O vídeo da decapitação dos 21 coptas egípcios na Líbia só foi divulgado este domingo. Mas, tal como aconteceu nas anteriores execuções do Estado Islâmico, foi filmado bastante tempo antes. O último número da revista Dabiq, colocado online na passada quinta-feira, já incluía um artigo e fotografias sobre o homicídio.
Há dois anos, milicias armadas apoiadas por países da NATO, depuseram o regime de Muammar Gaddafi. As promessas de democratização foram substituídas por um Estado de insegurança – que provocou mesmo a morte de um embaixador norte-americano morreu. Os jornalistas do programa Fault Lines, da Al Jazeera, foram lá perceber o que correu mal.
Annick Cojean é jornalista do Le Monde. No livro Gaddafi’s Harem ela conta a história de Soraya, uma rapariga que aos 15 anos foi obrigada a juntar-se a um autêntico harém mantido em segredo pelo antigo ditador líbio. Para além do testemunho da rapariga, a jornalista completou a investigação com os testemunhos de outras mulheres e de membros do regime. Neste excerto, publicado pelo site Salon, o antigo director de segurança de Gaddafi revela detalhes desconhecidos dos crimes sexuais do ex-ditador.
“The only pictures available of him date to his capture on October 20, 2011, the same day that Muammar Gaddafi was captured. A short chaotic film taken by a rebel on a cell phone shows him haggard, disheveled, hair and beard unkempt, a wound caused by explosives beneath his right eye. His frantic flight with the Libyan Guide, whose much-feared chief of security he was, ended in carnage at the edge of the desert. This was the terrible image of a man defeated.
Mansour Daw stayed with the Libyan dictator until the very end, hurriedly leaving Bab al-Azizia when the insurgents seized Tripoli, first rushing off toward Bani Walid, where Gaddafi said farewell to his gathered family before heading for Sirte in the west—hiding there in ordinary houses that soon lacked all reserves, electricity, or food, and increasingly outnumbered by rebels—until the ultimate attempt at flight was stopped outright at dawn by NATO firing. Mansour was one of the few survivors of the last group of the faithful. And together with Gaddafi’s son Saif al-Islam, he was the most important of the prisoners captured by the new regime. His name embodied the terror that was maintained for decades, and more recently the barbarous acts—rape, torture, executions—committed in his country to put down the revolution. All of Libya was waiting for him to explain himself. But Mansour Daw wasn’t talking. At least, that is what Ibrahim Beitalmal, a member of the Misrata Military Council and in charge of the military prisoners, was eager to warn me about when he gave me permission to meet with him.
On Saturday, March 10, 2012, he came into the large meeting hall of a building of the national army in Misrata, looking relaxed—in a khaki jacket, a wool cap on his head—and rested. His white beard was trimmed very short, and an ironic smile played around his lips. He had agreed to the idea of an interview without knowing its topic. Perhaps he saw it as a distraction in his solitary days. “I was in France four times,” he said as an introduction. “It was very nice.” All well and good, but we weren’t here to exchange pleasantries. I told him that I was investigating a subject that was said to be taboo, the sexual crimes of Colonel Gaddafi, and I was hoping he would tell me what he knew about it. “Nothing,” he answered. “I knew nothing. As a member of his family I owed him respect. So there was no question of broaching the subject with him. Besides, I didn’t even let myself look in that direction. Keeping my distance was the best way for me to keep my self-respect. I was protecting myself.”
“You knew, however, that Gaddafi was sexually abusing hundreds of young men and women?”
“I can’t deny or confirm that. Everyone has the right to a private life.”
“A private life? Can you talk about a private life when sexual relations are coerced, when there are countless accomplices, and state departments are called upon to facilitate these crimes?”
“Some people knew. I didn’t.”
“Did you know that young girls were held captive in the basement of his residence?”
“I swear I never went down to that basement! I am a commander and one of the highest-ranking officers in the army. In Moscow I wrote a thesis on military command structure. When I walk into a barracks, people tremble with fear. I’ve always known how to get respect—specifically, by keeping my distance from all that!”
“All that”? What did he mean? Suddenly he seemed ill at ease. Undoubtedly he was expecting to be faced with—and to dodge—questions about the war, arms, brigades, and mercenaries, but not questions about women. He was finding himself on shaky ground and was on his guard.
“What did the high command you personified think when you saw your leader disembark, surrounded by female bodyguards, most of whom were just young mistresses without any military training, to visit leaders of foreign countries?”
“I was not in charge of those trips and refused to participate in them! In the brief period of time that I myself ran the Guide’s security brigade, I can assure you that the girls in that ‘special service’ weren’t there!”
“Weren’t you insulted by that masquerade?”
“What could I say? I didn’t have a monopoly over the Libyan army! And even if I was unhappy, there was nothing I could do. In any event, women aren’t made for the army. It goes against nature. If they’d asked for my opinion there never would have been a Military Academy for Women.”
“Did Gaddafi genuinely believe in it when he created it in 1979?”
“Perhaps. But essentially I think that it is the academy that gave him the idea of using women in other ways.”
He gave a little laugh as, with a trace of male complicity, he made eye contact with the prison director, who had just joined us, as if to say: “You know what I mean by ‘using in other ways.’” So then I asked him if he knew the female bodyguards Soraya had told me about, Salma Milad in particular. I described her as being built like a tank, with a gun at her belt, watching over the Guide on every trip, ironing his clothes and tormenting his little slaves. He didn’t hesitate. Of course, he had known her very well! He even acknowledged that she’d gained a certain level of competence at the Military Academy.
But the prominent place she had won by Gaddafi’s side was still hard to swallow, even now. “That shocked me, you know. That display of closeness actually embarrassed me. Believe me, I even shouted against it. And when she was under my command I wouldn’t let her get away with anything. One day when we were on a mission in Kufra, in the southern part of the country, I gave her an earful on the internal radio. Gaddafi intercepted the conversation and intervened, seething: ‘Never talk to her like that again! One day I’ll make her a general, you’ll see. And she will be your superior!’ My heart missed a beat. ‘If you make her a general, she’ll still never be anything but Salma Milad to me!’ Every receiver linked to the network heard the exchange and Gaddafi was extremely offended by it. How could anyone speak to the head of the army that way? He had a plane pick me up and I did thirty days in solitary. So? What do you think of that? It shows you I have values, morals, that I draw the line.”
Gradually, Mansour Daw let his guard down. Although I had been told that he didn’t yet allow himself to be at all critical of the Guide, I sensed he was eager to clear himself of any involvement in the heinous business we were discussing. Strictly speaking, he revealed nothing, only hinted at things, but through these hints he confirmed that those close to Gaddafi were familiar with most of his activities, even participated in some of them, and tolerated no criticism. The leader’s relations with women, military or not, was a private matter. Anyone who hindered him could count on his wrath. On the other hand, those who were willing to understand, encourage, and facilitate their master’s sick obsession came to hold considerable power inside the regime. And Mansour Daw was unable to hide his contempt.
“How was this activity organized?”
“It fell under the umbrella of the Department of Protocol under the direction of Nuri Mesmari, a schemer who had the gall to parade around in a general’s uniform every now and then, and had the nickname ‘the general of special affairs’ so the only word that was applicable could be avoided.”
“And what was that?”
“I hardly dare tell you: ‘general of the whores’! He looked for women everywhere; that was his specialty and his primary function; he would even pick up prostitutes on the street.”
“And Mabrouka Sherif ?”
“Crucial to the system. She actually carried a lot of weight with Gaddafi, and was glued to his side on a permanent basis. I was so revolted by her that I refused to shake her hand on three separate occasions. She had networks all over and dealt, among other things, with the wives of state leaders. She practiced black magic, and I’m sure that she used it to keep Gaddafi under her control.”
“Did he believe in black magic?”
“He denied it, but although we’re living in a scientific era, even Western leaders consult clairvoyants! In any case, there were several of us who wanted to tell him that Mabrouka Sherif and Mesmari practiced it. I remember one day when there were five of us high-ranking military officers in the car with him, I was driving, and one of us said: ‘Watch out! You’re the victim of black magic and those two are busy wrecking your image.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have complete con in them.’ All my warnings failed completely. He was the head of state and I was nothing but a paid employee. I’m not the one who needs to answer for his crimes!”
“When did you work closely with the Department of Protocol?”
“Virtually never, for, as I told you, I would refuse to be part of the official trips Mesmari organized. But they still asked me to go to Spain, to France, et cetera. Even if they put my name on the list and reserved a room for me at the hotel, I’d refuse. I didn’t want to be mixed up in that.”
“Mixed up in what?”
“These goings-on with women.”
“Because those trips were favorable for various forms of making deals?”
“I heard a lot of things, because there were clashes with the actual military. As chief of protocol, Mesmari, who spoke several languages, managed to disguise the arrivals of the women as ‘committees,’ ‘delegations,’ or ‘groups of journalists.’ I also know that this ‘special service’ was a very lucrative business for his officials, especially if they went abroad and tampered with the gifts. I knew how to protect myself.”
Then I brought up Soraya’s testimony. How Salma and Mabrouka kidnapped her in Sirte, her successive rapes, her incarceration in a basement at Bab al-Azizia. He shook his head, devastated. “I wasn’t consulted on that sort of subject. I could have opposed it. They would have put me in prison. I swear I knew nothing about that basement! It goes against my values! I am a respected military man, a father, a grandfather. Can you see me as a rapist? A pimp? Never! I’d be incapable of sleeping with a woman who isn’t interested!” There was a moment of silence during which he seemed lost in his thoughts. He took a deep breath, threw a meaningful look at the two rebels in charge of the prison, and, raising his arms to the sky, exclaimed: “He who should have been the nation’s spiritual leader! It’s awful!”
Was he really surprised or was he putting on an act? Was it conceivable that Libya’s chief of security was really dumbfounded as he heard mention of the crimes perpetrated by the master of Bab al-Azizia, while so many employees—guards, chauffeurs, nurses—were aware of them? “I didn’t spend much time with him. We weren’t close. We were closely related, and I stayed with him until the end. I even supported him when he was wounded, to bring him to safety. But I swear that this information comes as a shock! What I heard about the gynecological examination room at the university gives me goose bumps.”
“Would you say that sex was used as a political weapon?”
“Come now! That’s a classic. You know very well that sex is used as a weapon all over the world. Even in France. The first time I went there I knew that the French Secret Service had signed up a Tunisian woman to trap me. Fair enough, but it showed how little they knew me. They don’t pursue me—I am the one who pursues! Gaddafi often sent girls also to trap those close to him or highly placed people in the government. Some came to their downfall that way.”
“Did you know that he forced some ministers to have sexual relations with him?”
“It doesn’t surprise me. There are so many ambitious people. There were even those who were prepared to hand over their wife or daughter in exchange for some favor or other. That is the height of disgrace in Libyan culture. It’s the sign of a subhuman.”
“Apparently, he also tried to rape the wives of his cousins.”
“You’re not a man if you allow your own wife to be touched.”
“How should you react?”
“By killing the rapist. Or by bringing about your own death.”
“You can’t be ignorant of the fact that he also assaulted wives of the guards and the military?”
“I guarantee you that he never touched my own family. I always did everything to protect them.”
“How ?”
“I made sure my wife never got into any car that wasn’t driven by me or one of my sons. We didn’t have a chauffeur. Except occasionally when I’d rely on the services of my wife’s brother, who was even more protective than I was. And jealous, too!”
“So you didn’t trust Gaddafi?”
“We didn’t invite him to my son’s wedding. On the third day Safia came to congratulate us and have her picture taken with my son and his wife. That was all.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want my highly respected family to fall victim to his activities. The wedding was held at my house because I was afraid of the cameras at the hotels. The orchestra was made up of women, and the reception was all women except for my son. And we had prohibited any cell phones so that no pictures could be taken on the sly.”
“Did you think he might have picked out a victim had he been invited to the reception?”
“He wouldn’t have dared to pounce on any of my guests. He knew all too well what my reaction would have been. But I preferred that he be somewhere else. Had he come he would surely have been accompanied by his whores, always on the lookout, and that terrified me.”
What an admission! What mistrust! Did he have any regrets for having followed such a shameless criminal all the way to the end? He sat up in his chair and took his time before answering.
“In the beginning I trusted him and had no idea about his barbaric acts. Now that he is dead, what’s the point of expressing any personal regrets? I keep that to myself, buried deep inside me. I protected my family, and that to me is what’s most important. And from here on in I surrender myself to the justice of the Libyan people. I will accept its verdict. Even if it’s a death sentence.”
He got up to leave, waiting to be taken back to his cell, then changed his mind.
“You know, when I came here, to Misrata, this city that had been so badly damaged by the war, I had lost a great deal of blood. I was wounded, on the brink of death. They took care of me and treated me with respect. I need to say that. I sleep on a mattress that the prison director brought me himself from his own home. He gave me clothes. I’m discovering the pleasure of speaking with good men, who fought for the rebellion, and the almost fraternal link that unites us. Unsettling, isn’t it?”
A 22 de Dezembro de 1992, exactamente quatro anos e um dia após o atentado de Lockerbie, na Escócia, contra o voo 103 da Pan Am, a Líbia viveu o seu pior desastre aéreo da história. Seis minutos antes de aterrar, o voo 1103 de Benghazi para Tripoli despenhou-se. Morreram 157 pessoas.
Os dois atentados pareciam ter pouco em comum. Mas as famílias acreditavam no contrário. Ao longo dos anos surgiram várias teorias que envolviam Muhammar Kadhaffi. Agora, os familiares das vítimas pediram ao novo governo para reabrir o caso. E a Al Jazeera enviou uma equipa ao país para investigar o desastre.
Dois anos e meio depois, a Primavera Árabe culminou numa situação de instabilidade e incerteza no Egipto, Tunísia, Líbia, com riscos de violência e ascensão do islamismo radical. Já para não falar na Síria, onde a guerra civil já provocou milhares de mortos e milhões de desalojados. A Time faz um resumo exemplar do que está a acontecer.
A 11 de Setembro de 2012, um ataque terrorista ao consulado dos Estados Unidos em Benghazi, na Líbia, provocou a morte ao embaixador norte-americano Christopher Stevens. Quase três anos depois, a 3 de Setembro, será publicado nos EUA o primeiro livro com um relato minuto a minuto do atentado. A obra chama-se UNDER FIRE: The Untold Story of the Attack on Benghazi, e foi escrita pelos especialistas em segurança Fred Burton (que é também vice-presidente da Strattfor) e Samuel M. Katz. No último número, a Vanity Fair publica uma adaptação do livro. Aqui podem ainda ler uma entrevista com Fred Burton.
Foto: Esam Omran Al-Fetori/Ruters/Landov
“40 Minutes In Benghazi
When U.S. ambassador J. Christopher Stevens was killed in a flash of hatred in Benghazi, Libya, on September 11, 2012, the political finger-pointing began. But few knew exactly what had happened that night. With the ticktock narrative of the desperate fight to save Stevens, Fred Burton and Samuel M. Katz provide answers.
ByFred Burton and Samuel M. Katz“The Libyan security guard at the compound’s main gate, Charlie-1, sat inside his booth happily earning his 40 Libyan dinars ($32 U.S.) for the shift. It wasn’t great money, clearly not as much as could be made in the gun markets catering to the Egyptians and Malians hoping to start a revolution with coins in their pockets, but it was a salary and it was a good job in a city where unemployment was plague-like. The guards working for the Special Mission Compound tried to stay alert throughout the night, but it was easier said than done. To stay awake, some chain-smoked the cheap cigarettes from China that made their way to North Africa via Ghana, Benin, and Togo. The nicotine helped, but it was still easy to doze off inside their booths and posts. Sleeping on duty was risky. The DS agents routinely made spot checks on the guard force in the middle of the night. These unarmed Libyan guards were the compound’s first line of defense—the trip wire.
All appeared quiet and safe. The feeling of security was enhanced at 2102 hours when an SSC (Supreme Security Council—a coalition of individual and divergently minded Libyan militias) patrol vehicle arrived. The tan Toyota Hilux pickup, with an extended cargo hold, decorated in the colors and emblem of the SSC, pulled off to the side of the road in front of Charlie-1. The driver shut off the engine. He wasn’t alone—the darkened silhouette of another man was seen to his right. The pickup sported twin Soviet-produced 23-mm. anti-aircraft guns—the twin-barreled cannons were lethal against Mach 2.0 fighter aircraft and devastating beyond belief against buildings, vehicles, and humans. The two men inside didn’t come out to engage in the usual small talk or to bum some cigarettes from the guards or even to rob them. The Libyan guards, after all, were not armed.
Suddenly the SSC militiaman behind the steering wheel fired up his engine and headed west, the vehicle crunching the gravel with the weight of its tires.
Later, following the attack, according to the (unclassified) Accountability Review Board report, an SSC official said that “he ordered the removal of the car ‘to prevent civilian casualties.’ ” This hints that the SSC knew an attack was imminent; that it did not warn the security assets in the Special Mission Compound implies that it and elements of the new Libyan government were complicit in the events that transpired.
It was 2142 hours.
The attack was announced with a rifle-butt knock on the guard-booth glass.
“Iftah el bawwaba, ya sharmout,” the gunman ordered, with his AK-47 pointed straight at the forehead of the Libyan guard at Charlie-1. “Open the gate, you fucker!” The guard, working a thankless job that was clearly not worth losing his life over, acquiesced. Once the gate was unhinged from its locking mechanism, armed men appeared out of nowhere. The silence of the night was shattered by the thumping cadence of shoes and leather sandals and the clanking sound of slung AK-47s and RPG-7s banging against the men’s backs.
Once inside, they raced across the compound to open Bravo-1, the northeastern gate, to enable others to stream in. When Bravo-1 was open, four vehicles screeched in front of the Special Mission Compound and unloaded over a dozen fighters. Some of the vehicles were Mitsubishi Pajeros—fast, rugged, and ever so reliable, even when shot at. They were a warlord’s dream mode of transportation, the favorite of Benghazi’s criminal underworld and militia commanders. The Pajeros that pulled up to the target were completely anonymous—there were no license plates or any other identifying emblems adorning them, and they were nearly invisible in the darkness, especially when the attackers disabled the light in front of Bravo-1.
Other vehicles were Toyota and Nissan pickups, each armed with single- and even quad-barreled 12.7-mm. and 14.5-mm. heavy machine guns. They took up strategic firing positions on the east and west portions of the road to fend off any unwelcome interference.
Each vehicle reportedly flew the black flag of the jihad.
Some of the attackers removed mobile phones from their pockets and ammunition pouches and began to videotape and photograph the choreography of the assault. One of the leaders, motioning his men forward with his AK-47, stopped to chide his fighters. “We have no time for that now,” he ordered, careful not to speak in anything louder than a coarse whisper. “There’ll be time for that later.” (Editor’s note: Dialogue and radio transmissions were re-created by the authors based on their understanding of events.)
Information Management Officer (IMO) Sean Smith was in his room at the residence, interfacing with members of his gaming community, when Charlie-1 was breached. The married father of two children, Smith was the man who had been selected to assist Ambassador Stevens in Benghazi with communications. An always smiling 34-year-old U.S. Air Force veteran and computer buff, he was ideally suited for the sensitive task of communicator. Earlier in the day, Smith had ended a message to the director of his online-gaming guild with the words “Assuming we don’t die tonight. We saw one of our ‘police’ that guard the compound taking pictures.” He was online when the enemy was at the gate, chatting with his guild-mates. Then suddenly he typed “Fuck” and “Gunfire.” The connection ended abruptly.
One of the gunmen had removed his AK-47 assault rifle from his shoulder and raised the weapon into the air to fire a round. Another had tossed a grenade. The Special Mission Compound was officially under attack.
R. sounded the duck-and-cover alarm the moment he realized, by looking at the camera monitors, that the post had been compromised by hostile forces. Just to reinforce the severity of the situation, he yelled “Attack, attack, attack!” into the P.A. system. From his command post, R. had an almost complete view of the compound thanks to a bank of surveillance cameras discreetly placed throughout, and the panorama these painted for him is what in the business they call an “oh shit” moment. He could see men swarming inside the main gate, and he noticed the Libyan guards and some of the February 17 Martyrs Brigade (a local Benghazi militia hired to protect the mission) running away as fast as they could. R. immediately alerted the embassy in Tripoli and the Quick Reaction Force (QRF) housed in the Annex, a covert C.I.A. outpost about a mile from the mission. The QRF was supposed to respond to any worst-case scenarios in Benghazi with at least three armed members. R.’s message was short and to the point: “Benghazi under fire, terrorist attack.”
Os serviços secretos americano e britânico colaboraram na captura de inimigos do regime de Muammar Khaddafi. Tortura e detenções ilegais foram alguns métodos usados. Esta é uma reportagem do The Bureau for Investigative Journalism, reproduzida pela Agência Pública.
Por Alice K Ross
O ex-presidente Bush e o director da CIA, Michael Hayden, afirmam que o waterboarding – técnica tortura que consiste em atirar água sobre o rosto de uma pessoa imobilizada, causando a sensação de afogamento – só foi utilizada em três prisioneiros.
Mas este número está a ser questionado por um dissidente libanês que alega ter sido vítima de waterboarding durante um interrogatório realizado pela CIA numa prisão secreta no Afeganistão.
Mohammed Shoroeiya contou à ONG Human Rights Watch que foi submetido à técnica de waterboarding inúmeras vezes durante um fatídico interrogatório no Afeganistão. Ele diz ter sido amarrado a uma placa de madeira e “depois eles começaram a atirar água… deitam água até você sentir que está a sufocar… E não paravam até receber algum tipo de resposta”, disse. Outro líbio também descreve ter sofrido “uma prática de sufocamento próxima do waterboarding” às mãos da CIA no Afeganistão.
Eles são alguns dos 14 entrevistados pela ONG Human Rights Watch para o relatório “Entregue em mãos inimigas“, que mostra como as agências de serviços secretos dos EUA e do Reino Unido prenderam dissidentes da Líbia por todo o mundo e os entregaram ao coronel Khaddafi. Muitos sofreram maus tratos antes de serem enviados de volta à Líbia, então comandada por Khadaffi.
Um dos detidos, Ibn al-Sheikh al-Libi, revelou informações durante um interrogatório da CIA que depois foram usadas para justiifcar a invasão do Iraque em 2003. Ele foi depois enviado para a Líbia, onde morreu na cadeia em 2009.
Cinco destes homens foram enviados para prisões secretas da CIA no Afeganistão, onde, durante dois anos, estiveram presos em celas sem janelas, foram espancados, acorrentados, ficaram em receber comida e foram mantidos acordados por longos períodos com música rock em altos berros. Nunca foram acusados formalmente de qualquer crime e no final foram enviados de volta à Líbia. Um deles diz ter estado preso numa cela em Marrocos.
Os relatos dos dissidentes são corroborados por documentos descobertos pela Human Rights Watch no escritório do chefe de inteligência de Khadaffi, Musa Kusa, após a queda do governo, que incluem faxes da CIA e do serviço secreto britânico, MI6, a avisar o governo da Líbia sobre as prisões dos dissidentes.
Dez dos 14 casos ocorreram pouco depois da reconciliação pública dos EUA e do Reino Unido com Khaddafi. Os detidos foram depois enviados de volta ao ex-ditador da Líbia apesar da reputação de torturas e detenções sem julgamento. Os documentos mostram que em dois casos os EUA pediram garantias diplomáticas de que os prisioneiros não seriam torturados – que foram solenemente ignoradas.
Em dois casos, as forças de segurança britânicas cooperaram com a CIA para sequestrar dissidentes líbios. Ambos foram amplamente divulgados após documentos serem revelados no último ano. Abdul Hakim Belhadj e Sami Mostafa al-Saadi, que depois foram enviados à Líbia, estão a processar o governo britânico.
A maioria dos entrevistados para o relatório eram membros do Grupo de Lutadores Islamistas Líbios, formado em oposição à opressiva e controversa repressão do governo de Khadaffi ao Islão. Quase todos tinham fugido do país no final dos anos 80 e foram para o Afeganistão lutar contra os soviéticos – uma luta apoiada pelos EUA – e também receber treino para lutar pela sua causa.
Mas, como mostra o relatório, depois do 11 de Setembro de 2001, os EUA não se preocupavam em distinguir entre militantes islâmicos que lutavam contra os EUA dos que defendiam outras causas. Assim, muitos dos dissidentes dos regimes autoritários do Médio Oriente foram presos em países como Hong Kong, Malásia e Mali. Eles foram transportados entre países asiáticos e do Médio Oriente para Guantánamo, onde ficaram sob custódia americana durante anos.
A investigação da Human Rights Watch contradiz com descrições detalhadas a posição oficial dos EUA sobre o uso de técnicas de tortura depois de 11 de Setembro.
Clique aqui para ler o relatório da Human Rights Watch report, “Entregue em mãos inimigas”. E clique aqui para ler a reportagem original, em inglês.
Há exactamente um ano, Muammar Khaddafi era capturado e morto pelas forças rebeldes na batalha de Sirte. O governo de transição prometeu esclarecer as circunstâncias em que o ditador foi assassinado. Não cumpriu. Agora, a Human Rights Watch (HRW) anunciou ter recolhido provas que implicam as milícias na aparente execução de dezenas de partidários do ex-líder líbio.
No relatório de 50 páginas, Death of a Dictator: Bloody Vengeance in Sirte, a HRW descreve ao detalhe as últimas horas de vida de Khaddafi e as circunstâncias em que ele foi assassinado. Prova ainda que os homens do coronel foram desarmados e depois espancados. Pelo menos 66 acabaram por ser executados no hotel Mahari. As provas indicam também que o filho de Kaddafi, Mutassin, foi levado de Sirte para Misrata e assassinado.
As provas colocam em causa a versão oficial dos acontecimentos, que dizem que Muammar e Mutassim Khaddafi morreram em combate. Há vídeos que mostram o ditador líbio a ser capturado vivo e a sangrar de uma ferida na cabeça. Nas imagens, vê-se Khaddafi a ser espancado e esfaqueado com uma baioneta. Quando é colocado numa ambulância, meio nu, parece estar morto.
Mutassin também terá sido capturado vivo quando tentava escapar ao cerco das milícias. Foi ferido e levado para a base de Misrata onde foi filmado numa sala, a fumar e a beber água enquanto discutia com os carcereiros. À noite, o seu corpo era mostrado com uma ferida no pescoço.
