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‘Joint Syrian Military Council’ Proposed to Russia as it Commits to Assad

Russian Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu and Syrian president Bashar Assad (L-R front) shake hands during a meeting, Damascus, March 23, 2020. (TASS via Getty Images)
Russian Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu and Syrian president Bashar Assad (L-R front) shake hands during a meeting, Damascus, March 23, 2020. (TASS via Getty Images)
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‘Joint Syrian Military Council’ Proposed to Russia as it Commits to Assad

Russian Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu and Syrian president Bashar Assad (L-R front) shake hands during a meeting, Damascus, March 23, 2020. (TASS via Getty Images)
Russian Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu and Syrian president Bashar Assad (L-R front) shake hands during a meeting, Damascus, March 23, 2020. (TASS via Getty Images)

Russia is not pleased with the pace set by Damascus at the Constitutional Committee talks in Geneva. It is also awaiting the development of US President Joe Biden’s policy towards Syria and Washington’s broader relations with Moscow.

Meanwhile, Russia received proposals from Syrian opposition figures for the formation of a joint military council that includes armed factions and defectors from the regime. The council would assume many duties, such as forcing the pull out of foreign forces and militias from Syria, unifying the country and its forces, and sponsoring the political solution. Russia would alone retain troops in the country.

As it stands, Russia is still maintaining its position that is based, first on prioritizing the upcoming presidential elections, set for mid-2021. It is hoping that Bashar Assad would win the elections, which would serve as a “turning point” to breaking Damascus’ international and regional isolation.

Second, Russia is keen on backing the constitutional reform path forged in Geneva and supporting the three “guarantors” - Moscow, Ankara and Tehran - at the upcoming Sochi talks. The talks would set the “mechanisms” for Constitutional Committee work to end the “negative” pace that was set by Damascus.

Third, Russia is relying on field settlements and understandings between warring parties, regime loyalists and their foreign sponsors in Sweida and Daraa in the south, al-Hasakeh, Qamishli and Aleppo in the north and northeast and Idlib in the northwest.

Given this vision, presidential envoy Alexander Lavrentiev said that Russia has “other calculations”, which he revealed during his recent secret visit to Damascus. Accompanied by senior generals, he met with Assad before heading to Geneva in late January.

In the meantime, Russia was approached with a proposal from Russian civil and military figures urging it to consider forming a joint military council. The suggestion was sent through various channels to Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov, his deputy Mikael Bogdanov and Alexander Zorin, a Russian defense ministry official in charge of the Syrian file.

Military council
The first proposal was submitted by opposition figures from the Moscow and Cairo “platforms” and focuses on the implementation of UN Security Council resolution 2254. It suggests the formation of a joint military council during a transitional phase, whose duration would be agreed on.

Asharq Al-Awsat received a copy of the proposal, which explains that the council would be formed of three parties. The first are retired senior officers who served under late president Hafez Assad. The second are officers who are still in service and the third are officers who have defected from the regime but who did not become involved in armed factions.

Implementation of resolution 2254, continued the document, would take place in ten steps, including restructuring the military and enabling it to eliminate terrorism, dismantling all armed groups, collecting all weapons, restoring the authority of the state throughout Syria, naming an interim government that boasts full executive authorities as stipulated in the 2012 constitution, and calling for an internal national dialogue.

The dialogue would produce a founding association that would be tasked with drafting a new constitution, said the document. The proposal also calls for the release of detainees, allowing the return of refugees to their homes and holding international contacts over reconstruction.

It also demands the withdrawal of all foreign forces from Syria. Russia alone would keep its troops, who would work with the military council and interim government to restore stability, ensure the implementation of resolution 2254, form a reconciliation body and safeguard the constitutional referendum process and parliamentary and presidential elections.

The “legal reference” for the above would either be the 2012 constitution or a temporary constitutional declaration derived from the 2015 Vienna understandings.

Media test
Meanwhile, opposition journalist Yaser Badawi called for the formation of a military council through an agreement between the “influential” players in Syria, starting with Russia.

In an article published by Russia’s Nezavisimaya Gazeta, he said the council should include current serving officers and defected ones, who have not taken part in hostilities. The council would be responsible for eliminating terrorism, protecting Syria and its people and collecting all weapons.

Opposition figures interpreted Russia’s publication of his article as a sign that it was officially prepared to discuss this idea, despite alleged protests by Syria’s ambassador to Moscow.

Badawi cited statements from Arab tribes, rights activists and politicians, demanding the formation of a military council headed by General Manaf Tlass, son of late Defense Minister Mustafa Tlass.

In contrast to the other proposal on a joint military council, Badawi said his proposed council would stop the upcoming “fraudulent” presidential elections.

Both suggestions agree that Russia can play a “decisive” role in forming the military council, restructuring the military and supplying it with means to fight terrorism, and restore calm in the country.

Opposition figures revealed that some 1,100 defected officers, including some residing in Turkey and with ties in northern Syria, have expressed their support for Badawi’s proposal.

Commander of the 100,000-strong Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), Mazloum Abdi had told Asharq Al-Awsat last week that he does not oppose joining a military council that does not take on a nationalist, religious or sectarian identity.

He stressed that the council should “believe in defending the nation and not be subject to foreign agendas.”

Common ground
Opposition, government and foreign circles, including Russia, are in agreement on the need to “preserve state institutions”. Differences have emerged over the extent of “reforms” and the “restructuring” of the military and security agencies.

Moscow had previously tested the idea of forming a military council comprised of 40 officers. It had informed the opposition that this proposal still stands.

Meanwhile, a western official said the Russian military is “historically enamored” with the idea of military rule and testing the idea of a military council in an allied country, even if the circumstances in Syria have changed a lot in recent years.

Evidence of Russia’s military leanings are its support for the formation of the fifth armored division in southern Syria. Its Hmeimin military base also coordinates its operations with the Syrian army and patrols with the SDF in regions east of the Euphrates River.

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

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

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

Ahmed el-Jouri

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the shadows: Captagon addiction grips Syria's youth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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