Libya: One of the most corrupt countries, yet still celebrates Anti-Corruption Day!

On 9 December, Libya’s Tripoli-based Government of National Unity  marked International Anti-Corruption Day with a carefully staged event that leaned more toward celebration than self-examination. At a high-profile ceremony attended by Prime Minister Abdel Hamid Dbeibah and senior officials, institutions presented a series of initiatives framed as steps toward greater transparency and accountability. Among them was the unveiling by the Administrative Control Authority of a new digital platform, Raqib, introduced as a tool for monitoring government performance and receiving corruption complaints. The display of reformist intent, however, stood in sharp contrast to Libya’s entrenched reality, where corruption remains systemic and public trust in oversight bodies is steadily eroding.

The optics were familiar. Libya today has no shortage of institutions tasked with fighting corruption: the Administrative Control Authority, the Audit Bureau, the National Anti-Corruption Commission, the Attorney General’s Office, the Supreme Council for Financial Oversight, and the internal control units embedded within ministries. Together, they employ hundreds of staff and consume substantial public funds. Yet their mandates overlap, their independence is often contested, and their effectiveness is difficult to gauge. What the GNU showcased in December was therefore not a breakthrough, but merely the latest addition to an already crowded, fragmented, and deeply dysfunctional public sector — one in which public sector salaries alone accounted for 67.6 billion Libyan dinars in 2024, roughly 55 per cent of the total state budget, according to the Central Bank of Libya.

Libya’s corruption challenges appear to be deepening rather than improving, despite the presence of multiple anti-corruption agencies and high-profile campaigns. According to Transparency International’s 2024 Corruption Perceptions Index (CPI), Libya ranked 173^rd  out of 180 countries, with a score of 13 out of 100, marking it as one of the world’s most corrupt countries. This represents a deterioration compared with the previous year, when Libya ranked 170^th, highlighting the limited impact of institutional reforms on the ground. Other independent non-governmental organisations have echoed this assessment, noting that corruption continues to pose a severe barrier to governance, investment, and public trust. In this context, the mere existence of multiple oversight bodies and digital reporting platforms has done little to alter the entrenched dynamics, leaving reform efforts largely symbolic.

Almost every week, the Prosecutor-General’s office reports a new case involving theft, embezzlement of state funds through banks or government entities, wasteful spending, or direct corruption — with the sums involved often staggering. These announcements are almost always welcomed by the public, as reflected in social media comments, yet many remain sceptical. People suspect that, in practice, investigations drag on, convictions are rare, and political influence often shields those implicated. There is a widespread belief that high-ranking officials are usually spared punishment, while corruption in all its forms has become entrenched in the country’s administrative and financial culture, fuelled by oil revenues. Even with multiple anti-corruption agencies and digital reporting platforms in place, the system remains fragmented and largely symbolic, struggling to convert visibility into meaningful reform. The reality is stark: Libya continues to grapple with entrenched corruption, a problem corroborated by Transparency International and other independent watchdogs, which show that the country’s perceived corruption has worsened in the past year.

Take, for example, Raqib, the digital reporting platform launched by the Administrative Control Authority during the International Anti-Corruption Day celebration. While it is presented as a tool for citizens to submit corruption complaints and monitor government performance, the platform has critical shortcomings that limit its effectiveness. Most notably, Raqib does not allow anonymity; anyone wishing to file a complaint must provide detailed personal information, including their unique National Number. In a country where law enforcement is weak and witness protection is practically non-existent, this requirement is more likely to discourage potential whistleblowers than encourage them, leaving serious cases unreported and systemic corruption largely unchallenged. Without robust safeguards, independent oversight, and credible protection mechanisms, the platform risks being little more than a symbolic gesture rather than a functional instrument for accountability.

The shortcomings of Raqib reflect a broader pattern across Libya’s anti-corruption landscape. Multiple oversight bodies exist, yet their efforts rarely translate into meaningful enforcement, and high-profile initiatives often serve more as window dressing than instruments of reform. When reporting mechanisms expose potential wrongdoing without guaranteeing protection or follow-through, citizens quickly lose trust, and corruption becomes self-reinforcing. In practice, entrenched patronage networks, weak law enforcement, and political interference mean that even the most visible cases seldom result in convictions, while everyday graft continues largely unchecked. The combination of symbolic platforms, fragmented institutions, and a culture of impunity ensures that systemic corruption remains resilient, undermining both governance and public confidence.

Corruption in Libya has spread into areas once considered highly sensitive, including the issuance of National IDs and passports — systems central to citizens’ legal identity and access to services. The Prosecutor-General himself recently  reported over 34,000 cases of suspected civil registry and passport fraud, including falsified national numbers, with investigations ongoing. These forgeries have reportedly allowed foreign individuals to obtain state benefits reserved for citizens, exposing how corruption directly affects livelihoods and access to basic rights. Public frustration is mounting as essential services remain inconsistent and ineffective, and social media reflects widespread scepticism and distrust toward institutions. When corruption reaches such fundamental systems, it is no longer an abstract policy failure but a direct threat to citizen security, social stability, and economic activity, making its consequences tangible in everyday life.

Many think that next year Libya may not even celebrate International Anti-Corruption Day, given the limited progress made this year. Despite high-profile initiatives, new platforms, and multiple anti-corruption agencies, Libya remains among the world’s most corrupt states — not only by its official ranking but also in the eyes of its own citizens. Symbolic measures such as Raqib, which fail to protect whistleblowers or ensure accountability, highlight the persistent gap between intent and impact. For example, the ongoing cash shortages in banks, which recur every few years, are widely believed to be linked to corruption and mismanagement, reflecting deeper networks of collusion between black-market money traders and the Central Bank of Libya. This has further eroded trust in the banking system, with many preferring to keep cash at home. Banks themselves have become frequent targets of Prosecutor-General investigations this year. Institutional fragmentation, political interference, and weak law enforcement allow corruption to flourish at all levels, spreading even into critical systems such as civil registries and passports. Without meaningful enforcement and structural reform, Libya’s anti-corruption efforts risk remaining little more than ceremonial gestures, leaving public trust, governance, and social stability in jeopardy.

Corruption has been part of Libya’s political and administrative life since independence over seven decades ago, but even under Muammar Gaddafi — widely described as a corrupt authoritarian ruler — it never reached the scale or caused the damage seen in the post-2011 period.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.