Iran’s internet has been dark for over two months now. One of the longest national shutdowns on record. It kicked off after U.S. and Israeli airstrikes on February 28, plunging 90 million people into isolation. But underground networks keep the connection alive. Smugglers pack flat white Starlink terminals, slip them across borders, hand them to those daring enough to power up. Boom. Satellite beams cut through the regime’s firewall.
Sahand packs one such device. His real name? Hidden. He spoke to the BBC outside Iran, voice tight with worry. “If even one extra person is able to access the internet, I think it’s successful and it’s worth it,” he says. He’s shipped a dozen since January. His group hunts for fresh routes daily. “We are actively looking for other ways to smuggle in more.” Fear gnaws at him. “If I was identified by the Iranian regime, they might make those I’m in touch with in Iran pay the price.”
And pay they do. Possession alone means up to two years in prison. Import more than 10? Ten years behind bars. State media boasts of busts. Four arrested last month in Jolfa County, two foreigners among them, caught hauling satellite gear. Authorities slapped on charges of weapons smuggling too, ties to enemies abroad. Digital rights tallies hit 100 arrests minimum. Yasmin, an American-Iranian whose name is changed, lost a family member to espionage claims over one terminal.
Numbers tell the scale. Human rights group Witness pegged 50,000 terminals inside Iran by January. Activists bet it’s climbed since. A Telegram channel, NasNet, moved 5,000 over 2.5 years. Multiple users share each dish. They pair it with routers, aim skyward, dodge the state’s domestic net. VPNs advised for cover, though few afford them amid economic collapse.
But the cost in blood mounts. Hesam Alaeddin, 40-year-old father of two. Beat to death in a raid. Agents found Starlink gear at his Tehran home. Resistance met brutal force. He died on the spot. Family got his body days later, forced to silence under threat. IranWire broke the story from sources close. Reza Pahlavi blasted it on X: “The brutal and criminal regime of the Islamic Republic killed Hesam Alaeddin under torture after he was reportedly arrested for using Starlink.” Days into the blackout’s 63rd at that point. One man. One terminal. Dead.
This isn’t new. January protests erupted over economic rot, a tanking rial, hardline grip. Regime killed over 6,500, nabbed 53,000 more, per HRANA. Internet choked then too. Starlink pierced it. Videos of troops firing on Tehran crowds leaked out. State TV IRIB crowed about severing 40,000 connections by January 20. Jamming. GPS spoofing. SpaceX pushed updates. Users scraped by.
Enter the U.S. Trump team smuggled roughly 6,000 terminals post-crackdown. State Department snapped up nearly 7,000, most in January. Funds yanked from VPN programs. Why? “VPNs and other internet freedom technologies… are useless when the internet is shut down,” wrote Mora Namdar, ex-head of State’s Middle East bureau, in an August memo. Trump chatted with Musk that month, nodding to Iranian access. Officials weighed risks—to them, users, even pro-regime hands on gear. Pushed ahead anyway. Tens of thousands now hum inside, per estimates. Psiphon, U.S.-funded, saw 18.4 million Iranian hits in January, but Starlink rules blackouts.
Regime fights back hard. Tiered net: domestic for basics, global throttled before. Now? White SIMs for elites, officials, state hacks. Instagram, Telegram blocked otherwise. Businesses bleed 50 trillion rials daily—$35 million. Minister admitted it in January. “Internet Pro” doles scraps to select firms. Spokeswoman Fatemeh Mohajerani insists: “The intention was to maintain business connectivity during the crisis.” Rights voices disagree. Marwa Fatafta of Access Now: “Communications blackouts are a clear violation of human rights.” Roya Boroumand adds: “An information vacuum… allows the state to broadcast its narrative.”
Tech bends but holds. Terminals run $500-$600. Elon Musk flipped the switch in 2022 after Mahsa Amini’s death sparked fury. Free access briefly during peaks. Iran builds a Huawei “national cloud,” eyeing China’s model for endless lockouts. IT expert Alireza Manafi warns: “The Islamic Republic is not afraid of sustaining the internet shutdown.” Engineer in Tehran: “We can’t even get a taxi.” Videos still slip out—to Iraq borders, smuggled SIMs, Starlink beams.
SpaceX stayed mum when BBC asked. Smugglers like Sahand fund from diaspora pockets, no state strings. Terminals go to info warriors. “The Iranian regime has proven that during a shutdown, they can kill,” Sahand says. “It is super crucial… to portray the real picture.” Blackout hit 1,100 hours this week. NetBlocks clocks connectivity at 1%. Economic hit? Billions. Protests simmer. One terminal at a time, the dark cracks.
Smugglers adapt. Risks skyrocket. Yet they pack on. Iran’s grip slips, pixel by pixel.
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