Which Side Are You On?

Left and right, capital and labour, and our relationship to both may have been the best way to understand 20th Century politics and to chart solutions to problems. But those days are gone. Thatcher and Reagan changed the political landscape to make us all capitalists. Maybe we differ on exactly the extent of the role of the state, maybe we argue about the odd penny on income tax, or disagree about how tough to be on bankers – but those are not arguments of ideology any more.

Does that mean the big debates are finished? No. It just means that left and right are finished.

Tony Blair has an attractive alternative, using our attitude to globalisation as an organising framework. He sets it out in his memoirs…

It is what I call “open vs. closed.” Some right-wingers are free-traders, others aren’t. Likewise with the left. On both sides, some are pro-immigration, others anti-. Some favour an interventionist foreign policy; others don’t. Some see globalisation and the emergence of China, India and others as a threat; some as an opportunity. There is a common link to the free trade, pro-immigration (controlled, of course) interventionist and pro-globalisation political positions, but it is “open vs. closed,” not “left vs. right.” I believe progressives should be the champions of the open position, which is not only correct but also a winning position, as Bill Clinton showed conclusively.

Open or closed, that is the defining question today. And the revolutions sweeping North Africa and the Middle East are the perfect moment to decide which side you are on: do we recognise the interconnectedness of the world and use whatever economic and military power we have to help the spread of freedom and democracy, or do we turn away from the young men and women risking death to topple murderous regimes, using anachronistic arguments about sovereignty?

Last week, I stood with Libyan rebels outside Ajdabiya. Some had AK-47s. Others had World War One-era rifles. Some had machetes. Some were completely unarmed. Since then, they have surged forward to take advantage of French, American and British air strikes against Gaddafi ground forces. And since then they have been pushed back, unable to hold their gains with their pitiful collection of armaments.

Now, we have to stick to our “open” position and take the next step, arming the rebels and sending in advisers to train and advise the 3000-strong force on tackling Gaddafi’s bigger and better-equipped army.

The alternative is to turn our back on the brave people in Benghazi, and to ignore the reality of globalisation and our inter-connected world.

Forget accusations of “mission creep”. In passing Resolution 1973 the UN Security Council put itself on the progressive, open side of the argument. Now let’s take it to its logical conclusion.

 

The War of the Road

I spent Sunday, my last day reporting from Libya (for now), chasing the front line. We drove through Ajdabiya, then Brega, then Ras Lanuf but couldn’t move fast enough to find Colonel’s Gaddafi’s retreating forces. Somewhere in front of us was the ragtag rebel army who raced through liberated town after liberated town, taking each one without firing a shot.

An hour was wasted in Brega as we went from petrol station to petrol station, and then house to house, to fill up with fuel. Eventually we found a chap who disappeared into his garage before coming out with a 50-litre plastic reservoir of unleaded.

This is how the 21st century war of the road is being fought, much like Rommel and Monty’s World War Two war of movement. With no natural barriers, just mile after mile of empty, arid land, each army can advance and retreat with impressive speed.

The great tank commanders made their reputations by moving fast, outflanking and encircling the opposition. Vast minefields were laid, forcing the opponent into a “fighting box” which could be more easily defended than miles of open scrub.

They would recognise what is happening along the desert road to Tripoli, which has become both battlefield and objective. There is nothing much worth defending, just empty acres dotted with the occasional goat or camel. Nothing much grows apart from dunes and thirst.

And they would recognise the problems. The rebels are now 80 miles from Sirte – but 250 hundred miles from their stronghold of Benghazi. That means getting fuel, water and food down the road to their forces. Conversely, Gaddafi was struggling to hold his isolated positions in Ajdabiya, even before air strikes destroyed his armoured column there.

All of which means that the rebels are going to have to evolve from a chaotic rabble, charging headlong at government forces before retreating as soon as they come under fire, into a more sophisticated fighting unit if they are to have any chance at all of taking Sirte – or even defend what they’ve got. They have after all been as far as Ras Lanuf before, until losing it all.

For the time being they are an army winning the war without ever having won a battle.

Portrait of a Checkpoint

Khalid Saad brought his family to see what all the fuss was about. His three sons, aged 18, 14 and 11, sucked on prickly artichokes as somewhere down the road – not too far away – Libya’s rebel movement probed government positions around the town of Ajdabiya.

“Don’t worry, we just came to have a look,” he said. “Nothing bad will happen insh’Allah.”

This is daily life at the rebel checkpoint about 10 miles up the road from Ajdabiya. Sightseers arrive in taxis and volunteers cram themselves into pick-ups, arriving without weapons to join the fight. Journalists ask one another if they know what’s going on, rebels hand out cartons of juice and there’s a sort of fete-like atmosphere as people run into cousins or old friends from school. Occasionally, there are bangs and pops as people fire their weapons in the air. And everyone has a good laugh.

Then, if you’ve brought the kids, you find an assault rifle and have them pose with it for pictures.

There’s a weird and wonderful assortment of weapons too. Old World War Two Sten guns, shotguns and some home-made efforts are to be found among the all-too-predictable AK-47s.

One old boy, happily passing the time sitting against the boot of car had even adapted a harpoon to fire shotgun cartridges. I made the mistake of getting my camera out to take a shot of his odd, metal contraption at which point he leapt to his feet, screwed the whole thing together and fired it in the air. Thankfully it didn’t explode in his face.

All day dust swirled around the couple of hundred people at the checkpoint. A truck arrived carrying a massive plastic reservoir of diesel. The driver was promptly dragged out of the cab, accused of smuggling fuel to Gaddafi soldiers, and his load was commandeered by the rebels. Everyone cheered.

A few miles further up the road, the rebels launched some exploratory patrols towards Ajdabiya but failed to win any ground. They’ll take it tomorrow, they told me, insh’Allah.

 

I’m Not Keen on Chaos

Vehicles belonging to forces loyal to Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi explode after an air strike by coalition forces, between Benghazi and Ajdabiyah (Reuters)

Today, I drove out on the Tripoli road from Benghazi the few miles to where French ground attack planes had taken out Colonel Gaddafi’s armoured column which hours earlier had sent a frightening cascade of artillery into the heart of the city. There wasn’t much left.

Tanks had been opened up like sardine cans. Nothing was left but empty shells. Gun turrets had been sent flying under the aerial assault, catapulted in once case some 30 yards. All around, soot covered vehicles were smouldering. In the distance, dozens of plumes of acrid black smoke marked other targetted targets.

One – I’ve no idea what sort of vehicle it was beneath the flames – suddenly crackled and flared, spitting fire into the air. It fizzed and popped. Then it exploded in a huge white ball of heat. Around us we could hear the whine and whizz of shrapnel, as munitions ignited and burned.

At that point, I don’t mind telling you, I ran. As did the souvenir hunters and sightseers who had driven up the road to see the site of the French air strike.

I can just about cope with war: two sides fighting each other, some sort of order despite the madness. What terrifies me is chaos: the crowds of people panicking, cars getting in each others’ way, too many excited people with guns.

Yesterday, I watched a militiaman firing his light machine gun in the air. He lost control and almost took out a car at his checkpoint. Not cool.

Battle for Benghazi

It came in from the sea, somewhere to the north. At first the residents of Benghazi cheered, believing it would herald the start of air strikes against Gaddafi forces still rumbling towards their city. “Is it European,” shouted one. Then it swung back around the city, describing, a high, slow circle even as artillery shells pounded the outskirts of the city. If it was a Mirage then maybe it was one of Gaddafi’s last

It’s next run would have been more deadly, as it roared back across the city, this time flying low and straight – the very definition of intent – as anti-aircraft guns roared along its western path.

All week we have seen the guns firing more with hope than any real skill. Many have no sights, the gunners relying on Allah and beginners’ luck.

Not this time. A flash illuminated the jet, somewhere near its tail. The flash grew to a flame as an explosion ripped through the plane, stopping it as if caught by an invisible hand rather than anti-aircraft fire. Slowly the plane sycamoured towards the ground where it exploding in another, bigger fireball.

The no-fly zone might be meaningless until the French and British are able to get their jets in the air. And Gaddafi might be racing for Benghazi to beat the strikes. But these rebels still have plenty of fight.

There are now tanks in the streets. getting out

Safari Soundtrack: Desert Sands

Headed for Benghazi, via Lyon, Milan, Cairo and an epic overland safari. So I think that calls for a Safari Soundtrack

24 Hours from Tulsa, Gene Pitney (24 Hours from Tulsa) – or 12 hours from Benghazi. The definition of crescendo and the perfect opener, which meets Nick Hornby’s criterion, I’d say

The Wagon, Dinosaur Jr (Green Mind) – And then we go up a notch. A song about a motor. The perfect second track.

Racing in the Street, Bruce Springsteen (Darkness on the Edge of Town) – “We only run for the money, Got no strings attached”, my motto when I was a stringer

Imidiwan Afrik Tendam, Tinariwen (Imidiwan: Companions) – if I had to be a member of an African tribe, I think I’d opt for Tuareg, even if VW have rather spoiled it. And we need a bit of desert blues on this trip

Manensa Asil, Souad Massi (Honeysuckle) – staying in North Africa, as Tony Blackburn might say. No idea how I failed to hear any Souad Massi until last year

Mickey Mouse and the Goodbye Man, Grinderman (Grinderman 2) – and so we start to build to the conclusion with some good, old and honest rock and roll. Of a sort

Love of an Orchestra, Noah and the Whale (The First Days of Spring) – epic doesn’t do this song justice.

Committed, Jenny and Johnny (I’m Having Fun Now) – so good it could have been a Ramones song: “Committed, Committed, I need to be committed, I need to be locked away”

Roadside Dining in Tunisia

I’m not a great one for being squeamish about meat. I like it and I eat it. If that means an animal has to be killed then, so long as it has been treated humanely, that’s OK with me. I have no time for people who eat meat and then object to being reminded of where it came from – insisting that their fish comes in a cube, their lamb without bone… that sort of thing.

However, even I was a little disturbed by the number of sheep being strung up along the road as I drove north from Djerba today. I lost count at about 20. Definitely not a good day for the ovine population of Tunisia. Then we stopped for lunch. The tidy shack was not only decorated with a picture of a smiling sheep – but it was using today’s meat provider as a sort of advertising hoarding beside the road. Yes, we have fresh sheep today, might have been the legend,  look it’s still dripping blood.

First came bowls of mechouia - grilled tomatoes, onions and green peppers finely diced, almost to a paste, and all drowning in olive oil. It was served with hunks of baguette and a bowl of fiery harissa, which seems to serve as a seasoning.

Then the meat arrived from a smoking barbecue. First up, sheep’s livers – a particular weakness of mine. Sweet, but with a stronger flavour than chicken liver, perfect with a squeeze of lemon. Next came blackened cutlets which were beautifully pink inside. Then came the, erm, testicles (or fries if you must). I can report that the flavour was rather mild, but the soft, spongey texture was decidedly disagreeable. All served with a bowl of fantastically crispy chips.

So the next time I see a sheep’s carcase strung up by the side of the road, I will almost certainly stop.

Andrew Mitchell on a Shipping Container

Andrew Mitchell, the international development secretary, arrived at the Ras Jedir border crossing today to announce that Britain was sending more aid. Sky interviewed him on top of a container.

Crush at Ras Jedir

Things got pretty ugly today. Where yesterday tens of thousands of people stood patiently waiting for their chance to enter Tunisia from Libya, today they surged towards the blue railings and a line of policemen trying to hold them back. Dozens were plucked unconscious from the heaving mass. Aid workers lobbed baguettes and bottles of water into the crowd. It was a miracle the railings stayed upright beneath the weight of people – migrant workers all – trying to escape Gaddafi’s dying regime.

The flows accelerate every day. On Sunday 10,000 people arrived. Yesterday it was 14,000 in 12 hours. Today it might top 15,000, saturating the Tunisian border authorities. Thousands will be left in no man’s land tonight.

Even the lucky ones face spending a night in the open, enduring plunging temperatures as the sun disappears. The race is on now to set up a transit camp for some 10,000 people, where they can stay before being shipped on. The conditions are tough. But at least these are not refugees, fleeing their own country. These people have homes to go to. The challenge now is to get them there.