As he does most days, Taha Hader tours the ruins of the dream home he hopes to rebuild, stepping gingerly over the concrete shards that once were his neighborhood.
The community was leveled by barrel-bombs and stripped clean of metals by the army of former dictator Bashar al-Assad.
In the weeks since Mr. Assad was toppled Dec. 8, Mr. Hader has returned from exile in Idlib, in northwest Syria, to his hometown of Darayya, south of Damascus.
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Syria is in a transformative phase. Even as former anti-Assad rebels adjust to wielding government authority, private Syrians are trying to rebuild homes and communities shattered by civil war. Standing in their way are severe U.S. sanctions blocking needed equipment, parts, and investment.
Known as Syria’s “city of carpenters,” Darayya was one of the first towns to rise up against Mr. Assad, and, like large swaths of the country, it paid the price.
But Mr. Hader considers himself fortunate. His home still has standing pillars and intact floor tiles. It’s a manageable fixer-upper – if you ignore the giant gaping holes where the front walls and roof once were.
He and the city of carpenters face their toughest task yet: rebuilding Syria.
Among the most daunting of the obstacles confronting Mr. Hader and Syrians across the country? U.S. economic sanctions. Three months after the ouster of Mr. Assad, severe American sanctions designed to weaken his grip are still in place. They prevent all international operations by Syrian banks, and ban all international companies from sending anything into Syria except humanitarian supplies.
The United States says it is keeping the 2019 Caesar Act sanctions in place so as to press Syria’s new rulers to respect human rights and protect ethnic and religious minorities. But they are adding enormously to the challenges facing the interim government, and ordinary citizens.
“There is no way we can build if U.S. sanctions remain in place,” Mr. Hader says, eyeing his collapsed roof. “If sanctions are lifted, things will be cheaper, and we will have electricity. Without it, we won’t have the power to rebuild.”
Equipment ban
The estimated cost of rebuilding Syria, devastated by a civil war that killed hundreds of thousands and displaced millions, stands at $250 billion to $400 billion, according to varying estimates.
Yet sanctions prevent engineers from obtaining equipment to survey exactly how much is destroyed and determine the true cost of reconstruction.
Building Rank – Syria, an engineering firm that specializes in evaluating damaged buildings and advising owners and investors on what to do with them, estimates that 45% of Syria’s buildings have been severely damaged or completely destroyed.
Yet they cannot use aerial photography to chart rubble-strewn landscapes or drones with radar to scan damaged towers and buildings, due to U.S. aviation bans.
Using data clouds and GPS in Syria is also prohibited; preventing engineers from dispatching local residents and volunteers across the country to upload data points on the status of buildings.
“We are unable to get equipment or even batteries to carry out a proper assessment,” says Mohammad al-Shishakly of Building Rank. “We are unable to assess how much of towns and villages are actually destroyed and what can be saved.”
In January, the outgoing Biden administration eased restrictions on delivery of humanitarian items to Syria. But sanctions remain in place on heavy equipment such as specialized cranes needed to clear rubble and to support towers that are at risk of collapse. The bulk of Syria’s bulldozers and cranes date from the 1970s.
Meanwhile, Caesar Act sanctions that ban dealing with Syrian banks strangle the flow of financing – preventing Gulf Arab states and other potential outside investors from funding construction projects.
Those wishing to invest must bring cash in hand or send it via a personal intermediary.
“No one is willing to invest in a project if they cannot receive a wire confirmation and invoice,” says Majed al-Shawa, an engineering professor at Damascus University.
Rebuilding on their own
This has left rebuilding to individual Syrians who have the funds and the workforce.
Across Syria, residents can be seen clearing rubble with shovels and their bare hands.
In Darayya, like in many Syrian communities, much of the town stands like a mausoleum: rows of five- and six-story apartment buildings reduced to cement skeletons with gaping holes, roofs sagged by barrel bombs, and foundation pillars detonated by well-placed TNT.
Residents and returnees live in the half of the town that is still semi-standing; yet all struggle with unreliable electricity, poor water networks, and limited phone and internet coverage.
Mazhar Shabarji, an engineer born in Darayya and its former mayor, returned to the town with the Monitor for the first time in 13 years.
From an earthen mound overlooking a neighborhood that once housed 40,000 people, one can see what is left: piles of concrete dust and the odd broken cinderblock.
“I have land and a house here,” Mr. Shabarji says, pointing at the barren landscape, “and I have no idea where it is.”
His colleague, fellow engineer Munir Nayeh, points to a collapsed building across the way, five stories pancaked like a collapsed accordion.
“That is my family home,” he says.
Neither are willing nor able to return.
“There are no services, no electricity, no hospital, no cleanliness,” says Mr. Nayeh. “Returning home right now means a life of hardship.”
It is estimated that 2,500 people have returned to Darayya, but the vast majority of Syrian returnees survey the damage they find, decide that they cannot rebuild yet, and return to their temporary refuges in Idlib or neighboring Jordan and Lebanon.
Electricity essential
South of Damascus, the Deir Ali power station hums, sending white plumes of smoke into the sky.
The German-built station generates the majority of Syria’s 1,300 megawatts of electricity, which is less than one-fifth of what the country needs.
The grid currently provides Syrians with just two hours of electricity per day. Nationally, 30% of stations are operating, according to the Ministry of Electricity, 40% need repairs and fuel, and 30% are completely destroyed.
Even plants that were not damaged in fighting were demolished by the Syrian army and stripped for metals such as copper.
After taking stock of existing electrical infrastructure, the interim government was forced to extend a period of emergency repairs from three months to six months, until May.
It hopes by then to ensure that the country enjoys eight hours of electricity a day.
“We were surprised by the scale of the destruction and extent of the damage,” acknowledges Khaled Abu Dayya, new chairman of the governmental Electricity Generation and Distribution Company.
He notes that sanctions have had a “negative impact” on power stations, the large majority of which were built by European companies that until this week were affected by European sanctions. Unable to import replacement parts, the government has been employing local craftspeople to make their own.
Syria’s electricity ministry plans a three-year rebuilding phase during which it will invite private investment into the sector, with an eye to tripling the nation’s electrical output and eventually providing power 24 hours a day.
“People have a desire to return, even if their house is partly damaged. But repairing a home is tied to electricity,” notes Mr. Abu Dayya, who says ending sanctions will shorten the rebuilding phase. “The lack of electricity means a lack of water; a lack of water means the lack of life.”
A European Union decision this week to lift restrictions on Syria’s energy sector and introduce exemptions allowing European financial institutions to do business with Syrian banks is one step forward.
Officials hope it will soon lead to Syria importing spare parts from German energy companies.
But for many Syrians, such as Mr. Taha, the main prize would be an end to the American Caesar sanctions.
“Your home is your nation,” he says, “and we need to rebuild both.”
