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APHRA in Australia 🇦🇺 are criminals. The Misdeeds of AHPRA As suicides mount and doctors face increasing persecution, calls for an investigation into Australia’s medical regulator intensify. Maryanne Demasi, PhD May 12 On 3 May 2025, I attended a conference where almost 200 people—doctors, lawyers, policy advisers, politicians, whistleblowers, patients, and grieving families—gathered to confront the damage being inflicted by Australia’s most feared medical regulator. Under the guise of protecting the public, the Australian Health Practitioner Regulation Agency (AHPRA) has fostered a climate of fear within the medical profession, bullying doctors, driving them to quit, and contributing to a growing number of suicides. The event, The Misdeeds of AHPRA, was convened in Sydney by surgeon Dr Niro Sivathasan, backed by the Australian Medical Professionals’ Society (AMPS) and the Australian Doctors’ Federation, under the ‘Accountability Australia’ banner. Dr Niro Sivathasan, surgeon For many, it marked the first chance to speak openly about how AHPRA has destroyed careers, upended lives, and torn families apart. Even so, many doctors were too frightened to attend, fearing retaliation from AHPRA. This spoke volumes about the oppressive atmosphere within Australia’s medical profession, where speaking out can lead to severe consequences. The growing exodus of doctors, unable to withstand the constant harassment, highlights a profession increasingly defined by fear rather than a commitment to medical care. A culture of fear Throughout the day, speaker after speaker revealed the corrosive effect of AHPRA’s unchecked authority. Doctors spoke of practising medicine without clinical freedom to truly benefit their patients – operating instead under the looming shadow of surveillance. “Doctors are petrified,” one said to me quietly. “We’re no longer making decisions based on our medical judgement. We are busy trying to avoid triggering an investigation.” Plastic surgeon Dr Peter Callan described living in “terror” of being reported—despite never having been investigated himself. His fear, he explained, stemmed from watching colleagues punished for what seemed like minor issues or technicalities, despite their best efforts to comply with regulatory directives. Dr Peter Callan, plastic surgeon He recounted the case of a colleague who had been instructed to delete certain social media posts to comply with new cosmetic surgery guidelines, which the colleague did. However, unbeknownst to them, one image remained accessible online because it had been stored, or "cached," on AHPRA’s servers. This image was later cited as evidence of non-compliance, despite the colleague fully adhering to the instructions. “There was no complaint and – most importantly – no patient was harmed,” said Dr. Callan, horrified by AHPRA’s overreach. From where I sat in the audience, this was not an isolated case—it was a recurring pattern: doctors penalised for minor infractions, technicalities, or, worse, for exercising independent clinical judgement. This kind of overreach not only drains time and resources but also shifts the focus from addressing genuine, harmful practices to chasing “low-hanging fruit.” Lawyer, and former AHPRA investigator, David Gardner, gave a sobering account of what he’d witnessed on the inside. “There are incredible delays. I’ve seen doctors suspended for four or five years before they even get a hearing,” he said. David Gardner, lawyer After raising concerns about AHPRA’s internal shortcomings, including the weaponisation of the complaints process, Gardner left the agency in early 2019. Now, he legally represents doctors caught in a regulatory process that is often arbitrary, secretive, and devoid of due process. During the breaks, my conversations became more candid. Several doctors told me that the complaints process has become a tool for professional sabotage. “If you want to take out your competition,” one told me, “Just get online and lodge a complaint, it’s that simple.” No evidence is required to initiate an investigation, and once inside the system, doctors often find there is no clear path out. But why would AHPRA do this to its own? What’s the motivation? I asked several doctors, and the answers were strikingly similar. “AHPRA is on a power trip” one said. “They’re just trying to justifying the rising registration fees.” Others pointed to the agency’s internal metrics. “They’ve got KPIs to meet,” one added. “So, they manufacture targets.” Power without accountability Vivek Eranki, a doctor turned businessman, revealed that AHPRA spends $15 million annually on legal action—against the very doctors who fund it through registration fees. The agency, he said, has “unlimited scope” and “no accountability” when pursuing investigations. There’s no standard of evidence required to launch a case. No clear end point. Just an opaque system that grinds down the profession. Dr Vivek Eranki, a doctor turned businessman Several speakers spoke of the growing danger in how the regulator enforces centralised directives—especially during the Covid-19 pandemic. On 9 March 2021, AHPRA issued a directive warning that anyone who “undermined” the national Covid vaccine rollout risked “investigation and possible regulatory action.” It marked a turning point. “From then on, doctors were too scared to make independent clinical decision,” one said. “You were expected to follow instructions from bureaucrats—not inform your patients and allow them to make up their own minds.” A retired doctor called it a “fundamental breach of the doctor–patient relationship.” The expectation was no longer to practise medicine—but to obey even when it conflicted with the well-established medical tenets such as informed consent, patient autonomy, beneficence and non-maleficence. Double standards and political targeting Lawyer Katie Ashby-Koppens, who has represented doctors undergoing AHPRA investigations, exposed the stark inconsistency in how the regulator applies its standards. She cited the case of anaesthetist Dr Peter James, who infected 55 patients with hepatitis C. Despite clear warning signs and known drug use, AHPRA failed to act effectively to prevent the harm he caused to patients - its core duty. “It was not AHPRA’s monitoring of the doctor that identified the outbreak,” Ashby-Koppens pointed out. “It was discovered by chance through Victoria’s Department of Health surveillance hepatitis C cases.” Katie Ashby-Koppens, lawyer By contrast, other doctors were sanctioned for far less. Ashby-Koppens described a case where a doctor treated a Covid-positive patient at home (who refused vaccination) with intravenous vitamins and off-label medications such as ivermectin. There was no complaint. The patient consented. No harm was done. And yet, the doctor was immediately suspended - all because a doctor made a clinical decision in consultation with a patient that veered from an AHPRA directive. “It’s about narrative enforcement. It’s about regulatory overreach. And it’s about the shift from patient-centred care to protocol-enforced compliance. That shift is happening globally,” said Ashby-Koppens. The human toll The most harrowing moment of the day came when Mei Khing Loo stood to speak. A widow. A mother of three. Her voice trembled as she addressed the audience—many of whom already knew of her late husband, obstetrician Dr Yen-Yung Yap. For years, Dr Yap had endured a string of vexatious complaints—none of which were ever substantiated. And yet, AHPRA imposed harsh restrictions on his medical license during the investigation - including barring him from attending emergency baby deliveries without supervision. The impact was devastating. It made it virtually impossible for him to practise. The investigation dragged on for years—opaque, demoralising, and psychologically brutal. It shattered his confidence, isolated him professionally, and plunged their family into emotional and financial despair. Mei tried to recount what happened, but struggled to speak through her sobs. The room was silent, gripped by her grief. Audience members wiped away tears as she broke down—overwhelmed not just by loss, but by the system’s indifference. Mei-Khing Loo “I share my story … because my husband’s life, and his untimely death, deserve to mean something,” she wept. On Father’s Day in 2020, Dr Yap died by suicide in Adelaide’s Kuitpo Forest. In his final letter to AHPRA, he warned that their process was destroying lives. The agency never responded. “To this day, I am still waiting for answers,” said Mei. “AHPRA has swept the case under the carpet, refusing to provide any outcome. That is not just an insult to my husband’s memory—it is a betrayal of every healthcare professional who has suffered under this broken system.” Family friend Wayne Duffy explained how he has tried for years to advocate on their behalf. He wrote to ministers, ombudsmen, regulators—even Safe Work Australia. Each time, the reply was the same: “It’s not our responsibility.” The case has been handballed from agency to agency, each one passing the buck—each unwilling to face the consequences of what happened. A system of suppression Physician and vaccine researcher Professor Nikolai Petrovsky, spoke of his experience developing a Covid-19 vaccine that was approved overseas but rejected in Australia. His university punished him for refusing the government-approved vaccine—despite having taken his own. Appearing as an expert witness in legal challenges against mandates, also made him a target. He described a complex web of interlocking bureaucracies with opaque structures and political allegiances. Professor Nikolai Petrovsky Listening to the stories, the pattern became undeniable. Dissenters weren’t just investigated. They were discredited, shunned, and left defenceless by institutions that once upheld academic freedom and medical ethics. As I sat in the room, what struck me wasn’t just the pain—but the precision. The way the media, regulators, and public institutions moved in lockstep to crush those who dared to question. As Petrovsky put it, “It’s not David and Goliath. It’s David and 50 Goliaths.” A regulator unwilling to answer Dr Duncan Syme, president of AMPS, described AHPRA’s conduct as “egregious overreach.” He warned that the profession is haemorrhaging doctors—good doctors—because they no longer feel safe. That exodus, he said, has ripple effects: fewer mentors for junior doctors, fewer options for patients, and a healthcare system in decline. Dr Duncan Syme, president of AMPS One in 20 doctors is reported to AHPRA each year. One in five will be investigated during their career. Even those exonerated are often left with reputational scars that never fully heal. AHPRA’s own internal review revealed that over a four-year period, it had handled 20 serious cases, 16 of which resulted in deaths. Of these, 12 were confirmed suicides, while 4 were considered likely suicides. “Any other organisation with that many reported deaths would face prosecution,” said Duffy. “And yet, AHPRA just wipes its hands of it.” There were many proposals for reform. Statutory time limits on investigations, decentralising power to the states, electing an independent board - even a Royal Commission was floated, but legal experts warned that if its scope was too narrow, it would be a whitewash. For nearly its entire existence, AHPRA was led by Martin Fletcher. He very recently stepped down and was succeeded by Justin Untersteiner. Justin Untersteiner, current CEO AHPRA Despite repeated invitations from Dr Sivathasan, Untersteiner declined to attend the event—and eventually ceased all engagement. It was a missed opportunity to signal a cultural reset and to lead with transparency, as Dr Sivathasan had urged. Untersteiner’s absence did not go unnoticed. The regulator at the centre of this crisis had refused to face the very people whose lives it had irrevocably altered. Silence is no longer an option As the conference drew to a close, one message echoed with clarity and conviction: silence has served its time. “To remain silent is to be complicit,” Dr Sivathasan told the audience. AHPRA has long operated in the shadows—behind closed hearings, sealed documents, and anonymous complaints—running what many have described as ‘kangaroo courts’ shielded from public scrutiny. Now, thanks in part to Dr. Sivathasan’s efforts and networks, politicians from across the political spectrum are starting to take notice. It is increasingly clear that AHPRA has adopted a punitive model of regulation—one that serves the institution, not the healthcare professionals on the front lines, and certainly not the patients it claims to protect. The medical community may not yet have justice, but this event marked a turning point—a collective refusal to look the other way. © 2025