CW: This essay discusses suicide and mental health

Suicide

An Individual Crisis or a Societal Crisis in Fulfilling Responsibility?

I was watching Kiarostami’s film Taste of Cherry, a work that, in its silence and simplicity, conveys a profound message. A man with a calm face but a turbulent inner world has decided to end his life, and he searches for someone who will cover his grave with earth after his death. He speaks with different people, each offering their own perspective on life and death. But the one who truly leaves an impression is an old man, kind, pleasantly talkative, simple, and free of judgment. He only listens. That very act of unconditional listening, that judgment-free acceptance, may have been precious enough for the man to stay one more night… perhaps even to change his mind.

Abbas Kiarostami, holding the Palme d’Or he won for Taste of Cherry created by author

But in the real world, there isn’t always someone there to listen. Every suicide begins when no ear is left to hear, no gaze remains to say: you still matter. And if one human being could live, for just an hour, inside the silent nights of another, they might not ask why, but instead how they could help. At some point, we have all heard news of suicides among different groups in society: workers worn down by helplessness, students trapped in despair, doctors broken by relentless shifts, and patients left unsupported in beds of pain and suffering. Too often, suicide is labeled with words like depression or weakness, so that we can turn away from a deeper suffering. But no one makes the decision to leave in a vacuum. Every suicide is a cry that, long before, went unheard.

Image: Author’s personal archive

One night, on my way back from a walk, I saw two blind men accidentally stepping into the street. I went closer and said, “If you need help finding your way, I can help.” They told me they were looking for a medical building, but they were heading the wrong way. I walked with them. One of them, with very limited sight, held my arm, while the other, completely blind, held his friend’s hand. We walked in silence. One of them was carrying a heavy bag filled with tissue boxes, and I realized he planned to set up a small stall nearby after his appointment. I overheard that he had a daughter and had bought her a toy. I took the bag from him, and my heart grew heavy. Blind, ill, a street vendor, a father… and yet still moving forward.

All along the way, I kept thinking: How can he, in such a condition, still walk and still dream of his daughter’s future? From where does such hope arise?

Image: Author’s personal archive

That night, two conflicting questions circled in my mind: What gives one person the strength to keep going, and what pushes another to the edge of suicide? I had raised this before with various thinkers — some who condemned it outright, others who saw it, under certain circumstances, as an understandable solution. But the reflections of Dr. Jose Luis Guinot were of an entirely different nature.

He wrote that the decision to end one’s life, especially when a person is deprived of even the most basic human support, is less an individual choice than a sign of society’s failure to uphold its responsibilities. In his view, human dignity is a shared value, and when someone reaches the brink, it is not merely a personal psychological crisis; it is the mirror of systems that have silently collapsed.

Author generated photo

Now, as I write this note, I believe that sometimes a single, simple question can turn a precipice into a path forward:

How can I help?