In a very special interview, we spoke to humanitarian, physician, activist and proud first-generation American Doctor Sarah Raza. She discusses topics close to her heart like the war in Iran, the importance of mental and physical health, stories and daily tasks from her highly demanding job as a physician in Los Angeles and more. She encourages everyone to be aware and involved in their political climate both locally and on a larger scale, and reminds people that there are always ways, big or small, you can provide support and assistance to those in need.

Where are you from?
I was born and raised in New York City, and I now live and practice medicine in Los Angeles. I am a first-generation American — the daughter of an Iranian father and an Indian mother who came to the United States as refugees.

How has your heritage and background shaped you as a person and a physician?
My heritage and background have shaped nearly every aspect of who I am. I am the daughter of an Iranian father and an Indian mother who came to the United States as refugees seeking safety and security. I grew up in a working-class immigrant community in New York City, surrounded by families from many different countries who were rebuilding their lives after displacement, poverty and hardship. My own family relied on public housing and government assistance, and there were times when we struggled to afford basic necessities.

Those experiences taught me resilience, perseverance and gratitude, but they also showed me how profoundly a person's health is affected by circumstances beyond their control. As a physician, this background helps me connect with patients from different cultures and approach them without judgment.

It also draws me toward people whose suffering may otherwise go unseen — particularly survivors of violence, persecution, and forced displacement. Medicine, for me, is not only about treating an injury. It is also about recognizing the human being behind that injury and using my skills to help restore some measure of safety, dignity, and hope.

What inspired you to become a physician?
What first inspired me to become a physician was a deep love of learning and the intellectual rigor of medicine — but also the extraordinary immediacy of it. As a physician, your knowledge is not merely theoretical; you can use it to intervene in someone's darkest moment and quite literally save a life.

Medicine continually teaches me about life, suffering, grief, resilience and our shared humanity. Illness is one of the great equalizers: regardless of wealth, background or status, we are all vulnerable to the limitations of the human body.

Being a physician allows me to care for people from every walk of life — from the most marginalized to the most privileged — at moments when those distinctions often fall away. I was specifically drawn to minimally invasive surgery because of its intellectual and physical rigor, as well as the precision and hand-eye coordination it demands.

As a painter and artist, I have always loved creating and working with my hands. In my field, I can use those same instincts combined with medical expertise — to navigate through blood vessels, stop life-threatening hemorrhage and save someone's life within minutes.

Could you walk us through an average day in your life as a double boardcertified trauma and vascular interventional radiologist?
There is rarely an average day in trauma and vascular interventional radiology. I cover Level I and Level II trauma centers across Los Angeles, and although I may begin my day reviewing imaging, laboratory results and overnight emergencies, everything can change within seconds when a critically ill patient arrives. I treat an incredibly broad range of conditions.

These include life-threatening hemorrhage caused by penetrating and blunt trauma — such as shootings, stabbings and car accidents — as well as cancer, vascular disease, severe infections and congenital conditions in children.

I perform minimally invasive, image-guided procedures through tiny incisions, often navigating catheters through blood vessels to reach and treat the precise source of bleeding or disease. The work requires constant focus, rapid decision-making, technical precision and coordination within a multidisciplinary team.

My schedule is unpredictable, because emergencies do not respect nights, weekends or holidays. But at the end of a difficult case, knowing that a patient is alive — and may return home to the people who love them — makes the intensity worthwhile.

How do you manage to stay level-headed while treating adults and children experiencing life-threatening hemorrhage from shootings, stabbings and other severe traumatic injuries?
In those moments, staying calm is not simply a personality trait — it is part of my responsibility to the patient. When someone is bleeding to death, there is no room for panic. I narrow my focus to the anatomy, the source of the hemorrhage and the next decision required to keep that person alive. Years of training and experience allow me to function with precision even when everything around me feels urgent.

That does not mean I am unaffected. Treating children and young adults with devastating, preventable injuries can be especially painful. But during the procedure, I have to temporarily set that emotion aside and allow my training to take over. The patient and their family are depending on me to remain clear-minded when they may be experiencing the most terrifying moment of their lives.

Through MAHSA Medical and other Iranian physician networks, you provided confidential, pro bono telehealth medical care to civilians severely injured during the January 2026 protests. Can you tell us about this work and how it works when you are remote?
During the January 2026 protests, many civilians sustained injuries from birdshot, beatings and other forms of physical and psychological torture. Yet many were unable to seek care because hospitals had become places where protesters could be identified, interrogated, detained or reported to authorities — placing them at genuine risk of further persecution, execution, or death.

Through MAHSA Medical and other trusted Iranian physician networks, I provided confidential, pro bono telehealth support to people who might otherwise have received no medical guidance at all. Providing telehealth under these circumstances requires tremendous creativity. I obtained detailed histories, evaluated symptoms, and reviewed photographs, videos, imaging, and any other medical information available.

Without access to conventional medical supplies, we sometimes had to improvise — using bedsheets to create pressure devices or makeshift tourniquets, and cardboard or wooden sticks to construct splints. You have to think beyond the controlled environment of a hospital and use whatever is safely available in a patient's home. I helped patients recognize warning signs of internal bleeding, vascular or nerve injury, infection and vision loss, while determining when an injury was so dangerous that seeking immediate in person treatment was unavoidable despite the risks.

When possible, our networks also connected patients with trusted physicians or safer medical resources on the ground. Telehealth cannot replace surgery, diagnostic imaging, or a physical examination, particularly during an emergency. But when conventional care is inaccessible or dangerous, remote guidance, careful triage, and resourcefulness can become an essential bridge to lifesaving care.

What inspired you to get involved in this cause?
This cause is deeply personal to me. My fiancé is Iranian and Bahá'í, and members of the Bahá'í community have endured systemic persecution, imprisonment, torture, and execution in Iran. My best friend is also Iranian, and I am half Iranian myself. I could not help but feel drawn to the plight of the Iranian people as they faced immense suffering, violence, and repression. Their pain is not distant or abstract to me — it affects the people I love and is deeply connected to my own heritage.

When I saw civilians suffering from gunshot and pellet injuries, severe bleeding, blindness, fractures, and other forms of trauma — while being unable to seek medical treatment safely — I knew my training could be useful. As a trauma and vascular interventional radiologist, I understood both the severity of their injuries and the potentially fatal consequences of delayed care.

Hospitals should be places of refuge, not places where injured people fear identification, arrest, torture, or execution. My heritage, the experiences of those closest to me, and my responsibility as a physician all compelled me to become involved.

What are your thoughts on the protests and the war going on in Iran?
I believe the protests represent the Iranian people's profound desire for freedom, dignity, bodily autonomy, and the right to live without fear. Their courage is extraordinary, particularly because speaking out can carry consequences ranging from imprisonment and torture to execution. These are not abstract political demonstrations — they are human beings risking everything to claim basic rights.

At the same time, war brings another devastating layer of suffering. Whatever the political objectives of governments may be, civilians are the ones who absorb the consequences through death, injury, displacement, psychological trauma and the destruction of essential infrastructure.

As a physician, I cannot view war only through a geopolitical lens; I think about the individual bodies and lives behind every statistic. It is also essential to distinguish the Iranian people from the government that rules them. Supporting Iranian civilians does not require supporting war, and opposing the regime's abuses does not mean accepting the suffering of innocent people as collateral damage. My hope is for an Iran in which its people can determine their own future — free from both internal repression and the devastation of war.

You also volunteer with the Physicians for Human Rights Asylum Network, conducting trauma-informed forensic evaluations of Iranian asylum seekers who report surviving torture, sexual violence, physical abuse, and psychological trauma. Can you tell us what is happening and why people should pay more attention?
In this work, I meet asylum seekers who report surviving torture, sexual violence, beatings, arbitrary detention, religious persecution, forced marriage, and other forms of abuse. Many carry visible scars, chronic pain, neurological injuries, and permanent disability.

Others live with injuries that cannot be seen — post-traumatic stress, depression, fear, shame, and the lasting psychological consequences of being persecuted by the people or institutions that were supposed to protect them. I advocate for these survivors by ensuring that their suffering and trauma are seen, carefully documented, and taken seriously.

I conduct an independent, trauma-informed medical evaluation, document the person's physical and psychological findings, and assess whether those findings are consistent with the history they report. I then provide the court with a detailed medicolegal affidavit that offers objective medical context. People should pay attention because asylum cases are not merely debates about immigration policy.

They concern individual human beings who may be returned to environments where they face renewed persecution, torture, or death. Survivors are often expected to recount the most traumatic experiences of their lives in an unfamiliar legal system, sometimes while their memory, communication, and emotional responses remain profoundly affected by that trauma. Their stories deserve to be evaluated carefully, independently, and with humanity.

Your medicolegal affidavits help document their injuries and provide courts with independent medical context as they seek protection in the United States. With the current state of affairs in the United States, are we still open to helping these people in need?
The honest answer is that the United States still has mechanisms for people seeking protection, but access to that protection has become increasingly difficult, uncertain, and politicized. Asylum seekers are often discussed as statistics, threats, or political talking points rather than as individual human beings whose lives may depend on whether they are returned to the countries they fled. America's willingness to protect persecuted people should not depend on the political climate of a particular moment. Refuge is part of the promise this country offered families like my own.

Both of my parents came to the United States as refugees seeking safety, and their ability to rebuild their lives is the reason I was able to become a physician and now serve others. We need careful legal screening and a fair, rigorous process — but fairness and security are not incompatible with compassion. Medicolegal evaluations help ensure that decisions are informed by objective evidence rather than assumptions. At a time when the asylum system is under intense pressure and scrutiny, independently documenting torture and trauma is more important, not less.

Do you have any advice for asylum seekers?
I first want to acknowledge how daunting, isolating, and emotionally exhausting the asylum process can be. Many asylum seekers are asked to navigate an unfamiliar legal system while grieving what they have lost and carrying the effects of persecution, displacement, and trauma. You deserve to have your story heard with dignity and to receive competent, compassionate support throughout that process.

Seek qualified legal representation as early as possible, because asylum law is complex and small procedural details can have enormous consequences. Be cautious about relying on unverified advice from social media or individuals who are not trained in immigration law. Preserve whatever evidence you safely can, including medical records, photographs of injuries, threatening messages, police or court documents, and the contact information of potential witnesses.

If you have physical or psychological symptoms related to what you survived, seek appropriate medical care and ask your attorney whether a forensic medical evaluation could support your case. Most importantly, tell the truth in your own words. Trauma can affect memory, concentration, and the ability to recount painful events in a perfectly chronological way.

You do not need to present your suffering flawlessly for it to be real. Be honest about what you remember, what you do not remember, and what remains difficult to discuss. The process can feel isolating and dehumanizing, but you deserve competent representation, trauma-informed care, and the opportunity to have your story heard with dignity.

Why is this work important to you?
This work is important to me because I see myself first as a humanitarian and then as a physician. As the daughter of refugees, I grew up in diverse immigrant communities alongside people whose families had escaped persecution and displacement.

In my own life, I have witnessed domestic violence and repression, and I have watched friends and others close to me live with significant trauma and PTSD. Because of these experiences, I feel a special bond with people who have endured suffering, persecution, and violence — particularly refugees, asylum seekers, and others who are marginalized or too often unseen.

I want to be a voice for those who have been silenced and unheard, especially those living with profound pain and suffering whose stories might otherwise be dismissed or forgotten. A scar is not simply a mark on the body — it may be evidence of torture, persecution, survival, and everything a person endured to reach safety.

Through medical care and forensic evaluation, I can translate those injuries into objective medical language that courts and institutions can understand. This work allows me to affirm a survivor's humanity, preserve the truth of what happened, and advocate for those who might otherwise remain invisible.

Do you have any stories you can share from your experiences?
One story that has never left me is that of a 16-year-old Iranian protester who was attacked by the IRGC with birdshot pellets and a machete-like weapon. He sustained a deep laceration to his right hand that extended to the level of the tendons and was bleeding profusely.

Despite the severity and pain of this penetrating injury, he was one of the most composed and stoic patients I had ever encountered. His mother had passed away, his father was living with cancer, and at only 16, he was caring for his younger siblings while working in construction to afford his father's chemotherapy medications.

During our video call, his first question was not about his pain or whether his hand would ever function normally again. He asked me, “When can I go back to work so I can buy my father's chemotherapy medication?” That question brought tears to my eyes. In the midst of his own pain and trauma, his first concern was still protecting and providing for his family.

His selflessness was extraordinary, but a child should never have to carry that burden. His story reflects the multigenerational consequences of violence and persecution — and the physical and psychological wounds that young people may carry for the rest of their lives.

How do you prioritize your mental health in such a physically demanding job?
I prioritize my mental health by intentionally making time for the people and activities that bring me joy and keep me grounded. One of the most important parts of that is spending meaningful time with my fiancé. We cook together, spend time in nature, take walks, and create quiet moments in which I can step away from the intensity of medicine and simply be present. He is a grounding force in my life and gives me the emotional nourishment and support to continue doing demanding work. I also love reading philosophy, which I studied and minored in during college.

It helps me reflect on meaning, suffering, resilience and how to live with intention — questions that feel especially relevant given the work I do. Art and painting are also essential to me. Anything that nourishes my creative side helps replenish the emotional energy that medicine demands. Creativity gives me a different way to process the world and provides me with renewed inspiration and fuel to continue caring for others.

Finally, I strongly value physical fitness and regularly practice Pilates and other forms of exercise. Movement helps me release stress, reconnect with my body, and maintain the physical and mental stamina my career requires.

What advice do you have for others trying to balance taking care of their mental and physical well-being?
I place tremendous value on physical well-being. Exercise is an underutilized tool for managing both mental and physical stress, particularly for those who work in trauma care or have suffered trauma in their own lives. I prioritize physical fitness and healthy eating because these habits support not only my own well-being, but also my ability to care for others. Taking care of yourself allows you to be a better physician, caregiver, partner and friend. When you protect your own physical and mental health, you have more energy, patience, and emotional capacity to show up fully for the people who depend on you.

In a world where immigration is currently such a prominent cause, how can our readers do their part in assisting those seeking refuge in the United States?
There are many meaningful ways to help, and not all of them require specialized training. Readers can support reputable refugee-resettlement and legal-aid organizations through donations or volunteer work. They can help newly arrived families with transportation, language practice, employment opportunities, housing resources, school enrollment, and navigating an unfamiliar healthcare system.

Physicians and other healthcare professionals can volunteer their expertise through organizations such as the Physicians for Human Rights Asylum Network. People can also advocate for policies that preserve due process and humane treatment, contact their elected representatives, and challenge language that reduces asylum seekers to stereotypes or statistics.

It is important to listen to refugees and amplify their voices rather than speaking over them. Sometimes the most meaningful assistance is also the most human: helping someone feel welcomed, believed, and less alone. Refuge is not only about crossing a border — it is about having the opportunity to rebuild a life with safety and dignity.

It has been a difficult few years, and we expect at least three more. How do you stay positive?
I do not think positivity requires denying how painful or frightening the world can be. For me, hope is a deliberate practice — the decision to keep contributing even when I cannot control the larger outcome. Working in trauma medicine has shown me both the fragility of life and the extraordinary resilience of human beings. I have watched patients survive injuries that initially seemed unsurvivable, and I have met people who retained their compassion despite enduring persecution, torture and profound loss.

They remind me that darkness and hope can exist at the same time. I stay grounded by focusing on what is within my reach: caring for the person in front of me, advocating for someone whose voice has been ignored, spending time with the people I love, and continuing to learn and create. I may not be able to change the entire world, but I can change one person's experience of it — and that gives me hope.

What is your motto in life?
My motto comes from Kahlil Gibran: 'Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.' I do not believe suffering is inherently noble or that every painful experience happens for a reason. But I believe we can choose what we create from it.

Pain can deepen our understanding, expand our compassion, and connect us more closely to the suffering of others. I try to transform the pain I have witnessed and experienced into purpose — and to use whatever strength, knowledge, or influence I have to make someone else's life safer, more hopeful, or less painful.

To learn more about Dr. Sarah Raza, please check out the links below:
Instagram: @doctor_zarasahara

Photo Credits: Sarah Raza

Doctor Sarah Raza on Saving Lives and Advocating for Global Human Rights