A LIBYAN official proudly shows pictures of his one-year-old
triplet daughters on his mobile phone: polka-dotted veils hide the hair
of all three, even though Muslim tradition suggests that girls need not
cover up until puberty. The official is a leading figure in the Justice
and Construction party, affiliated to the Muslim Brotherhood, the
conservative political-cum-religious movement that is burgeoning right
across the Middle East. In Libya after the fall of Muammar Qaddafi it
has so far done less well, getting only a fifth of the seats contested
under party colours in a general election last July, compared with about
half in Egypt and Tunisia. But that may change. The Justice and
Construction party, founded only in March, is planning assiduously how
to end up on top.
For one thing, it is rapidly building a sophisticated organisation,
even as most of its competitors dither or fight among themselves.
Starting from a much weaker base than in Egypt and Tunisia, where the
Brothers have been strong for decades, the Libyan party has opened
offices across the country, including a seven-floor tower in Benghazi,
the second city. It has signed up hundreds of members in places where
other parties have handfuls, including 1,500 in Benghazi’s central
district alone.
In parliament the party won only 17 out of 80 seats that were
competed for under party labels. But of the other 120 seats, reserved
for people running as independents, about 60 have since joined a
Brotherly caucus. It meets regularly and has an elected leader. Its
cohesion enabled the party to play kingmaker during the selection of a
prime minister, blocking candidates it deemed unfriendly. Its party
leaders hope to use its numerical strength to give a new election law an
Islamist flavour.
Outside Tripoli, the capital, the Brothers are represented in many
local councils, often the best-functioning part of the new state. In
Misrata, the third city, they ousted the elected mayor. Omar Sallak, a
Benghazi councillor and longtime Brother, envisages a slow, consensual
rise for the party. “We may win control eventually, but first we all
have to work together,” he says.
The party’s leaders are mostly academics and businessmen. They
profess to be moderate, talking eagerly of democracy, human rights and a
separation of powers, almost as if memorised by rote. “Worries about
some forms of Islamism are justified,” concedes Ramadan Eldarsi, a party
bigwig in Benghazi. “But we just want to build a modern state. There is
nothing new or scary that we will force people to do.”
This moderation is sometimes relative. One prominent Brother shouted
at his wife, “Close, close, close the door!” when she tried to bring tea
for this (male) correspondent, seated in the family living room. A
football tournament in Benghazi organised by the Brothers did not
welcome women as players. Asked about Ansar al-Sharia, the extremist
group that killed the American ambassador to Libya, Chris Stevens, four
months ago, Mr Eldarsi says defensively, “we should have a conversation
with them.”
Such attitudes have made some Libyans suspicious of the Brothers. But
most Libyans do not blame Islamists for Mr Stevens’s murder. What fuels
suspicion is a broad dislike of political parties and the noisy
competition they foster. Many associate political rivalry with violence
and prefer the consensual decision-making of tribal politics. Parties
are still novel in Libya. They were banned by King Idris in 1952 and
denounced as cancerous by Qaddafi.
Libya’s Brothers look hopefully at their successful counterparts in
Egypt, Tunisia and Turkey. “We co-operate with the ruling parties there
to teach our members the right skills,” says Muhammad Sawan, the Justice
and Construction party leader. With their discipline and determination,
they plainly have a chance to emulate their Brothers abroad.
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