IN THE early days of Libya’s uprising, the people of the country’s east looked to their history for a suitably stirring slogan. It didn’t take long to settle on the legendary cry of Omar al-Mukhtar, a resistance hero celebrated for his role in fighting Italian colonial rule: “We will win or die!”
Today those words, daubed on walls and printed on posters, flags and bumper stickers, carry an extra poignancy as advancing government forces close in on Benghazi, the de facto capital of those seeking to bring an end to Muammar Gadafy’s rule of 42 years.
Poignant, too, are the giant white letters painted on the ground outside the Benghazi courthouse where the rebels have their headquarters, which read: “Where is the United Nations?”
Standing nearby was Iman Bughaigis, an orthodontist and spokeswoman for the opposition, who broke down as she struggled to appear defiant.
“How many must die before the rest of the world acts?” she asked. “We are asking for our freedom, that is all. The international community must stand with what they say they believe in or history will never forgive them. How will they justify the massacre of a whole country just to protect their own interests?”
These are questions asked with increasing urgency in Benghazi and across Libya’s eastern belt to the border with Egypt – the area the rebels last month declared “Free Libya”. Some privately fear it may already be too late, with Gadafy’s son Saif-ul-Islam yesterday predicting that Libya’s second-largest city would fall and, “everything will be over in 48 hours”.
A fevered Benghazi swirls with rumours: the rebels have regained a foothold in this town or that; military figures have defected; Gadafy’s Tripoli stronghold has been attacked by a kamikaze pilot. In the fog of war, it is difficult to establish which whispers are founded on something more solid than hope.
On the road to Tobruk, the northeastern port that many believe Gadafy will try to seize before sealing off the border, guards at rebel checkpoints appeared forlorn as they waved on those trying to flee in vehicles piled high with mattresses and other belongings.
In some towns, the pre-Gadafy flag adopted by the opposition seemed less abundant than before. In others, some anti-Gadafy graffiti had been painted over – perhaps a sign of newly anxious locals wondering which side will prevail.
The car radio was set to Radio Free Libya, a station set up by the rebels, but even that had changed. Where once announcers talked gaily of building a new country, now the tone is grave, even desperate.