Amid the Hum of Olive Mills, Afrin Farmers Work Under Threat

Summary

In Afrin, Syria, the olive har­vest brings joy and unease to farm­ers since the region was cap­tured by Syrian fac­tions backed by Turkey in 2018. Despite fac­ing chal­lenges such as armed groups demand­ing fees and low rain­fall, the tra­di­tion of olive har­vest­ing con­tin­ues, with olives being processed into oil that is some­times illic­itly traded through Turkey.

In Afrin, north­west­ern Syria, the hum of olive presses once again fills the autumn air. The scent of crushed fruit min­gles with diesel and dust in presser court­yards where trac­tors unload their heavy sacks. Across the hills, under trees that have stood for cen­turies, fam­i­lies climb lad­ders and stretch tarps as the har­vest begins.

I’ll have to press them and give the oil back to the men who rob and threaten us. We have no choice.- Riad Muhammed, direc­tor of an olive mill in Ceqmaqe Bicuk, Syria

This is Syria’s olive heart­land, a region home to more than 15 mil­lion trees where nearly every house­hold depends on the crop.

Yet behind the famil­iar rhythm of the pick­ing sea­son lies grow­ing unease. For the farm­ers of Afrin, the joy of har­vest has been over­shad­owed by fear since 2018, when the Kurdish-major­ity strong­hold was cap­tured by Syrian fac­tions backed by Turkey — today known as the Syrian National Army (SNA).

View of an olive grove near the town of Rajo, Afrin district, October 2025

Since then, olives and their oil have become lucra­tive assets in a con­tested land­scape.

The Art of the Presser

Each morn­ing, as the mist lifts over the groves of Sharran and Rajo, farm­ers gather with bas­kets, lad­ders and wooden combs. They pull olives from high branches, let­ting the fruit fall onto sheets spread beneath the trees.

A Kurdish farmer in his fileds during the harvesting season, near the village of Metina (SYRIA, Afrin district, October 2025)

Children dart across the tarps col­lect­ing olives while women sort leaves and twigs nearby. By mid­morn­ing, laugh­ter mixes with the clat­ter of wooden rakes and the rus­tle of branches. Despite the pres­sure of armed groups, the age-old rhythm con­tin­ues.

At the Sharran olive press, direc­tor Hassan Jamal Kharbash moves among the machines with prac­ticed calm. The process mir­rors presses across the Mediterranean: olives are washed, milled into a thick green paste and spun in a cen­trifuge to sep­a­rate oil, water and pulp. The first shim­mer­ing oil, val­ued for its purity, is col­lected in steel basins.

Inside the olive oil press of Ain Hajar, on the road between Afrin and Rajo (SYRIA, Afrin district, October 2025)

Nothing is wasted. The remain­ing residue becomes lower-grade oil used for soap-mak­ing, includ­ing the famed Aleppo soap that has car­ried Syrian crafts­man­ship world­wide.

The Weight of Factions

Beyond the groves, uncer­tainty con­tin­ues to shape the sea­son. Many farm­ers say they must pay ​“fees” to armed men for access to their land or safe pas­sage to presses. Others have been dis­placed, leav­ing their trees in the hands of strangers.

Afrin’s grow­ers face more than drought. The rem­nants of fac­tional con­trol — groups once tied to Turkey — still weigh heav­ily on liveli­hoods.

Since Damascus reasserted con­trol after the fall of Bashar al-Assad, a new local body, the Economic Council, has over­seen prop­erty and farm­land. The coun­cil offi­cially man­ages the resti­tu­tion of assets to dis­placed Kurdish own­ers. In prac­tice, says Azad Osman, a mem­ber of the local coun­cil and the Association of Independent Syrian Kurds, ​“they’ve insti­tu­tion­al­ized the racket.”

Azad Osman, a Syrian-Kurdish politician based in Afrin, where he is a member of the KKS party, an independent Syrian-Kurdish party (SYRIA, Afrin district, June 2025)

Osman says the coun­cil takes half the har­vest from dis­placed own­ers who have local rep­re­sen­ta­tives. If no rep­re­sen­ta­tive is present, the entire yield is seized. Officials describe this as a man­age­ment fee; Osman refers to it by a dif­fer­ent name. ​“We’re col­o­nized again,” he says. ​“Only this time by the State.”

Years of drought have deep­ened the hard­ship. Rainfall is at its low­est in years, leav­ing many groves pro­duc­ing only half their usual crop. ​“The ones who still have olives left,” Osman says, ​“are the ones who face the most trou­ble.”

A Trade in the Shadows

Once har­vested, olives must reach mar­ket — legally or not. Osman says much of the illicit trade runs through Azaz, a town that was never a tra­di­tional olive cen­ter. The shift, he argues, indi­cates that stolen olives are being fun­neled there before being moved north.

From Azaz, the oil report­edly crosses into Turkey, is rela­beled as Turkish and exported abroad, some­times end­ing up on European shelves.

Hanan Jamal Kharbash, head of the Kharbash oil press (SYRIA, Afrin district, October 2025)

At the press in Ceqmaqe Bicuk, sto­ries of mili­tia inter­fer­ence are famil­iar. Director Riad Muhammed says, ​“Since the fall, it’s been chaos. Some farm­ers have lost half their har­vest. They have weapons, and we have no means to defend our­selves.”

He ges­tures toward sacks left days ear­lier by mem­bers of the Failak al-Sham fac­tion. They expect their olives to be pressed. ​“I’ll have to press them and give the oil back to the men who rob and threaten us,” he says. ​“We have no choice.”

A worker inside the local Ceqmaqe Bicuk olive press (SYRIA, Afrin district, October 2025)

Still, not every story is bleak. In the vil­lage of Derswane near the Turkish bor­der, a fam­ily recently returned after years of dis­place­ment. On their ter­race, they pre­pare jars of pick­led olives. Their home once stood beside a mili­tia base; today, it over­looks quiet hills where the groves shim­mer in the after­noon light.