Iran’s Health Ministry says milk consumption in the country has dropped to less than half the recommended level, warning of rising nutritional risks amid falling purchasing power and food insecurity.
Ahmad Esmailzadeh, head of the ministry’s Nutrition Improvement Office, said on Sunday that high prices have driven dairy consumption to record lows, while malnutrition, obesity, and vitamin deficiencies are worsening.
He added that the government plans to resume the long-suspended school milk distribution program within two weeks to support children’s nutrition.
Over 120,000 deaths each year in Iran are linked to diet-related illnesses such as high blood pressure, diabetes, and obesity, according to ministry data.
Nearly one in five children is overweight, and up to 70% of Iranians suffer from vitamin D deficiency, Esmailzadeh said.
According to UN Food and Agriculture Organization data, Iran’s per capita dairy consumption fell from 101 kg in 2010 to 70 kg in 2023, less than half the global average.
The decline reflects a broader collapse in household food spending as inflation and sanctions-driven poverty deepen. Meat consumption has dropped 17% over the past decade, and calorie intake has fallen 22% since 2010.
Industry officials say milk exports have surged more than 500% in recent years as domestic demand collapses, following the government’s suspension of free milk distribution in schools during the mid-2010s.
The three villages are Shafiabad in Kerman Province, Kandolus in Mazandaran Province and Soheili on Qeshm Island. Together, they represent Iran’s northern forests, central deserts and southern coasts.
Shafiabad, located on the edge of the Lut Desert, is known for its Qajar-era caravanserai and the surrounding sand dunes and “kaluts,” the wind-shaped desert formations that draw travelers and photographers from around the world.
Kandolus, in the green slopes of the Alborz Mountains, is famous for its traditional stone houses, handicrafts, and hiking trails through the Hyrcanian forests. With thousands of years of history, it is one of northern Iran’s oldest rural settlements and a model for cultural tourism.
Soheili, a coastal village on Qeshm Island, has become a leader in eco-tourism and community-based conservation, according to the Iranian Tourism Organization.
Villagers help protect the Hara Mangrove Forests, promote quiet and clean boating, and welcome visitors with local seafood, crafts, and star-filled night skies.
UN Tourism’s “Best Tourism Villages” program honors rural destinations that protect their natural environment, celebrate local traditions, and create opportunities for local communities.
“Our Best Tourism Villages 2025 highlight communities that are working to safeguard their cultural heritage, preserve their natural resources and create economic opportunities through tourism,” UN Tourism Secretary General Zurab Pololikashvili said in a statement.
In total, 52 villages from Africa, the Americas, Asia, Europe and the Middle East received the recognition, selected from over 270 applications from 65 UN Tourism Member States.
For eighty-four years, he lived between art and truth and chose the latter as his art.
When he could no longer make films because Iran's theocratic system would not let him, he endured in silence. That moral stillness, that refusal, will grant him a kind of immortality no monument could.
It might sound sentimental, but it’s no small thing to hold on to principles that offer no promise of survival: to keep saying no to censor when yes could buy you comfort.
Most people take the deal and call it success. For Taghvai, success meant honesty, even if it meant silence. He chose to stop working than betray the essence of his work and bow to censors.
For years, he chose quiet over compromise, teaching instead of directing, living modestly but faithfully to an idea of cinema that no longer seemed to belong to this world.
'Found freedom' in death
Taghvai died on October 14, 2025. The modern world—obsessed with visibility, market value, and the algorithmic myth of individuality—has little patience for those who stand apart.
Everyone believes they are unique; artists are sure of it. But there is a difference between those who merely believe it and those who live it. Most pass through history collecting, as Andy Warhol once put it, their fifteen minutes of fame.
Others—those like Nasser Taghvai—shape history from within.
His wife, the filmmaker Marzieh Vafamehr, announced his passing with a single, luminous sentence: “Nasser Taghvai, the artist who chose the difficulty of living free, has found freedom.”
That line captures him entirely: liberation through honesty, not survival through compromise.
The smell of oil and the sea
Taghvai was born in 1941 in Abadan, a city poised between refinery and sea—between modernity and tradition. The geography of the south shaped his eyes: the heat, the salt, the rhythm of labor and myth.
He studied Persian literature at the University of Tehran, but it was life, not books, that made him a filmmaker.
His early documentaries of the 1960s, such as Wind of Jinn (1969), were meditations on fear, faith, and freedom. For him, cinema was never entertainment; it was knowledge in motion. He helped forge the Iranian New Wave, replacing sentimentality with silence, rhythm, and thought.
In Tranquility in the Presence of Others (1970), he dissected authoritarian family structures so precisely it was banned. In Sadegh Kordeh (1972), he brought Iran’s forgotten peripheries to the center. In My Uncle Napoleon (1976), he revealed—through humor and tenderness—a society haunted by its own mistrust.
After the 1979 Revolution, in a suffocating climate of censorship, he made Captain Khorshid (1985), a southern reimagining of Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not. A parable of courage and dignity, it won the Locarno Prize and remains one of Iran’s cinematic masterpieces.
Later came Hey Iran, a satire that turned laughter into rebellion, and Paper Without Lines, a meditation on imagination and identity.
“When I cannot tell the truth, I don’t make films”
His final project, Bitter Tea, about the Iran–Iraq War, was shut down. His response was austere and unforgettable: “When I cannot tell the truth, I don’t make films.”
For Taghvai, not making a film was itself an act of art—a decision against deception.
Across his work, one theme persisted: resistance to power and deceit. In Tranquility in the Presence of Others, madness defies authority.
In Captain Khorshid, honor resists betrayal. In Hey Iran, laughter dismantles militarism.
His cinema was intellectual yet humane, philosophical yet popular. He never mocked his audience; he invited them to think.
“The camera is not just an eye; It’s a conscience”
Taghvai was not only a filmmaker but a teacher of filmmakers. For him, cinema was not a profession but a way of perceiving. Generations of Iranian directors learned from his credo “the camera is not just an eye—it’s a conscience.”
He lived between presence and absence: present in his images, absent in his long silences. He refused to lie for visibility, to flatter power for memory, or to compromise for survival. “Art that isn’t honest isn’t art,” he once said.
In a world where art is often reduced to advertisement, he proved that honesty is the hardest, most enduring form of resistance. Even in stillness, he made the loudest noise.
His death is not just a farewell to a filmmaker. It is an invitation to remember that independence in art means standing against power without shouting — to be quiet, and yet remain unforgettable.
