Residents on Tripoli Street archive war.
Misrata, the third largest city in Libya, was the site of one of the longest and bloodiest sieges during the civil war/ revolution. Post-uprising the Loyalist forces had re-occupied most of towns in Tripolitania, the Western region of Libya except for Misrata: civilians, journalists and doctors were caught in the to and fro of fighting with rebels and loyalists gaining and losing posts, ground and fighters, daily. The battle was consumed over four months and is documented as starting on the 18th of February 2011, with the capture of the city by rebel forces, and ending on the 15th of May with the fall of the airport and remaining army bases. The fighting often shifted, predictably, to the city- centre: Misrata’s Tripoli Street. Boundaries were liquid, the distinction between civilians and rebel forces becoming harder to define as civilians took arms and rebels retreated, to then advance again. The battle made and unmade targets, pushing areas and spaces thought as protected into crisis, with contradictory claims of victory and occupation which characterised the war constantly enounced from both sides. The evident chaos that ensued made symbolic gains more and more significant, the effective takeover of Tripoli Street became one of the markers of success or failure.
15th December 2011. Misrata: billboard posters have been blown off their structures and now hang limp from the metal frames. There is no time or need for advertising.
Grenade, RPG, Kalashnikov holes stain the surfaces of buildings on the high street. Along with blackened wounds where windows once stood they are an archive of every attempt to obliterate/ eradicate/ impair.
The large metal sculpture which stood in front of Bab Al Aziziya (Khadafy’s compound in the capital) is now on Tripoli Street. It is a metal fist wielding a U.S. warplane. At it’s feet we find an array of spent cartridges, Molotov bombs, improvised explosive devices arranged in groups and displayed in coca-cola cases, cardboard boxes and metal bins.
A man waves us into the building behind the display. He has been collecting and cataloguing: mannequins, weapons, maquettes, memorials, Khadafy’s throne and his dishes, a machinegun mounted on a plastic remotecontrolled toy car, testimonies, a burnt out tank. He has painted the names of cities onto the spent shells neatly divided into boxes by provenance. He has constructed a public archive.
Alex stands out. He is blond and speaks very little Arabic, he has a Canon 3000 strapped around his neck, he is an independent photographer. I ask him which agency he works for. He says Nobody. He will sell his images to the highest bidder, if anyone bids.
Every bomb ever dropped on Misurata has been photographed, identified, and catalogued according to the date and location where it was found. Every bomb photograph has been carefully cut out and placed on a white background.
The rest of the lower ground room is pasted with portraits of those who died on Tripoli street. Their name, birth and death date appear on each image. Every portrait has been carefully cut out and pasted onto an elaborate blue background. The room is full from floor to ceiling except for 6 spaces at the bottom of a column.