Libya's National Museum and the secret operation that saved its ancient treasures

In the spring of 2011, as NATO bombs shook Tripoli and revolutionary forces closed in on Muammar Gaddafi's crumbling regime, Ramadan al-Shaibani gathered nine colleagues inside the cavernous halls of Libya's National Museum and proposed a plan that would have to remain secret for years.

An antiquities expert who now serves as Tripoli's archaeological inspector, Ramadan had been watching events elsewhere in the region with growing concern. Just weeks earlier, looters had stormed the Egyptian Museum in Cairo's Tahrir Square, making off with irreplaceable artefacts.

Those scenes stayed with him as Libya edged closer to conflict. Determined to prevent the same fate from befalling Libya's greatest cultural repository, he turned his focus to the National Museum, a four-storey fortress housing treasures spanning from prehistory to independence.

"The revolutionaries could enter Tripoli at any moment, and we did not want the Egyptian scenario to repeat itself," Ramadan recalled. "We had to do something to protect the museum's antiquities from theft or looting."

Against that backdrop, the group settled on a stark conclusion: they would hide as many artefacts as possible.

To proceed, Ramadan contacted Saleh al-Uqab, then head of Libya's antiquities authority. Saleh approved the proposal and formed an official committee to protect the country's museums, appointing Ramadan as chairman and granting him full authority to act as he saw fit.

The rapidly shifting realities of the war soon became clear. Reaching museums in eastern Libya was impossible, as those areas were already under revolutionary control. The south was cut off by distance and fuel shortages caused by the NATO blockade. In those cases, Ramadan could do little more than phone museum directors and urge them to protect their collections by whatever means they could.

The National Museum in Tripoli, however, posed the greatest challenge.

Spread across four floors and 10,000 square metres inside the historic Red Castle, the museum held a vast share of Libya's archaeological wealth, with artefacts gathered from cities and sites across the country.

"I chose a group of museum and antiquities staff whom I trusted, who were patriotic, and who understood the importance of this national treasure," Ramadan told The New Arab.

For two months, the 10-member team worked in near-total isolation, hauling roughly 350 Greco-Roman sculptures and around 2,000 gold, silver and bronze pieces into a narrow maintenance corridor used for the building's air-conditioning system. The passage was chosen precisely because it was unremarkable, the kind of space no one would think to search.

Among the group was Fathi al-Khuwaildi, now 51, who currently works for another government agency. He still recalls the pressure of those early days.

"We spent two or three days searching for a suitable place to hide these precious pieces without drawing anyone's attention,’ Fathi said. "I am not exaggerating when I say we did not trust anyone outside our group."

Some team members initially suggested hiding the artefacts in tunnels beneath the Red Castle. However, those would have taken too long to seal and could easily have been discovered if the fortress was breached. The group ultimately settled on the air-conditioning corridor.

"The transfer operation lasted about two months," Fathi said. "We were the only ones in the museum, moving the artefacts under the sound of NATO bombing Tripoli. We did not even use any foreign workers to maintain secrecy."

Once the final artefact had been moved, attention turned to concealment. One team member, Mahmoud al-Shitiwi, sealed the corridor entrance with a brick wall, plastered over it, and painted it to match the surrounding surfaces. The others helped mix cement and carry materials.

To complete the deception, they placed a desk in front of the newly sealed wall, along with a computer, filing cabinets, and authentic paperwork, creating a fake office that appeared entirely ordinary.

A race against chaos

That disguise was put to the test sooner than expected.

On the night of 20 August 2011, revolutionary fighters swept into Tripoli and declared Gaddafi's regime over. The National Museum and the adjacent Central Bank were among the first buildings they reached.

"Chaos reigned at that time, and everything was mixed up, but this is natural and expected and accompanies any revolution in the world," Ramadan said.

He rushed to the museum the following morning and found armed men wandering through the galleries. They found nothing portable to take, only massive stone statues weighing several tonnes. Some fighters attempted to destroy items associated with Gaddafi, including his Volkswagen car, but Ramadan and his colleagues intervened, arguing that these too were part of the country's history.

Fathi went straight to the concealed wall. The computer from the decoy desk had been stolen, and the files rifled through. However, no one had noticed the fresh plaster behind them.

"No one paid attention to the wall or what was behind it," he said. "The operation was a success."

Elsewhere in Libya, the outcome was very different.

In the chaos that followed Gaddafi's fall, looters stole 149 artefacts from the Bani Walid Museum, around 50 from Misrata, and approximately 80 from the Sultan Museum in Sirte. Collections in Benghazi, Sousse and the Polish archaeological mission in the ancient city of Ptolemais were also hit.

Khaled Haddar, the former head of Libya's stolen artefacts office, has estimated that "hundreds of thousands" of objects disappeared across the country during those years.

"I consider what the group did in Tripoli to be heroic in every sense of the word," Ramadan said. "Thanks to them, we did not lose a single artefact. This is what several international organisations, including UNESCO, praised in their reports after visiting the museum and the secret corridor."

A national symbol returns

More than a decade later, the building that once concealed Libya's heritage reopened its doors on 12 December, with a ceremony attended by Prime Minister Abdul Hamid Dbeibeh, foreign dignitaries, and a number of Arab celebrities.

The renovated facility now features 48 exhibition halls, interactive screens, digital projections and around 12,000 artefacts tracing Libya's history from Stone Age cave dwellers to the country's independence in 1951.

The Tripoli-based government invested more than $5m in the six-year rehabilitation project, carried out in partnership with France's archaeological mission and the International Alliance for the Protection of Heritage. The waterfront Red Castle, once a seat of power, now guides visitors through galleries of ancient art, Greek and Roman antiquities, and Ottoman-era weapons and jewellery.

For many Libyans, the reopening comes at a difficult time. The country remains divided between a Tripoli-based government and a rival administration in Benghazi, and years of conflict have left many people searching for symbols of unity. A large number of visitors are too young to remember the museum before 2011.

Among the exhibits is a dedicated room displaying 21 recovered stolen artefacts. These include items returned by authorities in the United States and the United Kingdom, as well as a Roman statue voluntarily surrendered by an Italian collector. A fragile child mummy, approximately 5,400 years old and unearthed from the ancient site of Uan Muhuggiag in southern Libya, has drawn particular attention.

The men who saved these treasures, however, were not among the guests.

Fathi said he called a fellow team member, Ashour Aqil, on the morning of the ceremony to ask whether he had received an invitation. Still, he had not, nor had anyone else from the original group.

"Even the current government ignored us," Fathi told The New Arab.

No Libyan government since 2011 has formally recognised the group, either under the antiquities authority or any subsequent administration.

"We never asked for payment or reward for what we did," Fathi said. "It was a national and humanitarian duty. But it pains every one of us that we did not receive so much as a symbolic certificate in recognition of our work and dedication."

Amr Fathallah is an independent journalist from Tripoli, specialising in science journalism. He writes on a wide range of topics, including the environment, water, climate, biodiversity, health, history, and culture

This article is published in collaboration with Egab