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Al-Burhan, Hemedti: From Friends to Foes, the Rift That Ignited Sudan

The leaders of the army, Abdel Fattah al-Burhan (left), and the Rapid Support Forces, Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (Hemedti), in 2019. (AFP)
The leaders of the army, Abdel Fattah al-Burhan (left), and the Rapid Support Forces, Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (Hemedti), in 2019. (AFP)
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Al-Burhan, Hemedti: From Friends to Foes, the Rift That Ignited Sudan

The leaders of the army, Abdel Fattah al-Burhan (left), and the Rapid Support Forces, Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (Hemedti), in 2019. (AFP)
The leaders of the army, Abdel Fattah al-Burhan (left), and the Rapid Support Forces, Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (Hemedti), in 2019. (AFP)

A saying among Sudanese military circles warns that camaraderie can swiftly turn to conflict when interests clash. This rings true for Lt. Gen. Abdel Fattah al-Burhan and Lieutenant General Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as “Hemedti.”
Since mid-April, the once-close allies have been locked in a bitter feud, hurling insults and threats at each other.
How did their friendship sour, and why did it degenerate into hostility?
From Brothers-in-Arms to Enemies: The Rift That Shattered Friendship
After two decades of military camaraderie, the friendship between al-Burhan and Hemedti crumbled as they competed for power. What was once a strong bond deteriorated, leading to gunfire and warfare, destroying everything in its wake.
Today, the two men continue to clash, leaving Sudan and its people in turmoil.
Hemedti, in an earlier interview with Asharq Al-Awsat, recounted his journey from a “merchant” to joining the Border Guard Forces during the war in Darfur. It was during this time, under the command of al-Burhan, that they first met.
Retired Col. Tayeb al-Malikabi confirmed that the relationship between the two men began in Darfur.
At the time, al-Burhan served as a local commissioner in Nierteti, while Hemedti was in the Border Guard Forces, which later became the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), al-Malikabi told Asharq Al-Awsat.
According to al-Malikabi, Hemedti played a significant role in the war against armed movements in Darfur.
In 2007, former President Omar al-Bashir appointed him as a colonel and placed him under the General Intelligence Service.
In 2013, al-Bashir restructured these forces, naming them the RSF under Hemedti’s command, granting him extensive powers and privileges. Al-Bashir suspected the former head of the General Intelligence Service, Salah Abdullah “Gosh,” of involvement in a coup attempt.
The former president then capitalized on the moment, placing the freshly formed RSF directly under his authority as President and Army Commander. This gave them more independence in their operations.
Their leader, Hemedti, earned the nickname “protector” for his suggested role as a safeguard against coups.
Yemen War
Al-Burhan and Hemedti’s alliance grew stronger in 2015 when they backed Yemen’s government. They teamed up to train fighters from the RSF and the army for “Operation Decisive Storm” mounted by the Saudi-led Arab coalition against insurgents in Yemen.
In 2017, Sudan’s Parliament passed a law recognizing the RSF as an independent military force. Despite being officially under army command, they effectively answered directly to the President and Army Commander-in-Chief, operating as his personal forces.
Ousting Ibn Auf, Installing al-Burhan
When the people’s revolt against the Islamist regime erupted in December 2018, the RSF were deployed to quell the uprising. However, according to earlier statements to the Asharq Al-Awsat, Hemedti asserted that he summoned his forces to support the revolution, not to attack the rebels.
He took a different stance from his boss, protecting the protesters, amidst speculation that al-Bashir had ordered him to crush the rebels, even if it resulted in the deaths of many.
Hemedti, whose forces almost took control of Khartoum, played a key role in ousting al-Bashir’s government, along with junior army officers. This led to the resignation of Lt. Gen. Awad Ibn Auf after one day in power due to public pressure.
Afterward, al-Burhan was chosen to lead the transitional military council, with Hemedti as his deputy.
This reunited the two men, as described by retired Brigadier Kamal Ismail, who said they formed a strong bond through joint military operations in Darfur.
"Hemedti and al-Burhan met in Darfur, where they formed a very strong relationship through joint military operations,” Ismail told Asharq Al-Awsat.
“Having two commanders requires tight military coordination, mutual trust, and a strong bond. When Hemedti became the leader of the RSF, their relationship grew even stronger,” he added.
According to Ismail, Hemedti cleared the path for al-Burhan, who was the army’s Inspector General, to become its leader.
This strengthened their relationship further. Al-Burhan then appointed Hemedti as his deputy in the transitional military council. Together, they worked to remove opponents from the security committee, including Gosh.
Breaking up the General Command Sit-In
Ismail reveals that the bond between the two men hit a snag during the dispersal of the General Command Sit-In. While both parties agreed on the move, Hemedti felt he was unfairly linked to it due to involvement of soldiers wearing RSF uniforms. This led to some tension.
Hemedti had previously mentioned feeling implicated in the dispersal and blamed elements of the Muslim Brotherhood within the army and security forces.
However, tensions eased after Hemedti was tasked with leading negotiations between the military and civilians. He also played a significant role in signing the Constitutional Document and handling peace negotiations with armed groups.
Despite this, disputes resurfaced within the Transitional Sovereignty Council, causing strain in the relationship between the two men.
Ismail believes the root of the tension lies in the competition for power between the two leaders.
Eyewitness reports suggest that the relationship between al-Burhan and Hemedti depended on their interactions with civilians in the transitional government.
When tensions rose between the military and civilians, the two men grew closer, culminating in the October 2021 coup that removed the civilian government.
“Al-Burhan and Hemedti were completely aligned in supporting the coup due to their deteriorating relationship with civilians,” emphasized Ismail.
Coup’s Pitfall
Shortly after the coup, Hemedti felt he was being lured into a new trap, as revealed by his brother, Abdul Rahim Dagalo, the second-in-command of the RSF.
Dagalo mentioned that they realized the coup’s failure early on, which allowed Islamists to regain power.
“Hemedti told al-Burhan about receiving wrong reports from security agencies and asked him to dismiss the intelligence chief, Jamal Abdel Majid, the police chief, and the army chief of staff,” revealed Ismail.
Ismail also explained that while al-Burhan removed the police chief and intelligence director, he avoided ousting the army chief of staff to prevent internal military issues.
Hemedti distanced himself from the coup early on. His deputy attempted to reinstate Prime Minister Abdullah Hamdok in November 2021, but al-Burhan remained committed to the coup despite failing to form a government as promised.
Hamdok’s attempted return was rejected by political circles and the “Forces of Freedom and Change” (FFC) alliance, leading to his resignation.
As per Ismail, clashes between the two leaders were inevitable, given their political ambitions.
Political thinker Haji Warraq foresaw conflicts between them, highlighting the military institution’s internal disputes as a major concern.
On December 5, 2022, the two leaders admitted their failed coup attempt and signed an agreement with the civilian FFC alliance to bring back civilian rule, unify the army, and keep the military out of politics.
However, they later clashed over how long it would take to merge the RSF into the army and who would lead the unified forces during the transition.
“Their disagreement escalated, turning them from allies to enemies. It was expected because their relationship was based on interests, not principles. Having two armies in a country always threatens stability,” explained Ismail.
Supporters of the former president saw an opportunity in the growing discord between the leaders and worked to widen the gap between them.
“Some saw the disagreement between the leaders as a chance to spark conflict,” said Ismail.

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Features

Worn Banknotes, Tobacco Taxes: How Hamas Pays Its Members

Palestinians shop amid the rubble in Khan Younis in southern Gaza, February last year (DPA)
Palestinians shop amid the rubble in Khan Younis in southern Gaza, February last year (DPA)
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Worn Banknotes, Tobacco Taxes: How Hamas Pays Its Members

Palestinians shop amid the rubble in Khan Younis in southern Gaza, February last year (DPA)
Palestinians shop amid the rubble in Khan Younis in southern Gaza, February last year (DPA)

More than two months after a fragile ceasefire between Israel and Hamas took effect in Gaza, the group has steadily reasserted some security control in areas under its authority. Yet for Gaza’s residents, daily economic hardship and deteriorating living conditions show little sign of easing.

Hamas’s popular base, made up of its members, their families, and supporters, remains a key pillar of its strength. Nearly two years of war with Israel have partially disrupted the group’s ability to consistently pay salaries.

During the war, Israel sought to dry up Hamas’s financial network by killing figures responsible for transferring money inside Gaza, as well as raiding currency exchange companies in the occupied West Bank that Israeli authorities said were linked to Palestinian factions.

According to field sources and Hamas officials who spoke to Asharq Al-Awsat, the group faced difficulties and delays in paying salaries regularly at leadership, field and other levels due to security conditions.

It has since resumed partial payments to all its members, including leaders and fighters from the Izz al-Din al-Qassam Brigades, Hamas’s armed wing, while paying lower rates to its preaching and social apparatus, described as civilian elements.

Where does Hamas get its money?

Sources agree that Hamas has managed to preserve some of its financial resources, including commercial activities inside and outside Gaza. One Hamas source said these business revenues generate income for the group alongside funds received from supporting parties such as Iran and others.

They added that such external support fluctuates, sometimes declining, increasing or arriving with delays for reasons related to the donors.

The source said Hamas faces growing difficulties in transferring funds into Gaza, forcing those overseeing salary payments to rely on whatever cash remains accessible in their reserves or to collect revenues from their own commercial sources.

How are salaries paid?

Sources who receive some of these payments told Asharq Al-Awsat, on condition of anonymity, that salaries and stipends were sometimes paid regularly each month but were also delayed by periods ranging from six weeks to two months.

A Hamas source said salary rates varied and did not exceed 80 percent at best, particularly for leaders and operatives in the Qassam Brigades and at the political level.

Lower percentages were paid to the preaching and social apparatus and other bodies, alongside allocations for activities aimed at supporting the population and what the group calls its popular base.

The source said the lowest rates were paid to government employees at both civilian and military levels, reaching 60 percent at most before declining in recent months to around 35 percent.

Several sources said Hamas continues to pay stipends to the families of its members and leaders killed over decades of its activities, as well as to prisoners and wounded fighters.

They added that the group also supports families whose salaries were cut by the Palestinian Authority, continues to provide social assistance and allocates funds to projects aimed at supporting its popular base, including food aid, water provision and communal kitchens, in coordination with foreign institutions.

Asked how salaries are delivered, Hamas sources said payments are made through tight networks and by hand to avoid Israeli monitoring of electronic wallets and banks.

Worn banknotes and tobacco taxes

As Hamas relies on manual delivery, questions remain over how it secures cash under Israel’s blockade. A Hamas source said the process was complex and could not be disclosed for security reasons.

Local sources outside Hamas said the group depends heavily on traders to obtain cash, alongside its existing cash reserves and revenues from businesses it operates.

One source said Hamas often pays worn banknotes to government employees in particular, and to a lesser extent to Qassam fighters and political figures. This forces recipients to manage on their own as most traders refuse to accept damaged or worn currency.

Hamas has encouraged some small traders, especially fruit and vegetable sellers, to accept such notes in exchange for continued support and access to goods at lower prices.

Another source said Hamas has imposed taxes on certain goods, such as tobacco products, to raise funds, noting that most cigarette traders deal in cash rather than electronic wallets, which many Gaza residents now rely on.

Israeli accusations against Iran

On Dec. 7, Israel accused Iran of supporting what it described as a banking network transferring hundreds of thousands of dollars to Hamas. Israel said the network consisted of Gaza-based money changers residing in Türkiye who exploit the country’s financial infrastructure for what it called terrorist purposes.

According to Israel, the network operated in full cooperation with the Iranian regime, transferring funds to Hamas and its leaders and managing wide ranging economic activity involving receiving money from Iran, storing it and transferring it to Hamas via Türkiye.

Israel published the identities of three individuals, including an official in Hamas’s financial apparatus and two money changers from Gaza, claiming they worked under the direction of Khalil al-Hayya.

Sources familiar with the two men told Asharq Al-Awsat they have lived outside Gaza for many years.

One was known to work with various Palestinian factions and had previously smuggled funds for them, including through tunnels along the Egyptian border, while also operating as a businessman in multiple fields beyond currency exchange.

Hamas sources dismissed the accusations as baseless, saying the group has its own methods for transferring funds.

They said Hamas often faces difficulties moving money from abroad into Gaza, a problem that also affects the West Bank due to Israeli pursuit and Palestinian Authority security pressure, though conditions there are better than in Gaza for transferring funds.

Sources from other Palestinian factions said they are also suffering financial crises and difficulties paying salaries and stipends to their members and leaders.

They said they sometimes distribute food aid and other assistance to help their members and families cope with harsh economic conditions, with most of the support coming through institutions backed by Iran or other parties.

Features

Shadow Battles in Syria: Fighting ISIS, Rebuilding the State 

An aerial photograph shows thousands of people celebrating the first anniversary since the ousting of longtime ruler Bashar al-Assad near The Damascus Sword monument in Umayyad Square, in the Syrian capital Damascus on December 8, 2025. (AFP)
An aerial photograph shows thousands of people celebrating the first anniversary since the ousting of longtime ruler Bashar al-Assad near The Damascus Sword monument in Umayyad Square, in the Syrian capital Damascus on December 8, 2025. (AFP)
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Shadow Battles in Syria: Fighting ISIS, Rebuilding the State 

An aerial photograph shows thousands of people celebrating the first anniversary since the ousting of longtime ruler Bashar al-Assad near The Damascus Sword monument in Umayyad Square, in the Syrian capital Damascus on December 8, 2025. (AFP)
An aerial photograph shows thousands of people celebrating the first anniversary since the ousting of longtime ruler Bashar al-Assad near The Damascus Sword monument in Umayyad Square, in the Syrian capital Damascus on December 8, 2025. (AFP)

At the entrances to Damascus branching off the Mezzeh highway, just before Umayyad Square, young men with a quasi-military appearance line both sides of the road, selling flags and banners for “Liberation Day.”

In narrower streets and at intersections leading deeper into the city, they are met by women in long dresses, some with headscarves pulled halfway across their faces. The women drag one or two children behind them and carry loaves of bread for sale, stacking them openly and thrusting them toward passersby and car windows — unwrapped, exposed to diesel fumes and the dust rising from the rubble encircling the capital.

Selling bread in this manner has gradually become a “profession,” largely female, expanding as poverty deepens. Women queue at bakeries to purchase their ration, resell it for a small margin, then return to the lines, repeating the cycle late into the night.

This scene is not confined to Damascus; it recurs across Syrian cities and regions I visited, from Homs and Idlib to Aleppo. Over time, this female presence has become woven into the landscape of a prolonged crisis, a quiet pillar of daily survival.

Widespread destruction

If women’s exhausted faces and roughened hands are the clearest witnesses to a catastrophe now nearing its fifteenth year, the unrelenting destruction bears equally stark testimony. Entire neighborhoods and suburbs, flattened to the ground, ring Damascus, choking it in dust and debris.

The same gray desolation dominates major cities and their surrounding countryside, stretching across vast expanses of the country. Driving more than 350 kilometers without encountering a single intact tree, neighborhood, or home offers a visceral sense of what over a decade of killing, destruction, and vengeance has left behind.

The scale of devastation reflects not only military confrontations or the superiority of one side, but a deliberate effort to annihilate people and livelihoods, to extinguish even the faintest hope of return. What bombs spared was often burned, looted, or rendered uninhabitable. And yet, returns are taking place slowly, haltingly, through sheer individual persistence.

Only a few enclaves have endured in Damascus and its markets, or beyond in certain towns and districts, some even prospering, driven by sectarian calculations or political and commercial interests, most notably those tied to the production and trafficking of captagon.

A view of Damascus, Syria. (Asharq Al-Awsat)

Damascus: The polished façade

Damascus was preparing for exceptional celebrations marking the first anniversary of Bashar al-Assad’s ouster. Preparations were extensive: stages erected, loudspeakers installed, traffic rerouted, and banners raised proclaiming national unity, “One people... one nation”, and announcing that “the dark era has ended.”

Programs circulated via text messages urging citizens to participate and “celebrate freedom and hope... and complete the story.” But which story? The question reverberates through streets where bread is sold on bare asphalt while victory celebrations unfold.

Here, narratives multiply and diverge, sometimes to the point of contradiction, like neighboring bubbles that coexist without touching. A sharp vertical divide in perspectives remains, recalling 2011, when Syrians split to the brink between supporters and opponents, even as official discourse insists on projecting a seamless image of a new phase.

Silent security battle

Behind the celebratory façade, another battle is underway, which is quieter and more complex. “ISIS, especially the muhajireen [foreign fighters], poses our most serious challenge,” a senior Syrian security source who requested anonymity told Asharq Al-Awsat, noting that arrests and “neutralizations” are carried out regularly.

Another source explained that “security operations are conducted with precision and professionalism. Lists of those affiliated with extremist organizations under the broad ISIS umbrella are already in the hands of the security services.”

He added: “We know them individually. We monitor them closely. The former regime left behind an extremely detailed surveillance system that we continue to rely on.”

I met both sources days before the recent Palmyra incident. When it occurred, it appeared unsurprising; officials and those in sensitive positions had anticipated such scenarios as among several looming security risks, especially after Syria formally joined the counterterrorism coalition.

One source summarized these risks as three simultaneous confrontations: “First, the fight against ISIS and its offshoots, handled with extreme caution because it poses a personal threat to President Ahmed al-Sharaa. Second, the confrontation with the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), which threatens the emerging state and its identity over the long term. Third, a colder, less intense standoff with Israel linked to developments in Sweida.”

In a semi-official assessment, the security source did not rule out that those released from al-Hol camp could become “time bombs,” exploited to destabilize internal security and serve the agendas of extremists rejecting the current transition of power.

Such incidents could also signal abroad that stripping the SDF of its “counterterrorism” duties would be futile, potentially “opening the door to packs of lone wolves.”

Destruction from fighting between the regime forces and opposition is seen in the Yarmuk camp on the outskirts of Damascus. (EPA)

Is a security approach enough?

The challenge confronting the state is not purely a security one, and a strictly securitized approach lacks consensus even within governing circles.

Contrary to those who view ISIS and extremism as a “technical problem” solvable through force alone, a figure close to the political leadership argues that “the core issue lies in absorbing a massive human bloc that spent years outside any normal social framework, without education, stable families, or organized structures of life.”

“The real challenge,” he added, “is integrating them into the idea of the state and rehabilitating them accordingly. Just as these adolescents were once pulled toward a specific form of extremism, today we must work to move them toward a middle ground.”

“If the president says we are leaving a factional phase and entering a state-based one, how does that happen at the grassroots level? Is it merely individual and security-driven, or is it societal as well?” he wondered.

In this light, one observer interpreted al-Sharaa’s statement — “Obey me so long as I obey God among you” — delivered from the Umayyad Mosque on the night of the grand celebration and widely criticized by civil and secular circles, as a message aimed at a different audience: a segment the state seeks to reassure through a religious call to obedience and rejection of rebellion.

If words come easily, lived reality does not.

Security is tightly enforced in major cities, such as Damascus and Aleppo, through heavy deployments and modern technologies, including drones, especially during sensitive periods like mass anniversary celebrations.

Beyond the cities, however, vast rural areas remain largely neglected, marked by immense destruction, extreme poverty, and rampant unemployment. Checkpoints line major inter-provincial roads, but side towns and village alleys are often left to fend for themselves.

Idlib, once cited as an exception for its services and administrative capacity, has lost much of that distinction since liberation. Opening to the rest of Syria exposed the city and its devastated countryside to the demands of ordinary life, revealing governance that had amounted largely to crisis management. That legacy persists even in everyday language: soldiers addressing civilians as “sheikh,” or telling them to “seek God’s help” as shorthand for “move along.”

Between Idlib’s countryside and Aleppo, villages and small towns are known for particular loyalties and affiliations — some far removed from the moderation celebrated on Damascus stages. Their reputations lead drivers to take longer routes considered “safer.”

In this belt, young men, especially the youngest, have long served as fuel for armed factions. In recent years, only Hayat Tahrir al-Sham maintained dominance on the ground.

After the fall of the regime, thousands joined the general security forces or the army, often for lack of alternatives. Many cannot afford to rebuild destroyed homes or recover looted livelihoods; barracks, offering food and shelter, remain preferable to civilian life.

A fabric of clashing identities

These identities crystallized during years of militarization, particularly after 2013, though their social roots run deeper. Today, anyone associated with the new authority is often labeled “Idlibi,” after Idlib — the stronghold of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham for nine years — a term frequently tinged with condescension in Damascus and Aleppo. Understanding the social and economic distinctions among these rural communities helps explain their divergent political and military choices.

Some towns, organized around extended families, land ownership, and later labor migration beginning in the mid-1980s, invested in education and professional paths while maintaining a socially rooted religiosity. These communities had previously experienced nationalist and Arabist currents before Baathist authoritarianism took hold.

Others, smaller towns built around sub-clans, relied on seasonal agriculture and service in the police and security apparatus of the former regime. They welcomed their sons’ joining the Nusra Front when it began recruiting, seeing in it both as an organized military path against Assad and a religious identity long suppressed.

Added to this are vast desert regions governed by tribal structures and shifting systems of mutual aid.

Though all are Arab Sunnis, their behaviors, loyalties, and alignments differed, shaping how radical factions penetrated some communities while failing in others, often setting one group against another.

Syrian security forces detain a suspect during an anti-ISIS operation in the Idlib countryside on December 1. (Syrian Interior Ministry)

Idlib and the keys to Damascus

When security officials say today they know extremists “one by one,” they rely partly on Hayat Tahrir al-Sham’s security apparatus and its accumulated knowledge of radical factions it fought in recent years, such as Jund al-Aqsa and the al-Qaeda-aligned Hurras al-Din, along with informant networks.

Idlib remains, to a significant extent, a secure stronghold holding key levers of power. Courts, administrative bodies, and civil registries still operate under the “Sharia courts” established in mid-2013, unlike other regions, especially Damascus, where transactions are centralized.

Sources identify three main recruitment pathways used by ISIS and its offshoots: ideological recruitment, the fastest and most effective, especially among youth who embraced extremism and have yet to absorb Syria’s rapid changes; recruitment driven by money and revenge amid pervasive poverty and lost status; and recruitment among foreign fighters, embittered by abandonment and with little left to lose.

The emerging state and the ‘Sahwa’ model

When President al-Sharaa returned from Washington, he carried a daunting mandate: to “confront and dismantle terrorist networks” linked to remnants of ISIS, Iran’s Revolutionary Guard, Hezbollah, and Hamas, according to US envoy to Syria Tom Barrack.

While Israel has targeted Hezbollah in Lebanon and Hamas in Gaza, Syria must contend with their residual networks. Yet the greater challenge remains ISIS and its offshoots, fighters who, until recently, were close “brothers in arms” to Hayat Tahrir al-Sham.

As observers await the form this confrontation will take, particularly in the absence of a unified army with a clear doctrine, Washington’s earlier experiment in post-Saddam Iraq looms large: the Sunni-on-Sunni “Awakening” (Sahwa).

The Sahwa rested on what an informed Iraqi source described as a “coalition of the harmed” from al-Qaeda, centered in Anbar province with its Sunni Arab identity and traditional religiosity. A similar model could emerge in Syria through an alliance of communities damaged by ISIS in the north and northeast, led by the emerging state that wants to fight extremism.

The Iraqi source, who closely followed the Sahwa’s rise and subsequent decline under then Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki, noted that tribes around Ramadi, especially al-Bourisha, al-Buallwan, al-Bou Fahd, and to a lesser extent al-Dulaim, formed the backbone of the fight after al-Qaeda devastated their trade and social fabric.

Syria's interim president, Ahmed al-Sharaa, greets people as he attends celebrations marking the first anniversary of the ousting of former President Bashar al-Assad in Damascus, Syria, Monday, Dec. 8, 2025. (AP)

Though some were coerced into allegiance, clashes never fully ceased, culminating in atrocities such as the massacre of the al-Bu Nimr tribe, where nearly 2,000 men were executed. A Syrian parallel is the al-Shaitat tribe, which resisted ISIS and suffered one of the largest massacres, with around 1,800 young men killed.

Those who joined the Sahwa were required to publicly renounce al-Qaeda and integrate into security forces coordinated with US troops, in hopes of transforming that tribal bloc into a political actor.

From arms to politics

The Iraqi source highlighted a central lesson: despite the Sahwa’s security successes, it failed to transition into meaningful political participation. When its leaders entered elections, they achieved little representation and failed to build durable popular support.

That failure mirrors Syria’s core dilemma today: the collective transition from a factional, militarized reality confined to limited geography toward a state defined by broader political and administrative principles — and, militarily, by the monopoly of force within a single national army.

Between a woman selling bread on a street corner, a young man dancing in a public square, and institutions struggling to impose order and define the state, Syria appears as a country of overlapping bubbles: a glossy façade prepared for celebration, like a carefully designed postcard, and beneath it a fragile social and security depth whose battles remain unresolved.

Features

Iraq’s Dreams of Wheat Independence Dashed by Water Crisis 

A drone view shows a circular wheat field in the desert of Basra, Iraq, November 27, 2025. (Reuters)
A drone view shows a circular wheat field in the desert of Basra, Iraq, November 27, 2025. (Reuters)
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Iraq’s Dreams of Wheat Independence Dashed by Water Crisis 

A drone view shows a circular wheat field in the desert of Basra, Iraq, November 27, 2025. (Reuters)
A drone view shows a circular wheat field in the desert of Basra, Iraq, November 27, 2025. (Reuters)

Iraqi wheat farmer Ma'an al-Fatlawi has long depended on the nearby Euphrates River to feed his fields near the city of Najaf. But this year, those waters, which made the Fertile Crescent a cradle of ancient civilization 10,000 years ago, are drying up, and he sees few options.

"Drilling wells is not successful in our land, because the water is saline," al-Fatlawi said, as he stood by an irrigation canal near his parched fields awaiting the release of his allotted water supply.

A push by Iraq - historically among the Middle East's biggest wheat importers - to guarantee food security by ensuring wheat production covers the country's needs has led to three successive annual surpluses of the staple grain.

But those hard-won advances are now under threat as the driest year in modern history and record-low water levels in the Tigris and Euphrates rivers have reduced planting and could slash the harvest by up to 50% this season.

"Iraq is facing one of the most severe droughts that has been observed in decades," the UN Food and Agriculture Organization's Iraq representative Salah El Hajj Hassan told Reuters.

VULNERABLE TO NATURE AND NEIGHBORS

The crisis is laying bare Iraq's vulnerability.

A largely desert nation, Iraq ranks fifth globally for climate risk, according to the UN's Global Environment Outlook. Average temperatures in Iraq have risen nearly half a degree Celsius per decade since 2000 and could climb by up to 5.6 C by the end of the century compared to the period before industrialization, according to the International Energy Agency. Rainfall is projected to decline.

But Iraq is also at the mercy of its neighbors for 70% of its water supply. And Türkiye and Iran have been using upstream dams to take a greater share of the region's shared resource.

The FAO says the diminishing amount of water that has trickled down to Iraq is the biggest factor behind the current crisis, which has forced Baghdad to introduce rationing.

Iraq's water reserves have plunged from 60 billion cubic meters in 2020 to less than 4 billion today, said El Hajj Hassan, who expects wheat production this season to drop by 30% to 50%.

"Rain-fed and irrigated agriculture are directly affected nationwide," he said.

EFFORTS TO END IMPORT DEPENDENCE UNDER THREAT

To wean the country off its dependence on imports, Iraq's government has in recent years paid for high-yield seeds and inputs, promoted modern irrigation and desert farming to expand cultivation, and subsidized grain purchases to offer farmers more than double global wheat prices.

It is a plan that, though expensive, has boosted strategic wheat reserves to over 6 million metric tons in some seasons, overwhelming Iraq's silo capacity. The government, which purchased around 5.1 million tons of the 2025 harvest, said in September that those reserves could meet up to a year of demand.

Others, however, including Harry Istepanian - a water expert and founder of Iraq Climate Change Center - now expect imports to rise again, putting the country at greater risk of higher food prices with knock-on effects for trade and government budgets.

"Iraq's water and food security crisis is no longer just an environmental problem; it has immediate economic and security spillovers," Istepanian told Reuters.

A preliminary FAO forecast anticipates wheat import needs for the 2025/26 marketing year to increase to about 2.4 million tons.

Global wheat markets are currently oversupplied, offering cheaper options, but Iraq could once again face price volatility.

A person walks along the edge of uncultivated farmland on the outskirts of Najaf, where dry soil stretches across fields left unplanted due to water shortages, in Najaf, Iraq, November 29, 2025. (Reuters)

Iraq's trade ministry did not respond to a request for comment on the likelihood of increased imports.

In response to the crisis, the ministry of agriculture capped river-irrigated wheat at 1 million dunams in the 2025/26 season - half last season's level - and mandated modern irrigation techniques including drip and sprinkler systems to replace flood irrigation through open canals, which loses water through evaporation and seepage.

A dunam is a measurement of area roughly equivalent to a quarter acre.

The ministry is allocating 3.5 million dunams in desert areas using groundwater. That too is contingent on the use of modern irrigation.

"The plan was implemented in two phases," said Mahdi Dhamad al-Qaisi, an advisor to the agriculture minister. "Both require modern irrigation."

Rice cultivation, meanwhile, which is far more water-intensive than wheat, was banned nationwide.

RURAL LIVELIHOODS AT RISK

One ton of wheat production in Iraq requires about 1,100 cubic meters of water, said Ammar Abdul-Khaliq, head of the Wells and Groundwater Authority in southern Iraq. Pivoting to more dependence on wells to replace river water is risky.

"If water extraction continues without scientific study, groundwater reserves will decline," he said.

Basra aquifers, he said, have already fallen by three to five meters.

Groundwater irrigation systems are also expensive due to the required infrastructure like sprinklers and concrete basins. That presents a further economic challenge to rural Iraqis, who make up around 30% of the population.

Some 170,000 people have already been displaced in rural areas due to water scarcity, the FAO's El Hajj Hassan said.

"This is not a matter of only food security," he said. "It's worse when we look at it from the perspective of livelihoods."

At his farm in Najaf, al-Fatlawi is now experiencing that first-hand, having cut his wheat acreage to a fifth of its normal level this season and laid off all but two of his 10 workers.

"We rely on river water," he said.