We don't know who is being killed and injured
For the third time in less than a decade, Iran's government has severed its citizens' connections to the outside world, drawing a digital curtain around 85 million people as economic protests swell into what observers call the country's gravest civil unrest in years. The blackout — a practiced instrument of state control — is designed not merely to silence dissent but to obscure whatever follows. History offers a grim ledger: more than 300 dead in 2019, more than 500 in 2022, and now a new silence into which the world strains to hear.
- Iran cut all international internet and phone lines Thursday night, leaving 85 million citizens unreachable and the diaspora frantic for any sign their families are alive.
- The attorney general has declared protesters 'enemies of God,' a designation that carries a death sentence, raising the stakes of every act of public defiance.
- Starlink receivers — illegal to own and punishable by execution — have become the sole artery through which protest footage reaches the outside world, even as Iranian jammers degrade their signal to as little as 20 percent functionality in some regions.
- Digital rights experts are detecting widespread packet loss from Starlink devices, suggesting Iran has deployed mobile jammers beyond GPS disruption, mirroring tactics Russia attempted in Ukraine.
- Analysts warn the protests could collapse within days: without external support or a shift in momentum, state violence and enforced isolation may extinguish the unrest before the world fully registers it.
On Thursday evening, Iran's government severed all international internet and phone connections, plunging 85 million citizens into digital isolation. It was the third time the country had pulled this lever — once in 2019, when more than 300 people died during fuel-price protests, and again in 2022, when the death of Mahsa Amini in police custody sparked weeks of unrest that killed over 500. Now, with the country gripped by economic collapse and its worst civil unrest in years, the blackout had returned.
The logic was familiar: cut the flow of images and witness accounts, and the government could act with less scrutiny. The Trump administration had already warned Iran against further violence toward demonstrators. A communications blackout provided cover. By Saturday, Iran's attorney general had sharpened the threat further, declaring that anyone participating in protests would be charged as an 'enemy of God' — a designation carrying the death penalty.
For the diaspora, the silence was agonizing. Azam Jangravi, a cybersecurity expert in Toronto with family still inside Iran, found herself unable to work, her meetings postponed, her voice breaking as she described the uncertainty: knowing people were being killed and injured, but not knowing who.
One fragile lifeline remained. Starlink receivers — illegal under Iranian law and increasingly jammed by government signal disruption — had become the primary means of transmitting protest footage to the outside world. Iranian officials had estimated tens of thousands of such devices in operation before the shutdown. Now they were the only artery left. But the government was fighting back, deploying mobile jammers that digital rights experts believe go beyond GPS disruption, causing packet loss of up to 80 percent in some regions — a tactic echoing Russia's efforts in Ukraine.
The risk of using Starlink was itself potentially fatal. Possession of a receiver could bring charges of working for Israel or the United States, punishable by execution. Yet not using it meant the world would remain blind to what was unfolding. Analysts warned the window was closing fast: without some external shift in the coming days, the protests would likely be crushed under the weight of state violence and enforced silence.
On Thursday evening just after eight o'clock, Iran's government severed the digital threads connecting its 85 million citizens to the outside world. Internet lines went dark. Phone connections died. The country that had weathered international sanctions, that had found workarounds through virtual private networks and encrypted apps, suddenly went silent—cut off from the diaspora scattered across the United States, Europe, and beyond.
This was the third time Iran had pulled this particular lever. In 2019, when fuel prices spiked and people flooded the streets in anger, the government shut down connectivity and more than 300 people were killed in the crackdown that followed. Then came 2022, after Mahsa Amini died in police custody for allegedly wearing her headscarf improperly. That blackout lasted weeks. Over 500 people died. Now, with the country gripped by protests over economic collapse—the worst civil unrest the government has faced in years—the shutdown had returned.
The timing was deliberate. By cutting off the flow of images and witness accounts, the government could operate with less scrutiny. The Trump administration had already warned Iran about consequences for further deaths among demonstrators. A blackout provided cover. On Saturday, Iran's attorney general added teeth to the threat: anyone participating in protests would be labeled an "enemy of God," a charge that carries a death sentence.
For those outside Iran, the silence was unbearable. Azam Jangravi, a cybersecurity expert in Toronto whose family remained in the country, found herself unable to work. Meetings were postponed. Her voice cracked as she spoke about the anxiety of not knowing: "A lot of people are being killed and injured by the Islamic Republic of Iran, and we don't know who." The diaspora was frantic for any scrap of information, any sign that their relatives were alive.
But one lifeline remained: Starlink. The satellite internet service, never authorized by Iran's government and therefore illegal to possess, had proliferated across the country. A year earlier, Iranian officials estimated tens of thousands of receivers in operation. Some belonged to business people trying to maintain international connections. Others were now being used to transmit videos and photographs of the protests to the world. As traditional internet collapsed, Starlink became the primary artery for information flowing out of Iran.
The government was fighting back. Since a brief war with Israel the previous June, Iran had been jamming GPS signals—a tactic meant to disable drones but one that also disrupted Starlink receivers, which rely on GPS positioning to connect to the satellite constellation. By Thursday, digital rights experts were detecting packet loss of around 30 percent from Starlink devices. In some regions, the loss reached 80 percent. Amir Rashidi, a digital security specialist, believed Iran was doing more than just GPS jamming. The government appeared to be deploying mobile jammers similar to those used decades earlier to disrupt satellite television. It was the same playbook Russia had attempted in Ukraine.
Yet using Starlink carried its own lethal risk. If caught with a receiver, a person could be arrested and executed on charges of working for Israel or the United States. Not using it meant the world remained ignorant of what was happening inside Iran at a critical moment. Experts warned the window was closing. Without external support, without some shift in the next few days, the protests would likely collapse under the weight of state violence. "Unless something changes," one analyst said, "these protests can die down, too. If there's any help, it needs to come soon." The question was whether the world would find a way to listen before the silence became permanent.
Citas Notables
A lot of people are being killed and injured by the Islamic Republic of Iran, and we don't know who.— Azam Jangravi, cybersecurity expert in Toronto
Unless something changes in the next two or three days, these protests can die down. If there's any help, it needs to come soon.— Mehdi Yahyanejad, internet freedom activist
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does Iran keep doing this? It seems like it only makes things worse for them internationally.
Because in the short term, it works. A blackout stops the spread of images that might galvanize more people to join protests. It prevents the diaspora from coordinating with people inside. It gives security forces room to operate without documentation.
But Starlink is still getting through, even if it's jammed. So the blackout isn't total.
No, it's not total. But it's degraded enough that fewer people can transmit, and those who do are taking enormous personal risk. That chilling effect matters as much as the technical one.
The attorney general calling protesters "enemies of God"—that's not new language, is it?
It's not. But it's a signal. That phrase carries a specific legal weight in Iran's system. It's the government saying: we will execute you for this, and we will call it justice.
So the diaspora is essentially helpless right now.
Mostly, yes. They can't reach their families. They can't verify who's alive. They're watching a blackout and imagining the worst. That anxiety itself is part of the tool.
What happens if Starlink gets completely jammed?
Then the world loses its window into what's happening. The protests either continue in invisibility, or they collapse. Either way, the government controls the narrative of what occurred.