It's hard to find anyone today who is sorry about the death of Muammar Gaddafi, and with him gone it seems strange that, being so unpopular in his own country, he managed to rule it for so long. One of the great lessons that life teaches us is that you are never such a swell fellow as when you are on top, and never such a dreadful creature as when you are down.
Many are saying that his death opens up the way for the fledgling administration to bring into flower a new democratic era; it is to be hoped that in a year's time we are looking on a new member of the civilised world, co-operating with its neighbours and responsive to the needs of its people.
The other side of the coin is that Gaddafi's death removes the focus of the struggle: if Tripolitanians hated Cyrenaicans there was always someone they hated more. Until now. From today the politics of religion and the ancient tribal scores can bubble up freely. Let's hope they do so peaceably.
A word about the death. It appears that Gaddafi was captured alive, if wounded, and that at some stage someone walked up and put a bullet in his head. This blog does not approve of unnecessary or political execution but I must say if I had been a leader of the NTC I would have instructed the nearest general to do exactly that. The last thing that is going to help Libya is Gaddafi spending years preparing his defence in the bogus and ineffective International Criminal Court and having the world's media listening as he denounced the new regime. Gaddafi was a soldier and now they can say he died a soldier's death and draw a line under the matter.
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