A brutal dictator whose politics and leadership caused widespread war, famine, and the loss of thousands of innocent lives does not become a saint simply because he was killed in a NATO-backed rebellion. To these revisionist historians, I say — borrowing the words of the Abami Eda — “Teacher, don’t teach me nonsense.”
I was one of the freshly-minted medical doctors serving my one year of mandatory internship (housemanship) at the Military Hospital, Myhoung Barracks in Yaba, Lagos. The year was 1998, but I can still vividly recall how they came in boatloads. Most were young men in their late twenties to early thirties, their faces etched with fear and their bodies bearing the weight of invisible scars
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I revulsed as anxiety radiated from them, and many showed unmistakable signs of debilitating post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Every so often, a piercing scream of pain would shatter the air — anguished cries from men reliving horrors too great to silence.
Their injuries told their stories: eyes clouded by impaired vision, ears rendered useless by the concussive blasts of war, skulls fractured like broken pottery, and legs mangled beyond recognition, exposing the innermost workings of human anatomy. And yet, these men were counted among the fortunate — the ones who had defied death to return, battered but alive, to recount their ordeal.
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They were all Nigerians, most of them ECOMOG soldiers who had served on the frontlines of brutal conflicts, but also civilians, uprooted and evacuated from the war-torn landscapes of Sierra Leone and Liberia. Together, they bore witness to the unspeakable tragedies of wars fought far from home, where survival was a fragile miracle and the human cost of peace was written across their broken bodies.
The story began in 1985, when a Liberian named Charles Taylor escaped from a county jail in Massachusetts, United States, under controversial circumstances, after being arrested for embezzlement. He was accused of misappropriating nearly $1 million from the Liberian government during his time as head of the General Services Agency under President Samuel Doe, and was awaiting extradition to Liberia.
After his escape, Taylor allegedly fled to Mexico, before making his way to Africa, eventually arriving in Libya, where he was warmly welcomed by no other than the nation’s leader, Colonel Muammar Gaddafi. Under Gaddafi’s command, Taylor and other would-be African insurgents were trained at the World Revolutionary Centre (WRC) in Benghazi, Libya. This institution was designed to train and indoctrinate revolutionaries from across Africa and beyond. Taylor, along with others, received military training, ideological indoctrination, and logistical support.
Gaddafi supplied Taylor with arms and funding to support his newly formed rebel group, the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL). These resources were crucial for Taylor, the ex-convict turned warlord, to launch a successful rebellion against the then Liberian President, Samuel Doe.
Taylor’s NPFL quickly gained control of large swaths of Liberia, leading to the collapse of Doe’s government and the president’s eventual capture and killing. Taylor’s military campaign was marked by extreme violence, including massacres, sexual abuse, and the use of child soldiers. In the end, Taylor prevailed.
With military success in Liberia and continued backing from Gaddafi, Taylor sought to expand his sphere of influence into neighbouring Sierra Leone, where he supported the Revolutionary United Front (RUF), led by one Foday Sankoh — another individual trained at Gaddafi’s Revolutionary Centre. Taylor supplied the RUF with arms, funding, and logistical support. In return, the RUF smuggled Sierra Leone’s diamonds to Taylor, providing him with a crucial source of revenue.
During his trial, Taylor’s lead counsel, Courtenay Griffiths, posed a striking question in his closing arguments: “So why is Colonel Muammar Gaddafi not in the dock?” The man who provided the resources and supplied the weapons used to kill and maim thousands of innocent lives is no less guilty than the one who pulled the trigger. Yet Gaddafi was never held accountable for the atrocities he sponsored and the bloody conflicts he fuelled.
Throughout these conflicts, Colonel Gaddafi maintained close ties with Charles Taylor, ensuring a steady flow of arms and supplies to sustain the wars. In Liberia, over 250,000 people were killed, and countless others were displaced during the civil war. In Sierra Leone, the civil war resulted in over 50,000 deaths, leaving thousands mutilated or traumatised.
Gaddafi undertook several more invasions of neighbouring countries as part of his broader ambition to create a pan-African empire that he called the United States of Africa. To achieve his imperialist dream, he sought to train revolutionaries who would overthrow existing governments across the continent, paving the way for a new Africa where he would rule across national boundaries — borders he dismissed as artificial creations of Western colonial interests.
He invaded Chad in pursuit of the mineral-rich Aouzou Strip. The conflict, known as the Libyan-Chadian War (1978–1987), culminated in a humiliating defeat for Libya, marking one of Gaddafi’s most significant setbacks.
In Uganda, Gaddafi supported the brutal regime of Idi Amin, whose rule caused the massive loss of lives. In Central Africa, he backed Jean-Bédel Bokassa of the Central African Republic, known for his violent and authoritarian rule. By supporting such dictators, Gaddafi ensured their loyalty and expanded his influence.
Through his active support for Charles Taylor and other rebel leaders, Gaddafi played a critical role in destabilising Africa, especially in Liberia and Sierra Leone, where his involvement fueled unspeakable atrocities and widespread suffering. His motivations were rooted in a mix of ideological ambition, strategic calculations, and economic interests. While Gaddafi presented himself as a champion of African unity, his actions often deepened division, leaving behind a legacy of conflict and loss. The wars and instability he fuelled continue to shape Africa’s political landscape today.
Muammar Gaddafi’s regime became notorious for its extensive stockpiling of weapons. During the Cold War, Libya was a major purchaser of arms from the Soviet Union and its allies. He also acquired weapons from European countries, particularly France and Italy, before relations soured. These included tanks, fighter jets, and advanced weaponry. After his fall in 2011, vast quantities of these weapons were released into the black market, fueling militant groups. Much of his arsenal ended up in the hands of Boko Haram in Nigeria, Al-Shabaab in Somalia, and other militant groups, exacerbating violence in Libya and across the Sahel region.
Years after the war in Liberia and Sierra Leone, Charles Taylor was arrested, tried at an international tribunal for war crimes, and subsequently convicted. He is currently serving his sentence at HM Prison Frankland in County Durham, England.
During his trial, Taylor’s lead counsel, Courtenay Griffiths, posed a striking question in his closing arguments: “So why is Colonel Muammar Gaddafi not in the dock?” The man who provided the resources and supplied the weapons used to kill and maim thousands of innocent lives is no less guilty than the one who pulled the trigger. Yet Gaddafi was never held accountable for the atrocities he sponsored and the bloody conflicts he fuelled.
While acknowledging some of his government’s achievements, there is a troubling trend among some Africans and intellectuals to repackage Gaddafi as a reincarnation of Nelson Mandela or Kwame Nkrumah, following his death. These revisionist historians portray him as a larger-than-life, transformative leader whose only sin was liberating his people from the chains of Western imperialism.
Gaddafi’s 42-year rule in Libya was marked by widespread arbitrary arrests, authoritarianism, and the suppression of dissent. One of the most infamous atrocities occurred when his forces killed an estimated 1,200 political prisoners in Abu Salim Prison simply for protesting against harsh prison conditions. The massacre was concealed for years, but it became a rallying point during the 2011 uprising.
The tipping point came when protests erupted in Benghazi in February 2011, sparked by the arrest of human rights lawyer, Fathi Terbil, who had represented families of the Abu Salim massacre victims. The protests quickly spread across the country, escalated by decades of repression and the regime’s violent response.
Gaddafi allegedly maintained a harem of women and young girls in secrecy throughout his rule. The book Gaddafi’s Harem by respected journalist, Annick Cojean, chronicles the story of a young woman who suffered abuse, painting a disturbing picture of systematic sexual exploitation perpetrated by Gaddafi and enabled by his regime.
However, it would be unfair not to acknowledge some of Libya’s achievements under Gaddafi. Upon coming to power in September 1969, his government directed funds toward providing education, healthcare, and housing for all. Public education became free, and primary education was made compulsory for both sexes. Medical care was provided at no cost. Under Gaddafi, per capita income in Libya rose to more than US$11,000 in nominal terms and over US$30,000 in Purchasing Power Parity (PPP), making Libya one of the wealthiest nations in Africa at the time. But, as the saying goes, even a broken clock is right twice a day.
While acknowledging some of his government’s achievements, there is a troubling trend among some Africans and intellectuals to repackage Gaddafi as a reincarnation of Nelson Mandela or Kwame Nkrumah, following his death. These revisionist historians portray him as a larger-than-life, transformative leader whose only sin was liberating his people from the chains of Western imperialism. They cite the rise of terrorism in the Sahel and the proliferation of arms after his demise as a proof that he was a great leader.
I was moved to write this piece after a recent conversation with someone I deeply respect, yet who has surprisingly joined the chorus of those attempting to canonise and lionise a man whose atrocities against humanity demand justice. This individual repeatedly cited the overthrow of Gaddafi as President Barack Obama’s greatest failure. I strongly disagree. Gaddafi’s removal was not a sin; it was the overdue fall of a tyrant.
Let’s be clear: the Obama administration may have faltered in aspects of its foreign policy toward Africa, but eliminating a dictator who murdered, maimed, and terrorised his own people was not one of its mistakes. Yes, the power vacuum left in his wake had devastating, unintended consequences. But the alternative — to allow Gaddafi to continue his reign of terror, killing thousands more while ruling Libya indefinitely — would have been far worse. That, to me, is no choice at all. Some evils must end, no matter the cost.
A brutal dictator whose politics and leadership caused widespread war, famine, and the loss of thousands of innocent lives does not become a saint simply because he was killed in a NATO-backed rebellion. To these revisionist historians, I say — borrowing the words of the Abami Eda — “Teacher, don’t teach me nonsense.”
Osmund Agbo is a US-based medical doctor and author. His works include Black Grit, White Knuckles: The Philosophy of Black Renaissance and a fiction work titled The Velvet Court: Courtesan Chronicles. His latest works, Pray, Let the Shaman Die and Ma’am, I Do Not Come to You for Love, have just been released.
