DAMASCUS // Syrians trying to get passports are being told to wait up to six months for their travel documents to be issued, as increasing numbers of people plan to flee the country.
Many of those preparing to leave the capital are educated, middle-class professionals, usually from parts of the city that are comparatively safe.
Despite their relative security, they speak of having finally lost hope that the violence would subside and that sweeping political liberalisation, or even an internationally brokered transition to democracy, would follow.
Now they say the crisis, in its 19th month, will only worsen and is likely to endure for years.
"I can't believe I'm saying this but I hate Syria now, I hate this place," said a Damascus pharmacist, a father of two in his mid-30s.
"I never wanted to leave before, not even on holiday. I loved life here but now there is no future."
He said his young daughter could not sleep through the night because of the sound of shellfire, and his business, once thriving, now provides just enough money for the family to survive.
With relatives in Europe able to arrange a visa, he went to the passport office, where there was chaos.
"I've never seen so many people in my life, it was crazy," he said. "It took hours to fight a way to the front of the queue and when I got there I was told no way to get a passport until February at the earliest."
Others said they had been told there was a six-month backlog for passports and passport renewals.
Before the uprising, it typically took just a few days to get passport applications pushed through, with payment of a routine bribe of between US$20 (Dh73) and $40.
Regional passport offices are facing a similar flood of applications, according to Syrians from outside of Damascus.
"There are long queues for fuel and bread but the longest queue is at the passports office. Half of the city has already left and the other half wants to leave," said a resident of Deraa, where the uprising began in March last year.
The Damascus pharmacist asked how much he would have to pay in bribes for three passports. He was told it would cost $650 - about twice the monthly salary earned by a typical civil servant.
He handed over the money, only to face a common pitfall. A more senior passports official found out one of his staff was receiving cash under the table and has demanded a bribe for himself to approve the travel documents.
"I couldn't believe the original price and, now that I've handed over the money, I'm being asked for even more," the pharmacist said. "It's a nightmare but I have no choice. I'll end up paying just because I want to get out."
The Syrian authorities acknowledge corruption is a significant problem and have often pledged to tackle it. There has been no formal comment from the government on issues related to passports or about any delays in issuing them.
Working class Syrians do not have the finances, connections or qualifications to move abroad, with life in a squalid refugee camp the best they can expect if they do leave.
As a result, large numbers are opting to stay despite the dangers, shifting from besieged areas to slightly safer zones. But more than 350,000 Syrians have registered as refugees in Iraq, Jordan, Turkey and Lebanon, according to the United Nations, which has warned the number could rise to 700,000 by the start of next year.
At the other end of Syria's socio-economic spectrum, the super-rich elite have already transferred assets overseas, moved family members out or managed to find foreign postings with work, according to reports.
The middle classes face a different equation. Starting afresh in a foreign country, while nothing like as bad as life in a refugee camp, is a daunting prospect for those lucky enough to have the option.
It means walking away from extended families and friends, from the neighbourhoods they grew up in and from their culture. On a practical level, it also means a significant drop in living standards.
Syrians watched hundreds of thousands of Iraqis, many of them from the middle class, fleeing their country's war after the US-led invasion of 2003 and have no illusions about how difficult life in exile is.
"If I am in the West my university degree will be worthless, I'll have to retrain. Maybe I'll be a waiter in a restaurant or something, I don't want that but I'll do it for my daughter," the pharmacist said.
Other educated young professionals in Damascus agreed that escape was the most sensible option.
"I'm getting a passport - or I will in six months when they've done the paperwork - and then I'll probably travel," said a teacher, in her late 20s. "I'll try to get a job in the West or apply for a scholarship at a university there."
In addition to long waits and corruption, Syrians are also required to pass through security checks before travelling. Males over 18 now have additional screening to ensure they have completed obligatory military service and have not been recalled into active duty.
The prospect of asking for permission to leave, only to find they have been summoned by the army, is another worry for those seeking escape.
"I still haven't been given approval to travel by the security forces, I've been from one office to another. I've been questioned and detained for three days," said another teacher, in his 30s, who has served his army conscription. He has family in the UK who have been able to help arrange a master's degree programme for him at a London university.
"I don't know what the problem is. It might just be that my file has to go through so many security offices and each one takes time, each one is busy and each wants to find a problem with you if they can," he said.
Some professionals prepared their passports as soon as the uprising began, anticipating the time would eventually come when they would need to leave.
"I talk with my wife about going to Turkey or Lebanon and then trying to go to Europe or Canada or America. We think about it more and more seriously these days," said a 34-year-old lawyer. A father of three who lives in the Damascus suburbs, he organised his family's passports in May last year.
"The time hasn't come yet but when it does we will leave and we will not look back. We will leave for good and start new lives far away from this," he said.
[ psands@thenational.ae ]