Opinion: Libyan American on Libya: ‘Now I Understand’

Now I understand. As I see waves of protesters breaking the muzzle of fear Gaddafi has put on the people for 42 years, now I understand. As I see young men and women sacrificing their lives to give other people a fighting chance to live a dignified existence, now I understand. As I see solidarity from all over the world calling out to Gaddafi with one voice: ‘Enough!’ now I understand. […] But my heart swells the most for my parents. My heart swells for every gray hair that has set itself upon their noble heads. My heart swells for every heartache and tear that has flown from their eyes. My parents who have sacrificed their lives fighting against the oppression of Gaddafi. Who have given up home and family to stand up for their principles. My parents who lived everyday with hope that they could one day return to a free Libya. I never understood their struggle. I sometimes thought they were just holding on to the dreams of their youth, not living in reality. I would tell them, ‘Gaddafi has won. Let’s just accept that fact.’ Several times I would even try to persuade my father to go back. ‘Just say a couple nice things about Gaddafi and we can go back.’ He would look at me with a gaze with wrinkled eyes that had seen more than I could possibly imagine. It was a look of sad, but unshakable determination. Then, he would say, ‘I will not go back to Libya while Gaddafi is in power.’ […] I remember the look on my mother’s face when I went to Libya for the first time. She said to me, ‘Take my heart with you.’ She would pray night and day to return to her country and see her elderly parents again. She would write articles against Gaddafi and poetry about her love for Libya. She would post her writings, as many others of those in opposition to Gaddafi would, on a Libyan blog. I would think to myself, ‘What good is this ever going to do?’ In a way, I felt sorry for her. That was then. Now, I am inspired by her undying hope. Her resolve to never give up. Her fight to the very end. She would fight for her people with whatever she had, even if it meant that she would never feel the sweet ocean breeze of Tripoli kiss her face again. Now I understand.