The sound of silence in Iranian hospitals is getting louder every day.

The sound of silence is an echo of the pain and despair of the medical staff, and this sound is getting louder every day in Iranian hospitals.

On days when patients are saved or die, there are silent but resonant voices behind the doors of Iranian hospitals. The voices of despair of doctors, residents, and medical staff who cry out from within, beyond the medical devices. Two recent tragedies are the starting point for examining this voice.

In recent days, the Iranian medical community has faced two painful tragedies: "Nadia Mottaghi," a 36-year-old physician from Shiraz, and "Yaseman Shirani," a young gynecology resident at Tehran University of Medical Sciences, both ended their lives.
Two faces, two different paths, but a common destiny, are a sign of a deeper crisis in Iran's health system.

Social journalist Hedieh Kimiai emphasized about the suicides of Nadia and Yasman: "The Islamic Republic is deliberately destroying the medical and nursing staff with the conditions it has created in hospitals. Over the past two or three years, a large number of doctors, specialists, and nurses in different parts of the country have ended their lives for various reasons, including economic and psychological pressures and the hardships of work."

According to research published in international scientific journals, more than a third of Iranian residents have experienced suicidal thoughts, a statistic that clearly indicates a structural crisis. Research published in PLOS One in 2024 confirms that 34.3% of Tehran residents have experienced suicidal thoughts during the COVID-19 pandemic, a number that is extremely worrying compared to the global average.

Meanwhile, media reports suggest that at least 16 young doctors in Iran have committed suicide in the past nine months, a figure that is likely an undercount. These are no longer “exceptional news” but signs of a dangerous pattern.

Residency in Iran, which should be a stage for specialized learning and scientific growth, has in practice become a form of institutional exploitation. Residents work non-stop shifts of up to 36 hours, sometimes without rest, and have minimal psychological or financial support while shouldering the heavy burden of treating patients.

In such circumstances, medical errors increase and the health of the doctors themselves is at risk. One doctor, reacting to the deaths of the aforementioned individuals, said: “Instead of considering the resident as a student, they consider him a cheap worker.”

This structural perspective destroys motivation and leaves the young generation of doctors in a dilemma of tolerating or emigrating.

According to available data, depression, anxiety, and sleep disorders are alarmingly common among residents. Many young doctors, even before they begin their residency, speak of “residency phobia”—a chronic fear of work pressures, administrative humiliation, and feelings of worthlessness.

As a result of these pressures, many of them prefer to leave the country and work in environments where their human dignity and psychological safety are respected. This wave of migration means the loss of valuable human capital for the Iranian health system, capital that has taken years of time and money to train.

The resident crisis is not just a union or economic issue, but a sign of the moral collapse of the health system. When a system drives a life-saving physician to the brink of suicide, the need for reform is not a recommendation but a necessity.
Amendments such as:

• Review of working hours and watch structure
• Establishing psychological support units in medical universities
• Fair payment of wages and benefits
• Training hospital managers in humane treatment of residents

Without such reforms, this crisis will continue, and it is feared that the Iranian medical community will lose confidence in the future.

From a Christian perspective, every human being bears the image of God, and ignoring the suffering of doctors who have sacrificed their lives to save others is ignoring the essence of humanity. If society, faith, and morality cannot provide a refuge for healers, then the big question is: "Who will be the doctor of doctors?"

"The sound of silence in Iranian hospitals" is not a metaphor, but the bitter reality of the times of the people in Iran. A silence that has become a cry out of exhaustion. Until policymakers implement reforms instead of promises, this sound will grow louder every day; a sound that reminds us of the moral responsibility of all of us. No society will remain healthy without respect for its healers.