Iran Guards, Lebanese Hezbollah, Sadr Rivals Discussed Confronting him with Arms

Supporters of Iraqi cleric Moqtada al-Sadr protest at the Green Zone, in Baghdad, Iraq August 29, 2022. (Reuters)
Supporters of Iraqi cleric Moqtada al-Sadr protest at the Green Zone, in Baghdad, Iraq August 29, 2022. (Reuters)
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Iran Guards, Lebanese Hezbollah, Sadr Rivals Discussed Confronting him with Arms

Supporters of Iraqi cleric Moqtada al-Sadr protest at the Green Zone, in Baghdad, Iraq August 29, 2022. (Reuters)
Supporters of Iraqi cleric Moqtada al-Sadr protest at the Green Zone, in Baghdad, Iraq August 29, 2022. (Reuters)

Four leaders of Iraqi Shiite factions met with two members of Iran’s Revolutionary Guards (IRGC) and Lebanon’s Iran-backed Hezbollah party at a house in Baghdad in mid-August.

Just outside, in the heavily fortified Green Zone, supporters of influential Shiite cleric Moqtada al-Sadr were collecting thousands of signatures for a “legal petition” demanding that the judiciary dissolve the parliament.

The meeting tackled the possible scenarios should an armed clash erupt with Sadr.

List of targets
A source informed on the proceedings of the talks said the gatherers reviewed a list of dozens of political and military targets related to the Sadrist movement. Among them were arms depots of the Saraya al-Salam, the armed wing of the movement.

The gatherers had hoped that attacking any of these targets would force Sadr to end his “rebellion” against the state, which he started by allowing his loyalists to storm parliament.

At the meeting, the Iran Guards representative expressed eagerness to “prepare” for a confrontation with Sadr, but he requested that it actually “serve” the interests of the pro-Iran Coordination Framework in “defending the system and legitimacy.”

The Hezbollah representative asked about the repercussions such a confrontation would have on Iraq and whether the situation would unravel further.

Hours later, the gatherers received a brief message from an Iranian official at Tehran’s embassy in Iraq, warning them against going ahead with the plans they shared with the IRGC.

A week later, the gatherers at the meeting would learn that one of the participants had divulged their plans of a confrontation to Sadrists.

On August 20, Sadr would for the first time speak of a plot to kill him. Since then, the cleric and his spokesman would always underscore the term “peaceful revolution” during their statements.

A leading Sadrist, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said the Framework has tried to lure the Sadrists into a bloody confrontation

Intra-Iranian division

Meanwhile, four politicians from Framework parties spoke of division inside the IRGC, circles at the Tehran embassy and the intelligence ministry over how to deal with the situation in Iraq.

One of the politicians, a member of Hadi al-Ameri's Badr organization, said Sadr managed to exploit this division in prolonging his “revolt against the system.” The Iranians, meanwhile, tested various means to address the Shiite disputes.

Tehran has resorted to its various means to influence the two main sides of the divide, but the IRGC often obstructed “possibilities drawn up by diplomats at the embassy or by the intelligence agency.”

An Iraqi politician revealed that Iraqi groups have expressed their concern over Iran’s “hesitation” in coming up with a unified stance on how to handle Sadr.

He also revealed that hardline factions had adamantly refused the idea of negotiating with the cleric.

Fickle positions

Members of Shiite armed factions spoke of how Iranian officials have had “fickle and changeable ideas” since the October parliamentary elections in Iraq.

They debated abandoning the “hawks of the Framework and negotiating with Sadr to see where his coup would lead.” They wondered whether they should instead continue to protect the Framework and push it to end Sadr’s political future.

They soon found out that they were dealing with different parties that had contradictory positions on how to manage Iraq.

A faction member, who had fought alongside the Iranians against ISIS in Syria and Iraq’s Tikrit, said the Shiite factions have been “improvising” ever since the killing of Iran’s Quds Force commander, Qassem Soleimani, in a US drone strike near Baghdad airport in January 2020.

It appears that the Iranians, who have been calling on their Iraqi allies for more patience, do not have a “secret recipe” to resolve the deep dispute between the Shiites, especially since Sadr is seemingly improvising his “revolution” against the Iraqi system that is sponsored by Tehran.

Al-Sistani
Sadr’s actions have laid bare the Iranian divisions. A Popular Mobilization Forces (PMF) official warned that the tensions between the pro-Iran factions and the Sadrists may lead to a “street war.”

He said members of armed factions expect that the eruption of clashes between the Framework and Sadrists may lead to similar fighting witnessed in Beirut during Lebanon’s 1975-90 civil war.

Asharq Al-Awsat had spoken with this official in March, two days after the Sadrist movement announced the formation of an alliance with the Sunnis and Kurds to form a new government.

He noted that the Iraqi factions, since their defeat of ISIS, had entrenched themselves in Iraqi institutions and the private sector. Sadr’s actions were threatening to strip them of their vast interests, he warned.

So, negotiations over the formation of a new government at the time would have gone beyond that scope and posed a serious threat to Shiite interests in Iraq, he explained.

Political activists have ruled out the possibility of the eruption of all-out war between the Shiites given how close their bonds are in the community. But Iraqi politicians believe that nearly a year of high tensions is enough to force both sides of the divide to turn to arms.

Asharq Al-Awsat asked five political figures from the Sadrist movement and Framework about the possibility of clashes. They said they were confident that the Religious Authority, Ali al-Sistani, had a decisive stance in store to avert the worst.

Financial and regional interests
Before the Sadr MPs resigned from parliament, main members of the Framework were discussing the fate of their interests should the cleric succeed in upending the Shiite equation in Iraq.

Framework member Hadi al-Ameri was in favor of a more measured approach and refused to escalate the situation when former Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki and Qais Khazali advocated the formation of a government of Framework members that excludes Sadr.

Associates close to Ameri said he believed that this was a “swift way to put an end to the Framework.”

Maliki and his allies boast vast economic interests that they share with Iraqi businessmen and government officials. They believe that these interests will be threatened by Sadr’s political ambitions.

Asharq Al-Awsat spoke with businessmen who run major activities in seven Iraqi cities. Some of these activities are tied to influential armed factions and cover hotels, hospitals, residential compounds, malls, farms and others.

“The ball is now in Sadr’s court. Everyone is on alert to protect these interests in any way,” he stressed.

Another businessman revealed that Shiite factions have acquired major investment contracts that would provide Iranians profits in hard currency.

A local investor said Lebanese figures are a “vital” part of the economic activity controlled by the factions, most notably in running tourist companies, malls and hotels.

A member of the Framework said investors active along the network stretching from Tehran to Baghdad to Beirut are worried that the situation in Iraq would deteriorate. This has prompted internal and regional powers to intervene to resolve the political crisis.

He added that he has received hundreds of calls from businessmen and mediators, who are close to the Framework, to inquire about the safety of their interests in the market.

Hezbollah mediation and Maliki’s PhD

Before Sadr’s supporters stormed parliament, a leading member of the Lebanese Hezbollah party had paid a visit to Iraq’s Najaf to mediate between the Framework and Sadrists.

Two Iraqi and Lebanese sources said the party can manage a “temporary settlement until elections, demanded by Sadr, are held.”

The mediation calls for the formation of an interim government that would rule with “enough” powers for two years. Neither the Sadrists nor Maliki would be part of the cabinet.

In return, Hezbollah would offer Maliki a political “lifeline” and allow him to spend a brief break in Beirut’s southern suburbs – a party stronghold – so that he can earn a doctorate in the Arabic language.

He could use his time to deliver lectures to party members and academics to keep him relevant to the political scene.

Sources confirmed to Asharq Al-Awsat that Sadr did not meet with the Hezbollah official. A mediator did, however, deliver the cleric’s firm rejection of the party’s mediation because it allows Maliki to take part in the upcoming elections.

The Hezbollah initiative stirred a heated debate within the framework because the grouping refuses to offer such concessions to Sadr.

Informed sources revealed that the Hezbollah official received a clear message from a Shiite faction that “it was better not to visit Iraq at this time.”

The Iraqi file has since been handed by Hezbollah over to a figure close to the IRGC.



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.