Dr. Khaled Walid Mahmoud
There are moments in history when cities are not defeated by fire alone, but by the moment the signal goes dark. A fleeting instant separates a world that breathes through the network from a world that is locked from within… in silence. A screen that no longer refreshes, messages that never arrive, maps that stop working, and a connection cut as if someone pulled the air from a nation’s lungs. In such moments, the internet ceases to be merely a “service” and becomes a parallel life upon which real life depends. Whoever holds the power switch is not merely disconnecting a network—they are cutting off people’s right to witness, to organize, and to tell the truth as it is.
This is precisely what the Iranian scene reveals today with striking clarity. Data collected by the global internet monitoring observatory NetBlocks indicates that the country is experiencing a near-total nationwide internet blackout, coinciding with ongoing protests in Tehran and other cities such as Mashhad and Isfahan. According to the real-time indicators published by the observatory, internet traffic has dropped to around one percent of its normal levels. This means roughly ninety-nine percent of connectivity has effectively halted, leaving millions of users in almost complete digital isolation, while access to international networks remains suspended or severely crippled across most regions.
Here, the outage is not a side effect of the crisis-it is part of its very structure. In moments of protest, the internet becomes an artery for mobilization, coordination, and information-sharing, as well as a platform for documentation that carries the image from inside to the outside world and enables protesters to bypass the official narrative. For this reason, authorities treat the network as a battlefield in its own right—no less important than the streets. The objective of shutting it down is not simply to disable apps and platforms, but to paralyze the digital public sphere itself: to prevent the formation of a counter-narrative, weaken coordination, and, above all, reduce the chances of monitoring repression and exposing it publicly.
Against this digital shutdown, a recurring question emerges: how can one break isolation when the network becomes a tool of political and security control? Here, the name of billionaire Elon Musk and the Starlink service returns to the forefront once again, amid widespread circulation of reports suggesting that satellite internet could provide an alternative to terrestrial networks controlled by the state. Yet the story goes deeper than a mere “technical fix.” A system that began as a project to deliver internet to remote areas has, in recent years, become a strategic asset in wars and protest arenas—an instrument that disrupts the very idea of sovereignty as we have traditionally understood it.
Looking back, when Russian forces invaded Ukraine in 2022, Starlink’s decisive role became clearer than ever. As traditional communication networks were destroyed or disrupted under the weight of war, Ukrainians faced a dual threat: a direct battlefield threat, and the threat of disconnection that could fracture the state’s administrative and military cohesion at a critical moment. At that point, Starlink became something like a “connectivity lifeline,” linking frontlines, essential services, and emergency centers to the internet, keeping the state functioning under bombardment.
By early 2025, tens of thousands of Starlink terminals had been delivered to the Ukrainian army through joint financing by SpaceX and Western allies. Beyond basic communication, the system became part of the operational infrastructure, helping connect units, guide drones, and support real-time targeting. Ukrainian officials publicly thanked Musk for keeping connectivity alive during what they described as the harshest periods. Starlink thus moved from being a service to becoming critical infrastructure in wartime.
Its presence then expanded beyond battlefields. After the Tonga volcano eruption in January 2022 cut the islands off from the internet, Musk donated Starlink terminals to cover remote areas until communication cables were repaired. During Turkey’s earthquake in 2023, the service was offered as an emergency solution when networks faltered—but Ankara declined the offer and relied on its domestic infrastructure, for sovereignty and control-related reasons. In the Gaza war of 2023, when Israeli bombardment caused communications blackouts, Musk proposed activating Starlink for international aid organizations. The proposal was met with sharp Israeli warnings and threats to take measures to prevent the service from operating without official approval. Starlink also expanded its satellite internet services across Africa, announcing availability in 18 countries by March 2025, in a move aimed at strengthening digital infrastructure on a continent with deep connectivity gaps. These examples do not merely show that Starlink can “restore the internet”—they reveal that it has become a political and security pressure point, and that connectivity itself has become part of power calculations. In Iran, the idea quickly evolved into a complex underground market reality. During the protests of 2022–2023, a black market for Starlink devices emerged after the United States granted an exceptional license allowing service activation over Iran despite the absence of any local authorization. Activist networks abroad raced to smuggle devices into the country through neighboring states and unofficial routes. Due to risks and scarcity, prices inside Iran soared, sometimes exceeding three times the global price. But regimes do not view a “window” as a detail—they see it as a threat. Iranian authorities therefore tracked devices and confiscated them when discovered, charging individuals found in possession with holding smuggled goods. Penalties could escalate to more severe levels if the case was linked to accusations of espionage.
This sensitivity is not confined to Iran. Russia officially banned Starlink in 2021 and threatened fines against individuals and companies, framing it as a Western project that undermines digital sovereignty. China, in addition to refusing to grant an operating license, views its global expansion with concern as a national security threat. Research discussions have emerged around potential methods to disrupt or target Starlink satellites if needed. What these positions share is that major states do not perceive Starlink as merely a communications service—but as a political force capable of penetrating sovereign space.
At the heart of this transformation lies an even more sensitive paradox: Starlink does not only empower states and peoples—it grants unprecedented power to its owner. Elon Musk, by controlling a satellite communications system, has placed himself in the position of a decision-maker influencing highly complex conflicts. In Ukraine, despite the system’s vital role, reports revealed that he restricted its use for offensive purposes at certain times and refused to activate coverage in sensitive areas to avoid escalation. Regardless of how one interprets his motives, the outcome is profoundly political: the decision of one individual can impact the course of military operations or determine access to connectivity in a pivotal moment. This raises urgent questions about the neutrality of critical infrastructure, the limits of private-sector influence, and who has the right to control the “keys to communication” when connectivity becomes a matter of national security. Ultimately, the Iranian protests, what NetBlocks documented, and Starlink’s return to prominence cannot be reduced to a conventional confrontation between a government and protesters, nor to a technical contest between a state that shuts down the network and a system that seeks to bypass it. We are witnessing a structural shift in the very nature of conflict itself—where cyberspace has become an arena in which legitimacy battles are waged, narratives are constructed, and the boundaries of sovereignty are tested.
Based on all of the above, this scene reveals that connectivity is no longer a technical luxury—it has become a key instrument of power in times of upheaval. Between a decision that isolates a country on the ground and a decision that reconnects it to the world from the sky, the most urgent question remains: who governs connectivity when the internet becomes a weapon?
— The writer is a researcher specialising in cyber politics, holding a PhD on the topic of “Cyberspace and Power Shifts in International Relations.”
The writer is a researcher specializing in cyber politics, holding a PhD on the topic of “Cyberspace and Power Shifts in International Relations.”
