The End of a Forced Coexistence: Arab Tribes Turn Against the Syrian Democratic Forces in Eastern Syria

Armed clashes between Arab tribal fighters and the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in the Manbij area of northern Syria in September 2023 (Getty)
Armed clashes between Arab tribal fighters and the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in the Manbij area of northern Syria in September 2023 (Getty)
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The End of a Forced Coexistence: Arab Tribes Turn Against the Syrian Democratic Forces in Eastern Syria

Armed clashes between Arab tribal fighters and the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in the Manbij area of northern Syria in September 2023 (Getty)
Armed clashes between Arab tribal fighters and the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in the Manbij area of northern Syria in September 2023 (Getty)

In Syria’s vast northeastern areas, a brittle arrangement has for years held together an uneasy coexistence between the Arab tribes and the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF). But today, that arrangement appears closer than ever to unraveling, as mounting grievances and shifting regional dynamics converge to end what many tribal leaders now call a “forced coexistence.”

Over the past months, prominent Arab tribal leaders have stepped up their denunciations of the SDF, accusing it of discrimination, repression, and siphoning off the region’s natural wealth. These tensions have erupted into public declarations, including a striking statement in early July, in which elders from major tribes in Deir ez-Zor, Raqqa, and al-Hasakah demanded that the US-led international coalition end its support for the SDF.

From Tactical Alliance to Deep Estrangement

When the SDF first emerged in 2015 - formed largely by the Kurdish People’s Protection Units (YPG) but incorporating Arab and Christian militias - many Arab tribes regarded it as a necessary partner against ISIS. After all, the militant group had rampaged through tribal lands, massacring communities and imposing draconian rule. For a time, this partnership worked: from 2015 to 2017, tribes like the Shammar, Baggara, and parts of the Aqeedat fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Kurdish forces in a shared struggle against ISIS.

But as the warfronts cooled, new frictions emerged. Arab leaders began to accuse the SDF of marginalizing them politically and economically, imposing ideologically charged school curricula, conscripting young men and boys, and monopolizing oil and wheat revenues.

By 2018 and 2019, large protests against mandatory conscription and perceived ethnic bias erupted across the region. Still, the SDF retained an aura of indispensability, its American backing and battlefield record insulating it from more serious challenges.
Today, that insulation is wearing thin.

The most recent wave of anger began in June 2025, when an SDF fighter shot and killed 11-year-old Farid al-Hureish in the town of Abu Hardoub. Days later, another boy, Ali al-Awni, died after SDF forces opened fire as he gathered wheat near a checkpoint. Such incidents are far from isolated. Local monitors and human rights groups have documented kidnappings, forced recruitment of minors through the Revolutionary Youth organization, and heavy financial levies on families seeking exemptions from military service.

In a recent interview, Nasser Hammoud al-Faraj, a prominent sheikh from the Boushaban tribe, said these abuses had created a “boiling point” across the region: “The people have lived for years under repression, exclusion, and humiliation,” he said. “This is not a foreign agenda; our tribes themselves demanded this declaration.”

Indeed, the July statement signed by 14 tribal dignitaries did not mince words. It accused the SDF of “systematic oppression,” destabilization, and theft of resources. Addressed to the US government, the declaration called for an end to military and political support for the SDF and for Syria’s central government to reassert sovereignty over the entire northeast.

Though much Western coverage portrays the SDF as a unified Kurdish force, it is in fact a complex coalition. Alongside the YPG, it includes Arab formations such as the Sanadid Forces - historically loyal to the Shammar tribe - and the Deir ez-Zor Military Council, which incorporated Arab fighters from the Aqeedat and Baggara. Yet these same tribal networks are now fracturing.

A dramatic illustration came in 2023, when the SDF arrested Ahmed al-Khabil (Abu Khawla), leader of the Deir ez-Zor Military Council. That move shattered remaining loyalty among many Arab factions. “From that moment, the last shreds of trust began to disappear,” says al-Faraj.

To complicate matters further, some tribes and sub-clans remain aligned with the SDF, while others are in contact with Damascus. Even within a single tribe, families may be divided: some serving in SDF structures, others quietly supporting the Syrian government, and still others advocating autonomy or neutrality.

This tangle of loyalties is not new. For generations, tribal allegiances have shifted according to local interests, personal rivalries, and broader geopolitical currents. But according to tribal leaders, the balance is tipping decisively away from cooperation with the SDF.

While recent tribal declarations have emphasized peaceful solutions, the language has also grown more menacing. Sheikh al-Faraj said plainly that if diplomatic avenues fail, tribes may pursue military action: “We do not seek conflict for its own sake,” he said. “But we cannot accept the occupation of our lands. We will act if necessary, with our own forces and with others who share our vision.”

To that end, tribal networks have quietly reorganized self-defense groups and explored links with Damascus. While the SDF still controls the bulk of the region militarily, the Syrian government has positioned itself as a potential guarantor of tribal rights and national unity.

In the past year, official Syrian media - long restrained in its references to the SDF - has begun openly condemning it as an occupying force. Even Governor Ghassan al-Sayyed Ahmad of Deir ez-Zor, typically cautious in public remarks, confirmed that Damascus retains military options: “If negotiations fail,” he warned in late June, “we have three fully prepared divisions ready to intervene.”

Strategic Calculations: Damascus, Washington, and Ankara

For the United States, this tribal rupture represents a profound dilemma. The SDF has been Washington’s main counterterrorism partner against ISIS. US officials, including Special Envoy Thomas Barrack, have repeatedly stressed that their cooperation is based on combating extremism rather than endorsing any project of Kurdish autonomy. But tribal grievances are testing this posture.

While the Biden administration has so far avoided any direct condemnation of the SDF, it has privately urged Kurdish commanders to moderate their policies. According to multiple regional sources, US diplomats have warned that continued abuses could undermine the entire anti-ISIS coalition and trigger Turkish or Syrian intervention.

Türkiye, for its part, has consistently opposed any Kurdish-led administration along its border. Turkish leaders have threatened new incursions if the SDF attempts to formalize autonomy or establish closer ties with the PKK. Analysts believe that any large-scale tribal uprising would likely draw tacit Turkish support, especially if it further weakens Kurdish positions.

To contain the crisis, the SDF has resorted to tactical concessions. In the aftermath of the 2023 clashes, it released waves of detainees, some of whom were arrested for allegedly supporting ISIS, others simply for joining tribal protests. The releases continued sporadically into mid-2025, culminating in a large-scale exchange in April: 140 SDF captives for 100 prisoners held by Syrian government forces.

While these deals have bought time, they have not erased deep resentment. Many tribes now insist that only the full restoration of Syrian state authority can bring stability.

Beyond military options, Arab tribes have begun constructing new political frameworks. In April, tribal elites announced the creation of the “Council for Cooperation and Coordination in Jazira and the Euphrates,” aimed at unifying tribal voices against what they called SDF “hegemony.” In founding statements, council leaders vowed to reject any attempt by the SDF to claim representation of Arab communities in negotiations with Damascus or in international forums.

This reflects a broader evolution in tribal political consciousness. Where once many leaders accepted limited accommodation with the SDF, they now see prolonged Kurdish-led rule as an existential threat to Arab identity, economic rights, and local governance.

The northeastern region is a mosaic. In Deir ez-Zor and Raqqa, Arabs form overwhelming majorities, organized in centuries-old confederations like the Aqeedat, Baggara, and Jubur. In al-Hasakah, the picture is more mixed: Arabs dominate much of the countryside, while Kurds are concentrated in urban centers such as Qamishli and Ras al-Ain. Christian Assyrian and Syriac communities add further complexity, as do smaller minorities of Turkmen, Circassians, and Armenians.

Any future political arrangement - whether federal, autonomous, or unitary - will have to balance these identities. The head of the Research Unit at the London-based Abaad Center for Strategic Studies, Syrian researcher Firas Faham, said: “The region is a dormant volcano. If there is no comprehensive settlement, conflict is inevitable.”

End of the Era of Forced Coexistence

In recent weeks, this metaphorical volcano has rumbled ever louder. Syrian state media and official statements now refer openly to “the occupation” by SDF forces. Behind closed doors, discussions are underway among Damascus, Moscow, and even Ankara about a possible reconfiguration of control.

Mudar Hammoud al-Assad, chairman of the Supreme Council of Syrian Tribes and Clans, told Asharq al-Awsat that the SDF’s options are narrowing: “After the American envoy clearly stated that the only legitimate interlocutor is the Syrian government, the SDF is exposed. They may face military action with tacit American and Turkish approval.”

Even if open war does not break out, tribal consensus against the SDF has never been stronger. What once was a tactical alliance, born of necessity in the struggle against ISIS, has become a marriage of deep resentment.

Despite the historical differences among the tribes, the growing resentment over marginalization, arbitrary arrests, and other grievances appears to have unified a tribal discourse demanding the return of the Syrian Army. Options remain suspended between negotiations and military confrontation, especially in light of official Syrian statements about the readiness of government forces.

This escalation places the international coalition in a delicate balancing act between supporting its ally, the Syrian Democratic Forces - whose local legitimacy is increasingly contested - and responding to tribal pressures warning of a potential explosion of unrest, something Washington does not want and is actively trying to prevent.



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.


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.


Report: Assad Returns to Ophthalmology, His Family Lives in Russian Luxury  

Bashar al-Assad with his wife, Asma, walk with their children in the northern Syrian city of Aleppo in 2022. (Former Syrian presidency Facebook page/AFP/Getty Images)
Bashar al-Assad with his wife, Asma, walk with their children in the northern Syrian city of Aleppo in 2022. (Former Syrian presidency Facebook page/AFP/Getty Images)
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Report: Assad Returns to Ophthalmology, His Family Lives in Russian Luxury  

Bashar al-Assad with his wife, Asma, walk with their children in the northern Syrian city of Aleppo in 2022. (Former Syrian presidency Facebook page/AFP/Getty Images)
Bashar al-Assad with his wife, Asma, walk with their children in the northern Syrian city of Aleppo in 2022. (Former Syrian presidency Facebook page/AFP/Getty Images)

A year after his regime was toppled in Syria, Bashar al-Assad's family is living an isolated, quiet life of luxury in Moscow.

A friend of the family, sources in Russia and Syria, as well as leaked data, helped give rare insight into the lives of the now reclusive family who once ruled over Syria with an iron fist.

Bashar now sits in the classroom, taking ophthalmology lessons, according to a well-placed source.

“He’s studying Russian and brushing up on his ophthalmology again,” a friend of the Assad family, who has kept in touch with them, told The Guardian.

“It’s a passion of his, he obviously doesn’t need the money. Even before the war in Syria began, he used to regularly practice his ophthalmology in Damascus,” they continued, suggesting the wealthy elite in Moscow could be his target clientele.

The family are likely to reside in the prestigious Rublyovka, a gated community of Moscow’s elite, according to two sources with knowledge of the situation. There they would rub shoulders with the likes of the former Ukrainian president Viktor Yanukovych, who fled Kyiv in 2014 and is believed to live in the area, according to The Guardian.

The Assads are not wanting for money. After being cut off from much of the world’s financial system by western sanctions in 2011 after Assad’s bloody crackdown on protesters, the family put much of their wealth in Moscow, where western regulators could not touch it.

Despite their cushy abode, the family are cut off from the elite Syrian and Russian circles they once enjoyed. Bashar’s 11th-hour flight from Syria left his cronies feeling abandoned and his Russian handlers prevent him from contacting senior regime officials.

Assad fled with his sons out of Damascus in the early hours of December 8, 2024, as Syrian opposition fighters approached the capital from the north and the south. They were met by a Russian military escort and were taken to the Russian Hmeimim airbase, where they were flown out of the country.

Assad did not warn his extended family or close regime allies of the impending collapse, instead leaving them to fend for themselves.

A friend of Maher al-Assad, Bashar’s brother and a top military official, who knows many former members of the palace said: “Maher had been calling Bashar for days but he wouldn’t pick up.”

“He stayed in the palace until the last second, opposition fighters found his shisha coals still warm. It was Maher, not Bashar, who helped others escape. Bashar only cared about himself.”

“It’s a very quiet life,” said the family friend. “He has very little, if any, contact with the outside world. He’s only in touch with a couple of people who were in his palace, like Mansour Azzam [former Syrian minister of presidency affairs] and Yassar Ibrahim [Assad’s top economic crony].”

‘Irrelevant’ to Putin

A source close to the Kremlin said Assad was also largely “irrelevant” to Putin and Russia’s political elite. “Putin has little patience for leaders who lose their grip on power, and Assad is no longer seen as a figure of influence or even an interesting guest to invite to dinner,” the source said.

In the first months after the Assads’ escape, his former regime allies were not on Bashar’s mind. The family gathered in Moscow to support Asma, the British-born former first lady of Syria, who had had leukemia for years and whose condition had become critical. She had been receiving treatment in Moscow before the fall of the Assad regime.

According to a source familiar with the details of Asma’s health, the former first lady has recovered after experimental therapy under the supervision of Russia’s security services

With Asma’s health stabilized, the former dictator is keen to get his side of the story out. He has lined up interviews with RT and a popular rightwing American podcaster, but is waiting for approval from Russian authorities to make a media appearance.

Russia appears to have blocked Assad from any public appearance. In a rare November interview with Iraqi media about Assad’s life in Moscow, Russia’s ambassador to Iraq, Elbrus Kutrashev, confirmed that the toppled dictator was barred from any public activity.

“Assad may live here but cannot engage in political activities ... He has no right to engage in any media or political activity. Have you heard anything from him? You haven’t, because he is not allowed to – but he is safe and alive,” Kutrashev said.

Assad children dazed

Life for the Assad children in contrast seems to continue with relatively little disruption, as they adjust to a new life as Moscow elite.

The family friend, who met some of the children a few months ago, said: “They’re kind of dazed. I think they’re still in a bit of a shock. They’re just kind of getting used to life without being the first family.”

The only time the Assad family – without Bashar – have been seen together in public since the end of their regime was at his daughter Zein al-Assad’s graduation on June 30, where she received a degree in international relations from MGIMO, the elite Moscow university attended by much of Russia’s ruling class.

A photograph on MGIMO’s official website shows the 22-year-old Zein standing with other graduates. In a blurry separate video from the event, members of the Assad family, including Asma and her two sons Hafez, 24, and Karim, 21, can be seen in the audience.

Two of Zein’s classmates who attended the ceremony confirmed that parts of the Assad family were present, but said they kept a low profile. “The family did not stay long and did not take any pictures with Zein on stage like other families,” said one of the former classmates, speaking on condition of anonymity.

Hafez, once groomed as Bashar’s potential successor, has largely withdrawn from public view since posting a Telegram video in February in which he offered his own account of the family’s flight from Damascus, denying they had abandoned their allies and claiming it was Moscow that ordered them to leave Syria.

Syrians quickly geolocated Hafez, who took the video while walking the streets of Moscow.

Hafez has closed most of his social media, instead registering accounts under a pseudonym taken from an American children’s series about a young detective with dyslexia, according to leaked data. The children and their mother spend much of their time shopping, filling their new Russian home with luxury goods, according to the source close to the family.