The Sound of Silence in Iran’s Hospitals Gets Louder Every Day

The sound of silence is an echo of pain and despair from the medical workforce, and this sound grows louder every day in Iran’s hospitals.

On days when patients are saved or pass away, behind the doors of Iran’s hospitals, there are silent but resonant voices. The sound of despair from doctors, residents, and medical staff who cry out from within themselves beyond medical devices. Two recent tragedies are the starting point for examining these voices.

In recent days, Iran’s medical community has faced two painful tragedies: Nadia Motaghi, a 36-year-old physician from Shiraz, and Yasmin Shirani, a young resident in obstetrics and gynecology at Tehran University of Medical Sciences, both ended their lives.
Two faces, two different paths, but a shared fate—a sign of a deeper crisis in Iran’s healthcare system.

Hedayat Kimiyaei, a reporter in the social field, emphasized regarding Nadia and Yasmin’s suicides: “The Islamic Republic is deliberately destroying the medical and nursing workforce through conditions it has created in hospitals. Over the past two to three years, numerous doctors, specialists, and nurses across the country have ended their lives for various reasons, including economic and psychological pressures and work hardship.”

According to research published in international scientific journals, more than one-third of Iranian residents have experienced suicidal thoughts—statistics that clearly indicate a structural crisis. Research published in PLOS One in 2024 confirms that 34.3% of Tehran residents experienced suicidal thoughts during the coronavirus pandemic period; a figure that is deeply concerning compared to the global average.

Meanwhile, media reports indicate that in the past nine months, at least 16 young physicians in Iran have attempted suicide—statistics that are likely lower than the actual figures. These are no longer “exceptional news,” but signs of a dangerous pattern.

The residency period in Iran, which should be a stage for specialized learning and scientific development, has in practice become a form of institutional exploitation. Residents work in shifts lasting up to 36 hours continuously, sometimes without rest and while carrying the heavy burden of patient treatment on their shoulders, with minimal psychological or financial support.

In such conditions, medical errors increase and the health of physicians themselves is at risk. One physician, in response to the death of the aforementioned individuals, said: “Instead of viewing residents as students, they are seen as cheap labor.”

This structural outlook strips away motivation and leaves the young generation of physicians caught between endurance or emigration.

Based on available data, depression, anxiety, and sleep disorders have become alarmingly common among residents. Many young physicians, even before starting their residency, speak of “residency phobia”—a chronic fear of work pressures, administrative humiliation, and a sense of worthlessness.

As a result of these pressures, many prefer to leave the country and work in environments where human dignity and psychological security are respected. This wave of emigration means the loss of valuable human capital for Iran’s healthcare system—capital that took years of time and resources to develop.

The crisis of residents is not merely a professional or economic issue, but a sign of moral collapse in the healthcare system. When a system pushes a life-saving physician to the brink of suicide, reform is not a recommendation but a necessity.
Reforms such as:

• Reviewing work hours and shift structure
• Establishing psychological support units in medical universities
• Fair wage and benefit payments
• Training hospital administrators in humane treatment of residents

Without such reforms, this crisis will continue, and there is concern that Iran’s medical community will lose faith in the future.

From a Christian perspective, every human being bears the image of God, and neglecting the suffering of physicians who have sacrificed their lives for the salvation of others is a neglect of the essence of humanity. If society, faith, and morality cannot provide refuge for healers, then the great question is: “Who will be the physician of physicians?”

“The sound of silence in Iran’s hospitals” is not a metaphor but the bitter reality of the times for people in Iran. A silence that has turned into a cry from sheer exhaustion. As long as policymakers do not take action on reforms instead of making promises, this sound will grow louder every day; a sound that reminds us all of our moral responsibility—no society can remain healthy without respect for its healers.