Damascus under Fire for Poor Handling of Bread, Gasoline Shortages

Men arrange bread to cool down in Damascus, Syria. (Reuters)
Men arrange bread to cool down in Damascus, Syria. (Reuters)
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Damascus under Fire for Poor Handling of Bread, Gasoline Shortages

Men arrange bread to cool down in Damascus, Syria. (Reuters)
Men arrange bread to cool down in Damascus, Syria. (Reuters)

The Syrian government ordered that daily family bread rations be reduced after failing to provide subsidized bread and gasoline to the people. The move sparked outrage among the public, who accused Damascus of “starving” the people to cover up for its shortcomings.

The state news agency SANA announced a new mechanism for people to buy bread that went into effect on Saturday. A family of one or two people will be allowed one packet of bread per day, while a family of three or four will be allowed two. A family of five or six will be allowed three and a family of seven or more will be allowed four.

Prior to the new decision, families all received four packets of bread.

The decision applied to all bakeries in Damascus, the Damascus countryside and Latakia.

The government said the move was part of its efforts to “fairly” meet the needs of the people and “prevent the manipulation of bread prices”.

In recent weeks, government-held regions in Syria have seen people, who are already suffering from poverty due to years of war, clamoring to secure bread at subsidized prices. Queues not seen in nine years of war would line up at bakeries. Many bakeries have also been forced to close due to a flour shortage.

The price of an eight-loaf packet of subsidized bread is sold at 50 pounds. The same packet is sold at 500 pounds on the black market.

The government’s latest move sparked ire on the streets. A teacher told Asharq Al-Awsat: “They claim that they are seeking fairness and preventing price manipulation, but the truth is clear to see. The government is seeking to cover its shortcomings at the expense of the people.”

He said some families have become so impoverished that they can only rely on government subsidies. Very few families can afford a 500-pound packet of bread, he added.

The United Nations estimates that 87 percent of people in government-held territories are living under the poverty line. Their income is no more than 60,000 pounds, while a family of five needs at least 500,000 pounds to support itself.

Prior to the eruption of the conflict in 2011, Syria used to produce 4 million tons of wheat per year, of which 1.5 million tons was exported. According to the UN, Syria produced 1.2 million tons of wheat in 2019, the lowest figure in 29 years. Government-held regions need 1 to 1.5 million tons of wheat.

The regions of al-Jazira, Hasaka, Deir Ezzor and Raqqa, all of which are now controlled by the Kurdish Syrian Democratic Forces, as well as Aleppo, produce the bulk of Syria’s wheat for the country’s 23 million people.

Gasoline shortage
On top of a bread crisis, the people also have to contend with a severe gasoline shortage that has led to long queues of cars lined up at gas stations. Amid the hardship, some Syrians have joked that the country should enter the record books for the longest queues at stations.

The government has limited private vehicles to 30 liters of gasoline every four days, with residents saying hundreds of motorists wait for hours before gas stations are opened.

The shortages were worsened by major maintenance at the Baniyas refinery, the country’s largest, which supplied two-thirds of the country’s gasoline needs, said oil minister Bassam Touma.

Touma said once unavoidable maintenance work at the 130,000 barrel per day capacity refinery had been completed in the next 10 days, capacity would rise by 25%. Shipments from several undisclosed sources would also help ease the crisis later this month, he added.

Oil production collapsed after Damascus lost most of its oil producing fields in a stretch east of the Euphrates River in Deir Ezzor. These oil fields are now in the hands of US backed SDF, who continue to sell part of the oil to Damascus.

Syria had previously relied on Iranian oil shipments but tightening sanctions on Iran, Syria and their allies have dried up supplies in the past year.

Oil traders say oil imports through Beirut port, a major conduit, have also been disrupted in the wake of a major explosion last August.

Washington has long accused Syria of smuggling oil through Lebanon across a porous border area where Damascus’s ally Iranian-backed Hezbollah holds sway.

A shortfall in foreign currency had also forced Damascus to import less fuel in the last two months, further worsening supplies, two traders said.



The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
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The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).

The road from Beirut to Damascus is now lined with unfamiliar scenes. In just a few days, everything has changed for those traveling to the Syrian capital by land from Lebanon. Once an economic lifeline for Damascus, the route bustled with visitors—Syrians and Lebanese alike—and large trucks carried goods from Beirut’s port to Syria, a necessity brought on by international sanctions that have forced the country to rely on this corridor.

The journey to Damascus via Lebanon begins at the Masnaa border crossing, which, during the early days of Syria’s upheaval, saw unprecedented traffic heading into Syria. While outbound traffic has returned to normal—or even declined—inbound activity has surged again. Hundreds of Syrian families line up at the border, hoping for “humanitarian exceptions” to enter Lebanon. However, the influx has clogged the route for everyone, even those eligible for entry. For days, the road was virtually impassable until Lebanese authorities intervened to reopen it. Still, complaints from Syrians about alleged abuses at the border prompted General Security chief Major General Elias al-Baysari to launch an investigation into these violations, followed by measures to reduce the number of entries to just a few hundred.

Some Syrians leave after being denied entry, only for others to arrive, clinging to the hope that Lebanon might eventually open its doors. Entry is now restricted to those with valid residency, travelers transiting through Beirut’s airport, or individuals with official documentation.

Families wait in cars, with children and women inside while men gather around fires outside. Ayman, a man in his fifties from rural Damascus, anxiously waits for permission to cross after being denied entry by the checkpoint. He mentions receiving a promise that his case will be reviewed. “We are in danger. I won’t take my children back to die,” he says, refusing to elaborate on the exact threat. Determined, he vows to remain in the deserted zone indefinitely if necessary.

Despite no reports of targeted violence against former regime supporters or religious minorities—especially Shiites—fear remains pervasive. Bilal, a Syrian from the predominantly Shiite town of Zahraa near Aleppo, recounts how a relative was killed and claims that his name is on a wanted list. “I’ll never go back,” he says firmly.

The scene repeats itself just past the first opposition-held checkpoint, opposite the abandoned Syrian passport office. Crossing is straightforward and no longer requires ID for Lebanese citizens, unlike in the past. A friendly greeting and a wave from the armed guards suffice, often accompanied by a smile and “Welcome!” This is a stark contrast to the past, when multiple military checkpoints, infamous for soliciting bribes in the form of bread, cigarettes, or cash, made travel cumbersome.

Now, entering and exiting Syria via land is remarkably easy—no paperwork, no questions, and no inspections.

Near a victory arch along the road, adorned with images of deposed Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and his late father Hafez, stands a young man. His old car is parked nearby, with his wife and three children—all under ten years old—waiting inside. Hesitantly, he approaches a Lebanese traveler, asking whether he can enter Lebanon without the “yellow card” once issued by Syrian authorities for outgoing vehicles. Syrian border guards had turned him away, warning that Lebanese authorities might confiscate his car.

The man, from the Shiite-majority village of Foua near Idlib, is determined to reach Lebanon. “I’ve arranged for work with someone there, and I need to leave as soon as possible,” he explains nervously. Though he insists no one has harmed him, his unease is evident as he prepares to leave.

The Assads’ towering portraits remain intact, likely due to their height, while those at ground level have been torn down or trampled. Military checkpoints have been vandalized or destroyed.

Abandoned vehicles litter the roadside, some still smoldering, while others have been stripped of all valuables—tires, parts, and accessories. Military vehicles, tanks, and armored carriers, some still loaded with ammunition, lie deserted along the route from the border to Damascus. These remnants tell the story of a collapsed regime and an uncertain future.

Scattered among the wreckage are vehicles destroyed by Israeli missile strikes targeting Syrian air defense systems, including anti-aircraft launchers mounted on military trucks.

The stretch of abandoned military hardware extends from the Syrian border to the outskirts of Damascus. These vehicles were once meant to defend the capital but now lie powerless, deserted by soldiers who left their uniforms discarded along the roadside as they fled. The old Syrian flag lies tattered and forgotten in multiple locations, untouched—neither reclaimed nor mourned.