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Dynamic Force Employment is the Future of America’s Middle East Presence

The US aircraft carrier "USS Dwight Eisenhower" crosses the Strait of Hormuz into the Arabian Gulf on November 26, 2023. INFORMATION TECHNICIAN SECOND CLASS RUSKIN NAVAL / AP
The US aircraft carrier "USS Dwight Eisenhower" crosses the Strait of Hormuz into the Arabian Gulf on November 26, 2023. INFORMATION TECHNICIAN SECOND CLASS RUSKIN NAVAL / AP
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Dynamic Force Employment is the Future of America’s Middle East Presence

The US aircraft carrier "USS Dwight Eisenhower" crosses the Strait of Hormuz into the Arabian Gulf on November 26, 2023. INFORMATION TECHNICIAN SECOND CLASS RUSKIN NAVAL / AP
The US aircraft carrier "USS Dwight Eisenhower" crosses the Strait of Hormuz into the Arabian Gulf on November 26, 2023. INFORMATION TECHNICIAN SECOND CLASS RUSKIN NAVAL / AP

Few things grab the attention of Arab leaders who are friendly to Washington more than America’s military presence in the region. Even the slightest drawdown greatly worries and often drives them to assume the worst about US intentions.

A calm assessment of America’s changing geopolitical priorities, followed by an understanding of how the United States has sought to adjust its military posture in the region, should ease the worries of Arab partners, or at least some of them.

While it is true that the United States has reached fatigue in the Middle East given its costly interventions in Afghanistan and Iraq, the more powerful driver behind reducing military investments in the region is the US strategic prioritization of the Indo-Pacific and European theaters.

Checking China and countering Russia requires more resources than previously allocated to each respective theater, and given that US resources are limited, they must be brought in from other places. By any objective account, the United States had an oversized presence in the Middle East, which made the region a natural candidate for a reduced US military footprint.

The view of US abandonment of the Middle East has needlessly dominated policy and emotions in the region. It remains baseless. So long as the region contains strategic natural resources including high percentages of oil and gas, and so long as the export of those resources is crucial for the wellbeing of the international economy, the United States will care about the region and devote resources to maintain stability in that vital part of the world. The question now is how the United States can preserve its interests, strengthen its partnerships, and commit to its stabilizing mission in the region with fewer resources at its disposal.

There’s no doubt that Washington has struggled with this question at the policy level – the conflict between Israel and Hamas is just the latest example of the limitations of US Middle East policy. But what’s encouraging is that the US Department of Defense has stepped up and proposed some creative ideas regarding the future of America’s military presence in the region. Enter dynamic force employment.

The concept of dynamic force employment was officially introduced in the 2018 National Defense Strategy. Implemented in the Middle East more than anywhere else lately, it seeks to reduce routine deployments to provide flexibility and make peacetime force movements more agile without compromising on combat readiness. Current commander of US Air Forces Central Command, Lt. Gen. Greg Guillot, argued that “dynamic force employment deployments demonstrate the ability to move combat capability into theater just in time for when it is required, not just in case it might be needed.”

Dynamic force employment also better protects US forces from Iran’s threat of missiles and unmanned aerial systems. In his posture statement on March 15, 2022, former CENTCOM Commander Gen. Frank McKenzie correctly noted that “distributing forces more broadly outside of the most significant Iranian threat ranges not only enhances survivability but also demonstrates an increased capability to rapidly mass combat effects...”

And that’s precisely what CENTCOM has demonstrated in its approach to the region over the past few weeks and months. We’ve seen the United States deploy additional military assets including aircraft carriers, warships, and fighter aircraft to respond to the rising threat of Iran’s threat network. These resources had to come from other regions including Europe and even from military bases in the United States.

Dynamic force employment shouldn’t suggest that the United States has switched to a strategy of offshore balancing or that it is about to gradually give up its forward-deployed military presence in the Middle East. An effective posture that contributes to the missions of deterrence, reassurance, and security cooperation must have an element of forward deployment.

To deter Iran, the United States must have assets in theater to affect the decision-making calculus of the leadership in Tehran and the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps. To be sure, US deterrence against Iran has been contested. But it would be even less effective without immediate and powerful American means of punishment in theater that could prevent Iran from quickly establishing facts on the ground in a crisis.

To reassure partners, the United States needs visible and permanent military power in the region. Regional partners feel a lot more reassured by the constant basing of American troops and equipment on their soil because it reflects a certain level of US commitment to their security. Also, to effectively conduct security cooperation, the United States needs troops and trained personnel in the region to advise and assist their counterparts. The entire enterprise of security cooperation is about building trust and personal relationships, and you simply cannot do that remotely.

How much forward presence is necessary to effectively pursue all three of these missions is always hard to know. One also has to recognize that when it comes to posture, there is an inherent tension between deterrence, reassurance, and security cooperation.

While security cooperation doesn’t need a large US footprint – it needs the right kind of personnel in the right places more than anything else – partners will always prefer a robust and sizable presence. With respect to deterrence, it is virtually impossible to know how much US firepower is enough to be effective because the concept itself is incredibly hard to measure and evaluate (it also depends on several other variables including credibility and consistency) and because Iran consistently operates below the threshold of war.

Dynamic force employment is supposed to smartly balance between all three missions by keeping a forward-deployed presence while putting a bigger premium on maintaining access, investing in adaptability, and building resilience. This is particularly challenging because regional partners could decide to reduce US access if they see that Washington is further drawing down its physical presence.

Access becomes even more important to the United States as tensions with Iran grow and the likelihood of war increases. The first few moments of a potential confrontation or even military crisis between the United States and Iran require a high degree of US operational flexibility, which can only be enabled by access.

In the end, any US discussion of posture, be it in the Middle East or elsewhere, should be informed first and foremost by strategy. Strategy drives posture, not the other way around. There is no point in debating numbers of American troops and capabilities in the Middle East if Washington doesn't have a clear idea of what objectives it wants those troops and capabilities to achieve.

But even when that moment of clarity in US Middle East strategy comes, Washington should always remember that the regional partners get a vote. Without their access and permission, the United States can do very little in the Middle East.

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Makeshift Captagon Labs Emerge in Syria from Rubble of Assad’s Narcotics Trade

Syria's new authorities burn hundreds of tons of Captagon pills and bags of hashish at the headquarters of the Fourth Division in Damascus. (EPA)
Syria's new authorities burn hundreds of tons of Captagon pills and bags of hashish at the headquarters of the Fourth Division in Damascus. (EPA)
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Makeshift Captagon Labs Emerge in Syria from Rubble of Assad’s Narcotics Trade

Syria's new authorities burn hundreds of tons of Captagon pills and bags of hashish at the headquarters of the Fourth Division in Damascus. (EPA)
Syria's new authorities burn hundreds of tons of Captagon pills and bags of hashish at the headquarters of the Fourth Division in Damascus. (EPA)

Ahmed el-Jouri

 

Syria has not only endured a war that shattered its cities, but also a quieter conflict—one that devours lives long before bodies fall. Amid the charred ruins of burned-out neighborhoods, an entire generation has grown up under the grip of a cheap pill originally intended for export but now flooding the local market.

The story began when the former Syrian regime transformed Captagon—a synthetic stimulant made from amphetamine and theophylline—into a lucrative war currency.

Once a controlled substance, it soon became a torrent surging through the country's alleys and streets, robbing youths of their futures and turning dreams into nightmares.

By 2020, the crisis had deepened. The price of a single Captagon pill plummeted from $1.50 to just five cents—cheaper than a cup of tea.

The drop reflected a cascade of events: the enforcement of the Caesar Act sanctions, sweeping sanctions targeting the Assad government, Lebanon's economic and banking collapse in late 2019, restrictions on dollar transactions and withdrawals from Lebanon, and tighter control over land borders that slightly curbed smuggling.

This Asharq Al-Awsat investigation, drawing on field visits to areas of post-Assad Syria and interviews with pharmacists and doctors in Amman and Erbil, retraces the production pipeline of Captagon.

It also features testimonies from addicts and their families, painting a stark portrait of a drug that fuels despair in a nation already exhausted by war.

A member of the Syrian security forces at a Captagon factory in Douma near Damascus on December 13. (AP)

In the shadows: Captagon addiction grips Syria's youth

In the crumbling streets of Damascus, where tangled electric wires dangle like specters above weary passersby, a toxic trade thrives under innocent names—“energy pills”, “happiness tablets” and others depending on the dealer. But behind the playful labels lies a systematic crisis. Syria's youth are not falling to addiction by chance—they are being consumed by design.

According to the International Labor Organization, 39.2% of working-age Syrians (15 and older) were unemployed in 2023. But statistics say little about how people like Ahmed, 19, spend their days.

Slumped on a crumbling curb in Damascus' Rukn al-Din district, Ahmed stares at his tattered shoes as a nearby dealer leans in: “This pill will make you a man... you'll work like a horse without feeling tired.”

Ahmed didn't know that the “man” he was promised would become enslaved to a handful of blue pills. The long hours at a bombed-out workshop turned into a nightmare only numbed by more doses.

His story is far from unique. It echoes across Syria like a shared curse in a land battered by war and poverty. In this darkness, Captagon glimmers like a false shooting star. Sources recount how the pill knocks down young people one after another, like dominoes—girls included.

Even the dream of escape has become part of the tragedy. Some sell family land to fund a risky boat journey out of the country. One man made it only as far as a Turkish prison—addicted, penniless, landless, and with no future.

This investigation collected over a dozen testimonies from across Syria—either directly from addicts or their families—offering a window into a drug crisis that has taken a darker turn since the fall of Assad's regime.

What was once a tightly controlled trade, reliant on pharmaceutical infrastructure and exports while feeding a growing domestic market, has devolved into a chaotic, deadly business claiming more lives through overdoses and despair.

Yasser, 17, from Aleppo, was kicked out of his family home and now lives in a basement room owned by his uncle-in-law.

“My friends used to laugh when they took the pills,” Yasser told Asharq Al-Awsat.

“They told me it felt like being the hero in a video game. I tried them to prove I was brave like them. Now, I wander the streets like a ghost. I hear my mother's voice haunting me. On cold nights, I sneak back to our house, touch the locked door and imagine a shell falling on me... maybe death would offer me a forgiveness I don't deserve,” he added.

In the northeastern city of Hasaka, Ali, 22, from Deir Ezzor, spoke after a grueling day of physical labor. “One day, I carried sacks of flour on my back for 10 straight hours,” he recalled.

“My boss was watching, then tossed me a pill and said, 'Take this—it'll make your back like iron.' Now, my back carries more than weight... the heaviest burden is what I see in my children's eyes. When I get home, I pretend to sleep so they won't come near me. I hear them whisper, 'Papa sleeps like he's dead.'”

Mohammad Abu Youssef, 45, rubs his cracked hands and gazes at a photo of his eldest son.

“I sold my health, worked myself to the bone just to pay his school fees. But Captagon stole him from me,” he said.

“When I found him trembling like a leaf in the corner, I screamed, 'Why didn't you die in the bombing?!' I tried sending him to Europe with smugglers, but he fled the truck halfway and returned months later—his eyes are just two black voids. Now, I've locked him in the house. I buy the pills for him myself and pray every night that God takes him.”

Captagon pills concealed in fake fruit found inside a factory in Douma east of Damascus. (EPA)

No rehab, no way out: Syria's addicts face slow death

In a country ravaged by war and addiction, the absence of rehabilitation centers is proving fatal for many. Without treatment options, a growing number of Syrians are left to spiral deeper into dependency—with no support, no shelter, and no escape.

Dr. Rawan al-Hussein, who requested using an alias for safety reasons, works with a branch of the health directorate and also consults for a non-governmental organization focused on addiction cases. Each day, she sifts through piles of case files, trying to salvage what's left of shattered lives.

“Just last week, a frail young man came to me carrying his infant daughter,” she recalled.

“He said, 'Take her before I sell her for pills. I don't even have a bed to put her in.'”

With rehab facilities scarce or nonexistent in many areas, stories like his are becoming tragically common—leaving medical workers overwhelmed and addicts trapped in a slow-motion collapse.

Al-Hussein exhaled deeply as she gathers water-damaged papers from her desk.

“International organizations send us boxes of medicine without assessing our needs,” she said. “Our youth are dying because the toxins are already in their blood. What are we supposed to do with bandages for wounds no one can see?”

The real tragedy, she explained, lies not just in the spread of addiction, but in the absence of mental health and rehabilitation services.

Staff working in Syria with the UNHCR and the World Health Organization told Asharq Al-Awsat that as of February 2025, there were no more than 10 specialized rehabilitation centers across the country, while the need is estimated at over 150.

With more than 70% of health facilities damaged or destroyed by war, accessing emergency care or psychiatric treatment has become nearly impossible.

“Even the programs that do exist are struggling,” al-Hussein added. “They rely heavily on volunteers and lack basic psychiatric medications.”

But the crisis runs deeper than infrastructure. Stigma, too, is a powerful barrier. “In Daraa, for example, residents rejected plans to open a rehab center out of fear it would tarnish the area's reputation,” a local organization told Asharq Al-Awsat.

Caught between a crumbling healthcare system and a society that shuns them, Syria's addicts are left to fight a silent war with little hope of rescue.

Captagon after Assad: Makeshift labs and a generation being wiped out by doses

The fall of the Assad regime did not mark the end of Syria's suffering—instead, it ignited a new phase of chaos, more fragmented and deadly.

As state institutions collapsed during years of war, young people became easy prey to a cheap addiction. Now, the regime's toxic legacy is playing out in the shadows through a deadlier, more decentralized Captagon industry.

While the new authorities dismantled public-facing drug labs in the wake of Assad's downfall, they failed to anticipate what would come next: the splintering of production into informal workshops run by former smugglers and recovering addicts navigating a shattered economy.

The once-affordable pill that had flooded the streets is now scarcer—and more expensive—driving many addicts to work inside the very workshops that sustain their addiction.

These makeshift labs operate with no safety standards, mixing dangerous chemicals by hand, without protective gear, and relying on improvised recipes that often push the drug's potency to lethal extremes.

In this post-Assad vacuum, Syria's Captagon trade has not disappeared—it has mutated, dragging a generation deeper into a cycle of desperation, exploitation, and overdose.

In the immediate aftermath of Assad's fall, Syria's new leadership launched a sweeping military and security campaign aimed at dismantling the country's Captagon empire—a key source of funding for the ousted regime.

The crackdown succeeded in destroying dozens of large-scale production facilities in the rural outskirts of Homs and Damascus. But what seemed like a victory soon spiraled into a deeper crisis.

With the collapse of organized production, the price of a single Captagon pill soared—from just five cents to more than $1.50, according to pharmacists and users interviewed by Asharq Al-Awsat.

Primitive material used to manufacture Captagon in the village of Hawik. (Asharq Al-Awsat)

The price surge has pushed many addicts into a state of desperation, willing to pay or do anything for a fix. It's a Russian doll of catastrophe: inside every crisis, a smaller one waits. The fall of Assad did not dismantle the machinery of death—it merely scattered it into thousands of dangerous fragments.

The addicts once hooked on the “cheap high” of mass-produced Captagon are now trapped in a darker spiral: counterfeit pills from unregulated workshops, mixed with unknown chemicals, sold on the black market.

To stave off withdrawal, users are turning to theft or joining smuggling rings. Families who once believed that regime change would bring their sons and daughters back from the brink have instead watched as they became statistics—new entries in the growing toll of addiction and overdose.

What began as a crackdown has, for many Syrians, morphed into a new chapter of the same tragedy—only now, it's less visible and harder to stop.

Captagon under Assad: A state-engineered drug empire disguised as pharma

Under the Assad regime, Captagon production was far from a rogue operation. It was a state-run enterprise cloaked in the legitimacy of Syria's once-thriving pharmaceutical sector.

Before the war, Syria boasted one of the most advanced pharmaceutical industries in the Middle East. The regime exploited that infrastructure to manufacture synthetic drugs on a large scale.

Licensed factories in Aleppo and Damascus—equipped with modern technology—became the backbone of a sophisticated narcotics operation. Inside, chemists and pharmacists engineered carefully calibrated formulas designed to hook users without causing immediate deaths.

Three former pharmacists who worked in separate Syrian pharmaceutical firms told Asharq Al-Awsat that official state laboratories were covertly used to develop these drug blends.

At times, authorities would shut down or confiscate equipment from legitimate factories under false pretenses—creating space for Captagon experts to refine new chemical compositions.

A chemical engineer who worked in a factory in Al-Kiswah, south of Damascus, said the effort was supported by foreign expertise.

“Iranian and Indian specialists were brought in to help perfect the formula,” the source revealed.

“There were strict protocols in place. The regime wanted addictive pills without scandals. That's why Syrian Captagon became the most sought-after on the market.”

Lighter versions of the drug were even rebranded and sold as “party pills”, offering users a temporary high and masking the addiction beneath.

Assad's narcotics machine wasn't just a revenue stream. It was a calculated instrument of control, designed to addict both domestic users and foreign buyers while preserving plausible deniability.