Whether through sanctions, blockade or war, policies presented as matters of security and strategy often impose predictable and disproportionate harm on women’s health, particularly reproductive and maternal care.
Policies of pressure and control from Iran to Gaza quietly transform women’s health into collateral damage.
A delayed shipment of medication does not make headlines.
A generator failing in a maternity ward is not breaking news.
A woman rationing insulin or postponing prenatal care is not framed as political violence.
And yet, from Iran to Gaza, these are the quiet consequences of policies described in distant capitals as “pressure,” “security,” and “strategy.”
The Women, Life, Freedom movement born out of Iran has captured global attention. Women in Iran are disproportionately affected by the intensity of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, with stricter restrictions on their dress, behaviour, and livelihoods. The Iran sanctions regime, beginning in 1979 following the US Embassy crisis, refers to the network of international economic, trade, and financial restrictions imposed on the Islamic Republic of Iran.
Part of these sanctions include limitations surrounding medicine and medical devices. In sanctions like those imposed on Iran, governments often default to a ‘humanitarian exemption.’ Medical supplies can still be sold to Iran. Food and basic goods are allowed. The policy is framed as not harming ordinary people. So, while sanctions on Iran formally include humanitarian exemptions for food and medicine, these protections often collapse in practice. Banks refuse transactions, suppliers withdraw, and supply chains falter, leaving critical treatments technically permitted but effectively out of reach. Women are disproportionately affected due to their reproductive needs. While sanctions did not create gender inequality in Iran, they have intensified existing inequities in access to contraception, abortion-related care, and maternal care.
In Palestine, the long-term occupation and ongoing genocide have had their own implications for women’s health. Movement restrictions due to blockades delay care. The bombing of hospitals creates infrastructure damage, preventing people from accessing treatment within the Gaza Strip, leaving the healthcare system severely overburdened. Women in Gaza are deprived of sexual and reproductive health services and sanitary products. Women have been documented giving birth in cars, in tents, and on the side of the road. Young girls have reported using pieces of tents as menstrual cloth.
Rob Nixon describes the concept of slow violence in the context of environmental justice. The parallel to women’s health here is direct. Slow violence is gradual, invisible, and normalised. It is not dramatic like war headlines, but it is equally destructive. It is a long-term erosion of health and dignity.
Policies presented as ‘strategic’ or ‘necessary’ produce predictable civilian harm. This damage is not coincidental or accidental, but structurally foreseeable. In Iran, sanctions limit access to medicines and equipment. In Palestine, specifically Gaza, blockade and military conditions restrict healthcare infrastructure and mobility.
The common thread is not just genderised violence; it is the collapse of mobility, supply chains, and legal access to care, with women’s reproductive health among the clearest casualties.
We should reject the notion that this harm is unavoidable and that no one is at fault. Policymakers are aware of these outcomes. Reports, data, and firsthand coverage document these consequences, yet the policies continue.
Official reports from the United Nations have documented the severe consequences of maternal malnutrition and food insecurity on infant and maternal health in Gaza. These conditions increase the risk of complications during pregnancy and childbirth, including low birth weight, premature delivery, and heightened neonatal and maternal mortality. Bombs kill people, but policy kills people too.
In Iran, Internet access has been heavily restricted, resulting in limited and delayed reporting from within the country. It is important to recognise that the absence of coverage does not mean events are not occurring, but rather that information is being constrained by disrupted communications and censorship.
Predictable harm that continues becomes accepted harm. Whether through sanctions or siege, the mechanism is different, but the message is the same: women’s health is negotiable.
Global attention is uneven and politicised, where some women’s suffering is amplified while others’ is minimised or justified. There is complexity here. The task is not to reduce the rights of some women, but to uplift those who are actively pushed down. Politicians and policymakers use distant language such as “targeted sanctions” to make decisions sound precise and controlled, masking widespread civilian impact and distancing themselves from bodily consequences. The rhetoric gap remains. The reality persists. There is no true humanitarian exception.
These harms are ongoing and documented. Slow violence becomes background noise that we learn to live with. Women are often lost in this conversation despite their disproportionate burden. Their suffering is not always visible or measurable in geopolitical analysis.
If these outcomes are predictable, the question is not whether harm is occurring, but why it is so easily explained away. In reframing what is considered violence, we must account for all consequences, intended and ‘unintended,’ because in practice they become indistinguishable. Societal acceptance of women as collateral damage should be challenged and dismantled, beginning with the recognition that no woman’s suffering is lesser than another.
Republished from Common Dreams
