SCOTT SIMON, host:
There are a lot of young people involved in Libya's rebellion. They are members of the rebel military. They are working to help form a new government, and they're producing revolutionary artwork, publications, and music.
Our own Peter Breslow has this look at a place in eastern Libya where a rising generation of creative activists gather for the sake of revolution.
PETER BRESLOW: On any given day you can find at least a few of Benghazi's young and restless in a large empty cement lot off one of the city's main thoroughfares.
(Soundbite of cars racing)
BRESLOW: In the late afternoon, young men gather to see just how much tire rubber they can burn. Fishtailing Toyotas leave a smear of swirling and smoking sticky blackness on the pavement.
From a hotel room high above, the streaks appear like some kind of very post-modern design.
(Soundbite of people talking)
BRESLOW: About a mile away, just off Revolution Square, more substantive creations are taking shape. This is the media center for the 17th of February Revolution. A dingy dog-eared building bustling day and night with frenetic 20-and 30-somethings trying to process what's going on in Libya. On the second floor, a cottage industry of sorts has developed, producing anti-Gadhafi posters. The walls are plastered with mainly black and white cartoons of the leader.
In one, he's a fanged vampire with bombs and machine guns popping out of the top of his head. In another, the colonel is depicted as a monkey picking lice off a crony. They all ooze vitriol.
Mr. AKRAM MUHAMMED EL BIRIKY: (Foreign language spoken).
BRESLOW: Thirty-two year old, Akram Muhammed el Biriky, one of a cadre of cartoonists working at the center, says he cranks out four to five drawings a day. This afternoon, the caricature he's working on presents the dictator in oversize sunglasses dripping blood from the lower half of his body.
Mr. EL BIRIKY: (Foreign language spoken)
BRESLOW: The artist, sporting a goatee and jean jacket, says he used to draw his sketches at home in secret and then tear them up for fear of being discovered and imprisoned. When things quiet down, Biriky hopes for a career in fashion or interior design - occupations, he says, that were stifled under the old regime.
Overseeing things at the center and making sure the cartoonists stay on message is Suzanne Hemy, who helped found the place.
Ms. SUZANNE HEMY (Co-founder, Media Center for the 17th of February Revolution): (Foreign language spoken)
BRESLOW: Hovering about in a dark headscarf, Hemy says she tries to make sure that as the artists lampoon Gadhafi, they don't offend any of Libya's tribes.
Ms. HEMY: (Foreign language spoken)
BRESLOW: Hemy studied law but says she found her true calling in the uprising that began in February; demonstrating against the regime and admonishing the men to join her. She urged her husband and 17-year-old son to take up arms, telling them that if they die, they die as martyrs. And if they live, they live as revolutionaries.
(Soundbite of music)
BRESLOW: Up one more flight of stairs at the Media Center is the rehearsal space for Guys Underground. In a cramped room packed with a drum kit and guitars, the band is polishing its latest download, "Revolution."
Mr. MARWAN FATHALLAH GHARGOUM (Medical Student/Bass Player-Songwriter, Guys Underground): You know, it's like illegal to perform a rock concert here in Libya. To have, you have to get (unintelligible), you have to get a pass, you have to call somebody, and somebody call somebody. It was a somebody system, you know. Before the Revolution, you had to think like 100 times before you do anything.
BRESLOW: Medical student Marwan Fathallah Ghargoum is Guys Underground's bass player and songwriter. He says the group, which has been around since 2007, is finally able to express itself the way it wants. But with family living in dangerous places like Misrata, Zawiyah and Tripoli, sometimes he hesitates.
Mr. GHARGOUM: I'm very happy. I had a feeling, amazing feeling, I swear never had in my life. Also, there's things that sometimes when I'm talking, I feel afraid about the people that I know; that most of my family in Misrata, I have most of them in Zawiyah or in Tripoli, so I feel afraid about them because they might like kidnap my brother or do, you know, bad things for him.
BRESLOW: Despite the worries, Ghargoum says he and his friends become energized once they set foot in the Media Center.
Mr. GHARGOUM: I finish my work. I start in the morning. I come here. We're not feeling tired to rehearse or do any songs like. Before we said I'm tired, I have to go home. But now you go in here, you find the painting, the drawing. You find studios. You find the newspaper and all of them like enjoying their work. Even like we stay here until 6 A.M. or 7 A.M. and it's okay, because we love what we doing here.
(Soundbite of guitar music)
BRESLOW: Lately, the band has been collaborating with local rap singers, but sometimes they go traditional, bringing in an oud player. Ghargoum says Guys Underground's songs aren't explicitly anti-Gadhafi. Rather, he wants his music, like the upcoming release, "Revolution," to honor people who have died in the uprising and to lift the spirits of those still fighting.
(Soundbite of song, "Revolution")
GUYS UNDERGROUND (Band): (Singing) People dying on the streets. Blood and tears on their feet...
BRESLOW: Guys Underground have plans for a big concert, they say - right after Gadhafi is gone from the scene.
Peter Breslow, NPR News.
SIMON: And you can see some of the cartoons of Moammar Gadhafi that are popping around Benghazi, at NPR.org.
(Soundbite of song, "Revolution")
GUYS UNDERGROUND (Band): (Singing)
SIMON: You're listening to WEEKEND EDITION from NPR News.
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