Syria's fuel price surge deepens economic crisis for impoverished population

The decree came down at midnight on Sunday, and by Monday morning, Syrians were in the streets. A government order had lifted diesel prices by 40 percent and petrol by 28 percent in a single stroke. For a country where nearly 90 percent of the population lives below the poverty line, the math was immediate and brutal: transport would cost more, food would cost more, survival itself had just become more expensive.

Protests erupted across the country's geography. In Aleppo and Idlib to the north, in Hama in the center, in Deraa to the south, demonstrators burned tires and blocked roads. The main highway between Damascus and Aleppo—the spine of the country's commerce—went dark. By Wednesday, the M4 highway in the northeast near Tal Tamr was choked with hundreds of stranded oil tankers. Protesters said they would not move until the government reversed the increases. The anger had not dissipated; it had only hardened.

The price jump did not arrive in isolation. Since February, petrol had climbed 86 percent and diesel had more than doubled. Brent crude, the international benchmark, had risen 44 percent over the same period—a gap that spoke to Syria's particular vulnerability. The government's Energy Ministry acknowledged the structural problem plainly: Syria produces about 100,000 barrels of crude oil daily but needs 300,000 to 325,000 barrels and petroleum products to meet domestic demand. Roughly 60 percent of the diesel supply now comes from imports, leaving the country hostage to global markets and, by extension, to the consequences of the United States-Israel conflict with Iran, which had driven international oil prices upward.

The human cost materialized within hours. In Damascus, minibus operators—the transport lifeline for working people—raised fares from 30 to 45 cents. Adel Ali Meree, a bus driver, worked an eight-hour shift and watched his earnings vanish into the fuel tank. "I spent all my money on diesel. I only have four and a half dollars left," he said. At the end of a full day's work, he might clear $10. He could earn that anywhere. The mathematics no longer justified the labor.

Tour operators faced the same squeeze. Bashar Sleiman runs a bus that consumes 90 liters of diesel daily. The price hike pushed his daily fuel cost from $84 to $120. His company had not yet settled on new fares, but he expected to add at least $15 to his standard $110-to-$125 daily rate. A tourist planning to spend $1,500 would now spend more. Hotels, food, transportation, guides—everything would rise. "Traffic has been a bit lighter the last couple of days," he said, "but this won't last. Nobody can afford not to generate an income."

Cross-border routes felt the pressure equally. Ahmed Sweid drives a 25-passenger bus between Idlib and Beirut for the Shaheen transport company. A round trip now required $280 in diesel alone. The company had held ticket prices at $40, betting on full buses to absorb the blow, but the operators knew the math could not hold indefinitely.

At the Mezzeh market in Damascus, produce seller Ahmed Obeid watched his delivery costs triple overnight—from $4 to $12 per load. "When fuel prices go up, transport costs go up," he said. "That extra cost is passed on to the consumer. But people don't have money." The sentence contained the entire crisis in miniature.

The government insisted the increases were temporary and blamed the high cost of securing fuel on international markets. The Energy Minister was scheduled to face questioning from Syria's People's Assembly on Thursday, but on Wednesday the session was postponed to September 20. The ministry needed more time to prepare. For Syrians dealing with ruined infrastructure, massive inflation, and a decade of war that had only ended with the fall of Bashar al-Assad's regime in December 2024, the promise of temporary relief meant little. Waiting for global markets to stabilize was a luxury the impoverished could not afford. A temporary shock, for those living paycheck to paycheck, is simply too long to survive.