War Is Over but Not Biden’s Afghanistan Challenges

President Joe Biden listens during a virtual meeting with FEMA Administrator Deanne Criswell and governors and mayors of areas impacted by Hurricane Ida, in the South Court Auditorium on the White House campus, Monday, Aug. 30, 2021, in Washington. (AP)
President Joe Biden listens during a virtual meeting with FEMA Administrator Deanne Criswell and governors and mayors of areas impacted by Hurricane Ida, in the South Court Auditorium on the White House campus, Monday, Aug. 30, 2021, in Washington. (AP)
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War Is Over but Not Biden’s Afghanistan Challenges

President Joe Biden listens during a virtual meeting with FEMA Administrator Deanne Criswell and governors and mayors of areas impacted by Hurricane Ida, in the South Court Auditorium on the White House campus, Monday, Aug. 30, 2021, in Washington. (AP)
President Joe Biden listens during a virtual meeting with FEMA Administrator Deanne Criswell and governors and mayors of areas impacted by Hurricane Ida, in the South Court Auditorium on the White House campus, Monday, Aug. 30, 2021, in Washington. (AP)

With the final stream of US cargo planes soaring over the peaks of the Hindu Kush, President Joe Biden fulfilled a campaign promise to end America’s longest war, one it could not win.

But as the war ended with a chaotic, bloody evacuation that left stranded hundreds of US citizens and thousands of Afghans who had aided the American war effort, the president kept notably out of sight. He left it to a senior military commander and his secretary of state to tell Americans about the final moments of a conflict that ended in resounding American defeat.

Biden, for his part, issued a written statement praising US troops who oversaw the airlift of more than 120,000 Afghans, US citizens and allies for their “unmatched courage, professionalism, and resolve.” He said he would have more to say on Tuesday.

“Now, our 20-year military presence in Afghanistan has ended,” Biden said in his statement.

The muted reaction was informed by a tough reality: The war may be over, but Biden’s Afghanistan problem is not.

The president still faces daunting challenges born of the hasty end of the war, including how to help extract as many as 200 Americans and thousands of Afghans left behind, the resettlement of tens of thousands of refugees who were able to flee, and coming congressional scrutiny over how, despite increasingly fraught warnings, the administration was caught flat-footed by the rapid collapse of the Afghan government.

Through the withdrawal, Biden showed himself willing to endure what his advisers hope will be short-term pain for resisting bipartisan and international pressure to extend his Aug. 31 deadline for ending the American military evacuation effort. For more than a decade, Biden has believed in the futility of the conflict and maintained that the routing of Afghanistan’s military by the Taliban was a delayed, if unwelcome, vindication.

Turning the page on Afghanistan is a crucial foreign policy objective for Biden, who repeatedly has made the case for redirecting American attention toward growing challenges posed by adversaries China and Russia — and for shifting America’s counterterrorism focus to areas with more potent threats.

But in his effort to end the war and reset US priorities, Biden may have also undercut a central premise of his 2020 White House campaign: a promise to usher in an era of greater empathy and collaboration with allies in America’s foreign policy after four years of President Donald Trump’s “America first” approach.

“For someone who made his name as an empathetic leader, he’s appeared ... as quite rational, even cold-hearted, in his pursuit of this goal” to end the war, said Jason Lyall, an associate professor of government at Dartmouth College.

Allies — including lawmakers from Britain, France, and Germany — chafed at Biden’s insistence on holding fast to the Aug. 31 deadline as they struggled to evacuate their citizens and Afghan allies. Armin Laschet, the leading conservative candidate to succeed Angela Merkel as Germany’s chancellor, called it the “biggest debacle that NATO has suffered since its founding.”

At home, Republican lawmakers have called for an investigation into the Biden administration’s handling of the evacuation, and even Democrats have backed inquiries into what went wrong in the fateful last months of the occupation.

And at the same time, the massive suicide bombing in the final days of the evacuation that killed 13 US troops and more than 180 Afghans is raising fresh concern about Afghanistan again becoming a breeding ground for terrorists.

Biden blamed his predecessor, Trump, for tying his hands. He repeatedly reminded people that he had inherited an agreement the Republican administration made with the Taliban to withdraw US forces by May of this year. Reneging on the deal, Biden argued, would have put US troops — who before Thursday had gone since February 2020 without a combat fatality in the war — in the Taliban’s crosshairs once again.

The Democratic president’s advisers also complained that the now-ousted Afghan government led by Ashraf Ghani was resistant to finding a political compromise with the Taliban and made strategic blunders by spreading largely feckless Afghan security forces too thinly.

Republicans — and even a few Democratic allies — have offered withering criticism of the administration’s handling of the evacuation, an issue that the GOP is looking to weaponize against Biden.

House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy, R-Calif., said Monday the withdrawal date set by Biden was a political one designed for a photo op. Absent from McCarthy’s criticism was any mention that it was Trump’s White House that had brokered the deal to end the war.

“There was a moment in time that had this president listened to his military, there would still be terrorist prisoners inside Bagram, we would be getting every single American out, the military would not have left before the Americans,” McCarthy said. “Every crisis he has faced so far in this administration he has failed.”

It remains to be seen if criticism of Biden’s handling of Afghanistan will resonate with voters. An Associated Press-NORC poll conducted earlier in August found that about 6 in 10 Americans said the war there was not worth fighting.

An ABC News/Ipsos poll conducted Aug. 27-28 found about 6 in 10 Americans disapproving of Biden’s handling of the situation in Afghanistan. That poll also found most said the US should remain in Afghanistan until all Americans and Afghans who aided the US had been evacuated. The poll did not ask whether people approved of withdrawal more generally.

After backing the 2001 US invasion, Biden became a skeptic of US nation-building efforts and harbored deep doubts about the Afghan government’s ability to develop the capacity to sustain itself.

His opposition to the 2009 “surge” of US troop deployed to Afghanistan when he was vice president put him on the losing side of conflicts with the defense establishment and within the Obama administration. Biden, in recent weeks, told aides that he viewed his counsel against expanding the American involvement more than a decade ago to be one of his proudest moments in public life.

But his tendency to speak in absolutes didn’t help his cause.

In July, Biden pushed back at concerns that a Taliban takeover of the country would be inevitable. Weeks later, the group toppled the Afghan government.

The president also expressed confidence that Americans would not see images reminiscent of the US evacuation from Vietnam at the end of that war in 1975, when photos of helicopters evacuating people from the roof of the US Embassy in Saigon became gripping symbols of US failure.

In fact, they saw images of desperate Afghans swarming the Kabul airport — at least one falling to his death after clinging to a departing US aircraft.

Biden told ABC News’ George Stephanopoulos during an Aug. 18 interview that the US military objective in Afghanistan was to get “everyone” out, including Americans and Afghan allies and their families. He pledged American forces would stay until they accomplished that mission.

But Secretary of State Antony Blinken said Monday that there was “a small number of Americans, under 200, likely closer to 100, who remain in Afghanistan and still want to leave.”

The swift military evacuation now yields to a murkier diplomatic operation to press the Taliban to allow Americans and their allies to depart peacefully by other means.

Biden believes he has some leverage over the Taliban, former US enemies turned into pragmatic partners, as Afghanistan faces an economic crisis with the freezing of most foreign aid. But US commanders say the situation in Afghanistan could become even more chaotic in the coming weeks and months.



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.