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

Asharq Al-Awsat examines the impact the drug has and continues to have on the country.

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.



Netanyahu’s Governing Coalition Is Fracturing. Here’s What It Means for Israel and Gaza

 Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu walks in the Knesset, Israel's parliament, on the day of a vote over a possible expulsion of Ayman Odeh from parliament, in Jerusalem, July 14, 2025. (Reuters)
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu walks in the Knesset, Israel's parliament, on the day of a vote over a possible expulsion of Ayman Odeh from parliament, in Jerusalem, July 14, 2025. (Reuters)
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Netanyahu’s Governing Coalition Is Fracturing. Here’s What It Means for Israel and Gaza

 Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu walks in the Knesset, Israel's parliament, on the day of a vote over a possible expulsion of Ayman Odeh from parliament, in Jerusalem, July 14, 2025. (Reuters)
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu walks in the Knesset, Israel's parliament, on the day of a vote over a possible expulsion of Ayman Odeh from parliament, in Jerusalem, July 14, 2025. (Reuters)

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government suffered a serious blow on Tuesday when an ultra-Orthodox party announced it was bolting the coalition.

While this doesn’t immediately threaten Netanyahu’s rule, it could set in motion his government’s demise, although that could still be months away. It also could complicate efforts to halt the war in Gaza.

United Torah Judaism's two factions said they were leaving the government because of disagreements over a proposed law that would end broad exemptions for religious students from enlistment into the military.

Military service is compulsory for most Jewish Israelis, and the issue of exemptions has long divided the country. Those rifts have only widened since the start of the war in Gaza as demand for military manpower has grown and hundreds of soldiers have been killed.

The threat to the government “looks more serious than ever,” said Shuki Friedman, vice president of the Jewish People Policy Institute, a Jerusalem think tank.

Netanyahu is on trial for alleged corruption, and critics say he wants to hang on to power so that he can use his office as a bully pulpit to rally supporters and lash out against prosecutors and judges. That makes him all the more vulnerable to the whims of his coalition allies.

Here is a look at Netanyahu's political predicament and some potential scenarios:

The ultra-Orthodox are key partners

Netanyahu, Israel’s longest serving leader, has long relied on the ultra-Orthodox parties to prop up his governments.

Without UTJ, his coalition holds just 61 out of parliament’s 120 seats. That means Netanyahu will be more susceptible to pressure from other elements within his government, especially far-right parties who strongly oppose ending the war in Gaza.

The political shake up isn't likely to completely derail ceasefire talks, but it could complicate how flexible Netanyahu can be in his concessions to Hamas.

A second ultra-Orthodox party is also considering bolting the government over the draft issue. That would give Netanyahu a minority in parliament and make governing almost impossible.

The ultra-Orthodox military exemptions have divided Israel

A decades-old arrangement by Israel’s first prime minister granted hundreds of ultra-Orthodox men exemptions from compulsory Israeli service. Over the years, those exemptions ballooned into the thousands and created deep divisions in Israel.

The ultra-Orthodox say their men are serving the country by studying sacred Jewish texts and preserving centuries’ old tradition. They fear that mandatory enlistment will dilute adherents’ connection to the faith.

But most Jewish Israelis see the exemption as unfair, as well as the generous government stipends granted to many ultra-Orthodox men who study instead of work throughout adulthood. That bitterness has only worsened during nearly two years of war.

The politically powerful ultra-Orthodox parties have long had outsize influence in Israel’s fragmented political system and used that status to extract major concessions for their constituents.

But a court last year ruled Netanyahu’s government must enlist the ultra-Orthodox so long as there is no new law codifying the exemptions.

Netanyahu’s coalition has been trying to find a path forward on a new law. But his base is largely opposed to granting sweeping draft exemptions and a key lawmaker has stood in the way of giving the ultra-Orthodox a law they can get behind, prompting their exit.

The political shake up comes during Gaza ceasefire talks

The resignations don't take effect for 48 hours, so Netanyahu will likely spend the next two days seeking a compromise. But that won't be easy because the Supreme Court has said the old system of exemptions amounts to discrimination against the secular majority.

That does not mean the government will collapse.

Netanyahu's opponents cannot submit a motion to dissolve parliament until the end of the year because of procedural reasons. And with parliament's summer recess beginning later this month, the parties could use that time to find a compromise and return to the government.

Cabinet Minister Miki Zohar, from Netanyahu’s Likud party, said he was hopeful the religious party could be coaxed back to the coalition. “God willing, everything will be fine,” he said. A Likud spokesman did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

Once the departures become official, Netanyahu will have a razor-thin majority. The far-right parties within it could threaten to leave the coalition, further weakening him, if he gives in to too many of Hamas' demands.

Hamas wants a permanent end to the war as part of any ceasefire deal. Netanyahu's hard-line partners are open to a temporary truce, but say the war cannot end until Hamas is destroyed.

If they or any other party leave the coalition, Netanyahu will have a minority government, and that will make it almost impossible to govern and likely lead to its collapse. But he could still find ways to approve a ceasefire deal, including with support from the political opposition.

Israel may be on the path toward early elections

Netanyahu could seek to shore up his coalition by appeasing the far-right and agreeing for now to just a partial, 60-day ceasefire with Hamas, promising his governing partners that he can still resume the war once it expires.

But Netanyahu is balancing those political constraints with pressure from the Trump administration, which is pressing Israel to wrap up the war.

Gayil Talshir, a political scientist at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, said she expects Netanyahu to work during those 60 days to shift the narrative away from the draft exemptions and the war in Gaza, toward something that could potentially give him an electoral boost – like an expansion of US-led normalization deals between Israel and Arab or Muslim countries.

Once the 60-day ceasefire is up, Netanyahu could bend to US pressure to end the war and bring home the remaining hostages in Gaza — a move most Israelis would support.

Elections are currently scheduled for October 2026. But if Netanyahu feels like he has improved his political standing, he may want to call elections before then.