Of Libyan guns and kids

As I read the morning news while staring at a dark grey skyline, the top story jumped out at me. Some or the other words to the effect "Gadhafi dead", interwoven with joyous notes of celebration and the hope for a good ole' 'future' for Libya. With a celebratory picture of men waving guns into the air while little children stood in the background.

Somehow, the picture was what stayed in my mind. And was followed in rapid succession by picture after picture of more blood and gore and the trophies of war brandished by the victors. Details overwhelmed every news outlet, be it the electronic word or the videos of a mutilated man and the pathetic hiding spots he sought refuge in. It is strange. That when the evil dictator falls, it is hard for one who has not lived under his reign to see the justice in the act of killing. Because one mutilated body looks much like another, only pathetic.

But the media is right about one fact, Libya now has a chance at a future. I am however, afraid to even think of what that future is. Someone whimsically mentioned to me today that don't we all scream for a dictator to fall, having forgotten that at one point he had been the rebel that had felled the earlier bad guy. And then of course we go back to living our own lives.

But the picture with the children keeps coming back to me. What will Libya's future be? Sadly, the country has oil reserves, and therefore will stay on the radar of all those who seek this precious resource. And therefore, Libya will not be left alone to nurse it's wounds and heal. Instead it will be prodded and poked.

And those children? I dread to think what will become of those children in the victory picture. They looked like they could just reach out and touch those shiny guns.

That picture scared me.

Photo by REUTERS/Suhaib Salem