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| Two Libyans walk through the rubble of a destroyed ammunition warehouse at the Rajma military base near Benghazi. Source: AFP |
THE more confidence Muammar Gaddafi radiated in his ability to hold on to power last week, the more his opponents had to fear.
Scores of young men who felt able to protest a few days earlier when he had looked vulnerable were arrested in night-time raids. Parents have not been told where their sons are held.
"We were all in our beds sleeping when the secret police broke through our door," said Ali, a mechanical engineer, whose sons, aged 17 and 19, were taken at night with other young men from the Tajura district in eastern Tripoli.
He described how a dozen pickup trucks and 4WDs had swarmed into his street at 1am. His teenagers had been blindfolded and led into the darkness. "We do not know what prison they are in," he said. "We hear they are probably with the intelligence force."
Secret police raided homes in Tajura and Fashloom almost nightly last week, residents said. Both working-class areas have been hotbeds of rebellion. After Friday prayers on February 25, five people were shot and killed in Tajura and two in Fashloom.
"There is a great feeling of terror," said another Tajura resident, a 57-year-old builder. "Anyone speaking up knows that he will be carted off to prison or worse."
He said police appeared to be using photographs and videos, some from YouTube, to identify men involved in protests.
Last week's arrests appeared to be aimed at stopping another violent demonstration after Friday prayers. If so, the clampdown partially succeeded. There were far fewer protesters - only about 300 - but they still took to the streets. After prayers at the Murad Agha mosque, where men spilled out on to the courtyard to pray, demonstrators marched to a nearby roundabout and chanted "Down, down, Gaddafi" and "The people want the regime to go".
Half-an-hour later, black vehicles pulled up and police began firing teargas at the crowd. Acrid fumes filled the street. Some protesters fled while others threw teargas canisters back at police.
When protesters began throwing rocks, the police fired salvo after salvo of rubber bullets into the crowd and everyone scattered, believing they were being attacked with live rounds as they had been before. The last few were chased off with bullets that police appeared to fire into the air. Residents reported about 40 arrests.
There is little doubt that Colonel Gaddafi's writ still runs in Tripoli, as he went to great pains to demonstrate last week. He exuded bullish optimism in spite of the rebels controlling almost half his cities and world leaders calling on him to step down.
He burst out laughing when I asked if he would leave his country. "Does anybody leave his own homeland?" he said. "Why should I leave Libya?" He retained the veneer of self-assurance throughout an interview with The Sunday Times, BBC and America's ABC.
More laughter punctuated his answers, reinforcing the image that he was still in control, despite a rebellion that began last month when his security forces fired on a funeral procession.
Gaddafi, 70, his hair dyed jet-black, was speaking as Libya's revolt began to look dramatically different from earlier rebellions in Tunisia and Egypt, where the regimes' leaders stepped down in the face of largely peaceful protests. The rebels who now control eastern Libya seized machineguns, rocket-propelled grenade launchers and even anti-aircraft guns from arms depots.
Colonel Gaddafi's message that he was determined to fight on began with his choice of venue for our interview. We met in a fish restaurant with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the sparkling blue water of Tripoli harbour. It was chosen to put paid to rumours he had fled Libya and to show that he had no fears about travelling anywhere in his capital.
It was a stunning departure from his usual routine. Colonel Gaddafi lives hidden behind the walls of the Bab al-Aziziya army barracks in Tripoli and rarely sits in a room with an outside view, unless it is his capacious tent in the desert. His choice of transport conveyed the same message. He arrived dressed in a brown turban and flowing ankle-length robe in a white BMW and walked up the steps to the restaurant. Again, it was a far cry from his usual tight security. Normally, his guards race ahead of him, tripping over each other in their zeal.
His show of being in control of the city continued throughout the week. On Thursday, he delivered a two-hour speech to the faithful before driving away in a vehicle that looked like a Noddy car.
There were indications that Tripoli is nowhere near as relaxed as Colonel Gaddafi made out. Along the main corniche, only smashed glass remains in the frames that once held pictures of the Libyan leader. In the poorer suburbs of Tajura and Fashloom, graffiti saying "Down, down, Gaddafi" had been painted over. Tajura police station was a burnt-out shell. Sporadic gun fire could be heard at night.
Colonel Gaddafi seemed coherent when I spoke to him. He denied his forces had bombed civilian areas, the chief reason for a UN Security Council resolution that warned of crimes against humanity and imposed sanctions. He insisted the rebellion was fomented by al-Qa'ida, which had drugged Libyan youths.
He grew emotional when asked what he thought of British Prime Minister David Cameron's move to freeze his family's assets and strip them of their diplomatic immunity. "I challenge Cameron and everybody else if he can bring one dinar that belongs to me in any foreign bank," he said, raising his voice. "I have a tent. I don't like money like him. I'll put my two fingers in their eyes if I have any accounts, whether it is inside or outside Libya," he added, making a stabbing motion with his fingers.
He had one final message for Western leaders: "Today's presidents who say I should go, I say to you that you will serve out your terms and then you will retire - but I will still be leader of the revolution."
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