was a bounty of millions on his head.
After years in exile and the deaths of many of his friends inside Libya who had been rounded up and executed, my father decided to retire from opposition politics. Revolution, he now believed, could only come from within, instead of being led by those in exile. However, from his shop in a neighbourhood populated with Arabs, he remained vocal about his opinions and politics and then, after years of being careful and keeping under the radar, he became an easy target.
So when I answered a call early one Sunday morning in November 1995 from one of his staff, who said the door to the shop was open but the lights were off, my heart began to pound with that familiar childhood fear for his safety. I told myself that maybe he had just fallen down some steps or that he had forgetfully left the door open. >>> Huda Abuzeid | Wednesday, August 26, 2009
