Tripoli has once again been turned into a battlefield, as rival militias unleashed firepower in broad daylight, reminding everyone that Libya’s capital remains a city hostage to warlords, not laws. On May 12, violent clashes erupted between two of the most powerful armed groups in western Libya—the Stability Support Apparatus (SSA) and the 444th Brigade—following the reported assassination of Abdul Ghani al-Kikli, better known as “Ghaniwa,” commander of the SSA and one of Tripoli’s most feared militia leaders.
Within hours of the news, Tripoli’s Abu Salim and Salah Eddin neighborhoods—dense, urban, and full of civilians—turned into combat zones. Heavy gunfire, RPGs, and technical vehicles rumbled through streets better suited for school buses than battlegrounds. Residents stayed glued to their phones and away from windows as the sounds of war filled the air. Videos circulated on social media showed homes riddled with bullets, cars abandoned mid-street, and terrified families sheltering indoors. The Ministry of Interior issued a hurried call for calm, asking citizens to stay home and avoid “military areas”—as if civilians in Tripoli have any say in where militias decide to fight.
This kind of sudden violence isn’t new. In fact, it’s symptomatic of Libya’s post-revolutionary order—or lack thereof. Despite a decade of international conferences, ceasefires, and handshakes in European capitals, Libya remains a patchwork of armed groups with shifting loyalties and shallow political oversight. The 444th Brigade and SSA are both technically under the command of the Tripoli-based Government of National Unity (GNU), but in practice, they answer to themselves. When turf, reputation, or revenge is on the line, these groups act as independent war machines.
The assassination of Ghaniwa may be the spark, but the fuel was always there. Western Libya has seen an increasingly uneasy balance between armed groups that once cooperated under the banner of defending Tripoli during the 2019–2020 war against Khalifa Haftar. Since then, as the political process has stalled, those same militias have turned their guns on each other in a struggle for influence, money, and legitimacy. In Tripoli, power doesn’t come from the ballot box—it comes from the barrel of a gun.
Prime Minister Abdulhamid Dbeibeh’s government, which was supposed to steer the country toward elections, has instead become entangled in a fragile bargain with the same militias it claims to control. Without a unified army or police force, the GNU relies on these armed groups for security, giving them access to state funds, vehicles, and weapons. This patronage system has bred a dangerous ecosystem in which no one dares to disarm and everyone is preparing for the next round of street battles.
Meanwhile, the east of the country remains under the grip of the House of Representatives and its parallel administration based in Benghazi. Both governments accuse each other of undermining national unity, and neither has made credible progress toward elections. Every deadline passes like a bad joke. In the absence of political resolution, Libya’s institutions are more like storefronts—present but hollow.
The latest clashes in Tripoli show that this limbo isn’t just political—it’s lethal. As long as armed groups operate with impunity, no political authority in Libya can claim to govern in any meaningful sense. The state has failed to demobilize militias, establish a working judiciary, or create a national security framework that transcends local loyalties. Instead, it has outsourced sovereignty to factions that act in their own interest, often violently.
Even more worrying is the psychological toll. Tripoli’s residents are becoming numb to violence. Each round of fighting is followed by silence, statements of condemnation, and then nothing. No justice. No accountability. No effort to prevent the next eruption. And while foreign diplomats issue carefully worded appeals for restraint, Libyans watch their neighborhoods turn into war zones—again.
The May 12 clashes were not an isolated incident. They were a symptom of a deeper sickness: a country where the capital is ruled by force, where political deadlock feeds militia power, and where the state itself is too weak to protect its citizens. Without a credible disarmament process, security reform, and a genuine path to elections, Tripoli will continue to burn in cycles. And Libyans, once full of hope after Gaddafi’s fall, will keep waking up to the same nightmare.
