‘Like Walking on a Razor’s Edge’: Iran’s Deadly Palm Harvest

One slip means death.

Mokhtar wraps his worn leather belt around a tall palm tree and begins to climb, his 65-year-old hands gripping the rough bark of a trunk as high as a seven-story building.

In the blazing heat of southern Iran, he climbs without any safety gear - just as his father and grandfather did before him.

“A tall palm tree means danger is closer,” said Mokhtar, who has worked in the date groves of Bushehr province for over 40 years. “The smallest mistake can lead to a fall.”

Palm tree gardening is among the most dangerous agricultural jobs in Iran, claiming the lives of dozens of workers each year. Laborers climb trees as tall as apartment buildings using basic tools and no safety equipment.

The job, once passed down from father to son, now struggles to attract young Iranians. As a result, orchard owners increasingly hire Afghan migrants willing to risk their lives for very low pay.

During harvest season, temperatures soar above 40C degrees as gardeners toil while picking fruits in the provinces of Bushehr, Khuzestan, and Hormozgan.

Workers climb each tree three to four times per season, balancing on leather belts while carrying date clusters weighing up to 20 kilograms.

“There’s hardly a month when a gardener doesn’t fall from a palm tree,” Mokhtar said. “Death may happen once a year, and I’ve witnessed it myself.”

In southern Iran, palm trees are more than agriculture - they are deeply woven into regional identity.

Families plant a palm for each newborn child, and the trees are seen as symbols of human life itself.

Unlike other trees that regenerate when cut, palm trees die if their crowns are severed, much like humans.

The date harvest has sustained local economies for centuries, but the profession now faces an existential crisis.

Young Iranians are increasingly rejecting this dangerous, seasonal work, which offers no insurance, limited income, and a high risk of injury or death.

“Young people no longer have an interest in this work,” Mokhtar said. “Climbing palm trees is the hardest job among all fruit-bearing trees.”

The physical demands are intense. During the peak season from March through September, experienced climbers scale 20 to 40 trees each day.

Each tree takes 10 to 30 minutes of labor, depending on its height and the task at hand - whether pollination in spring, pruning in early summer, or harvesting dates in late summer.

Sharp palm thorns can blind workers during pollination. Heavy date clusters fall during pruning.

The combination of extreme heat and perilous heights regularly sends gardeners to hospitals with heatstroke, broken bones, or worse.

“Just this year, a 70-year-old gardener fell from a palm tree, and a helicopter had to be dispatched from Bushehr,” Mokhtar said. “His leg ended up completely paralyzed.”

As Iranian youth abandon the profession, Afghan migrants have filled the labor gap.

According to orchard owners, more than 60 per cent of palm grove workers now come from Afghanistan. This reflects a broader trend that sees nearly one million of Iran’s five million Afghan nationals work in agriculture.

Only 200,000 of these Afghan agricultural workers have official permits. The rest labor without legal protections, insurance, or job security.

Gol Mohammad, 25, and his 24-year-old brother Kavir are part of this shift. They arrived from Afghanistan ten years ago with no gardening experience, but now climb 30 to 40 palm trees a day during harvest season.

“Afghan workers only work for money - they do whatever work they’re given,” Gol Mohammad said. “We had no experience with gardening in Afghanistan. 

Now, most palm groves are run by Afghan workers.”

Their foreman, Abdul Jamil, coordinates with orchard owners to distribute workers across the region.

Gol Mohammad works alongside his brother and two cousins, earning 100,000 to 110,000 tomans ($1.20 to $1.34) per tree during the five-month season.

“Afghan workers both work more and operate faster,” he said.

Neither Iranian nor Afghan palm workers receive insurance, leaving them completely exposed to the profession’s many risks.

Fewer than 5 per cent of orchard owners use mechanical lifts due to cost constraints, forcing continued reliance on traditional climbing methods that have remained unchanged for centuries.

Workers still use the same leather belts and simple tools as their forebears. This basic equipment offers no protection from falls, heatstroke, or other hazards.

“We don’t have any real or modern safety equipment,” Mokhtar said. “That makes every day atop a palm tree feel like walking on a razor’s edge.”

The lack of legal protections particularly affects Afghan workers, many of whom lack documentation. If injured, they receive no compensation or medical care.

“We don’t have insurance,” Gol Mohammad said. “If something happens, no one is accountable. If you lose your foot or hand or become paralyzed - it’s all on you.”

The seasonal nature of palm work compounds the economic insecurity. During the off-season, workers must find other jobs, often in construction or other types of agriculture.

For aging Iranian workers like Mokhtar, who once climbed 40 to 50 trees a day in morning and evening shifts, advancing age has reduced his capacity to just 20 trees each morning.

Despite the risks, economic necessity forces both Iranian and Afghan workers to continue this dangerous profession.

For Afghans fleeing conflict and economic collapse in their homeland, even hazardous work in Iran’s palm groves offers better prospects than war or unemployment.

“Any work, with any wage and danger, is better than fighting or being in a war,” Gol Mohammad said. “That’s why we prefer Iran, despite all its difficulties.”

The economic pressures extend to orchard owners, who also face financial strain. Rising costs make safety improvements unaffordable, while the seasonal nature of date production limits profitability.

The reliance on low-cost Afghan labor helps sustain the industry but also entrenches unsafe working conditions.

Iranian workers express frustration over both economic hardships and the lack of institutional support for such a dangerous profession.

“These palm trees are like life to us,” Mokhtar said. “But no institution protects us. The orchard owner can’t - he lacks the financial means. And the gardener can’t either.”

The transformation of Iran’s palm grove workforce reflects broader shifts in the country’s agricultural sector, where dangerous, labor-intensive jobs increasingly fall to vulnerable migrant workers who are willing to accept substandard conditions.

For traditional Iranian families, the change marks the end of an era. Palm tree gardening, once a cherished family tradition, is vanishing due to economic pressure and safety concerns.

“Although the number of palm trees has increased compared to our childhood and youth, young people are no longer interested in this work,” Mokhtar said.

The profession’s future now depends largely on Afghan workers operating in legal gray areas, without protections or guarantees.

Their willingness to accept hazardous conditions for meager pay keeps the industry alive but raises urgent questions about labor rights and worker safety.