Why billionaires in orbit must help connect the disconnected before authoritarianism closes the sky
In 2025, the world crossed an invisible line. For the first time, nearly half of humanity lived under governments that deliberately shut down or throttled internet access for political purposes.
It happened in Iran, where the regime cut off entire provinces amid protests sparked by the death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini in police custody. It happened in Afghanistan, where the Taliban enforced a 48-hour nationwide blackout under the guise of stopping “immoral acts.” It happened in Myanmar, Ethiopia, India, and Russia, each deploying the same tool: silence.
These shutdowns were not accidents or temporary failures of infrastructure — they were policy. A new weapon in the authoritarian arsenal.
And yet, as governments around the world pull plugs, corporations are racing to build new ones — not underground, but overhead. Thousands of satellites now form shimmering grids across the night sky, promising connectivity that no government can censor and no border can contain.
It sounds like freedom. But it may also be the next frontier of inequality — unless we rethink who owns the orbit and who benefits from it.
The War on the Internet
The first internet shutdowns were rare and clumsy — Egypt’s regime famously unplugged the country for five days during the Arab Spring. Today, they are surgically precise.
According to Access Now, there were 182 government-ordered internet shutdowns across 34 countries in 2021, a record that has since been broken each year. Freedom House’s 2024 “Freedom on the Net” report found that online freedom has declined for the 14th consecutive year. Only 17 countries can now be classified as having a truly “free” internet.
The consequences go far beyond inconvenience. When Iran’s network went dark in 2022, families couldn’t locate loved ones. Journalists were cut off. Doctors in Kurdish hospitals lost access to telemedicine systems. When the Taliban flicked the switch in Afghanistan in 2025, it grounded flights and silenced entire provinces.
As Pavel Durov, founder of Telegram, warned in October 2025: “The world is running out of time to save the free internet.”
The Billionaires Who Want to Save It
The hope for a censorship-proof internet now comes from above.
In low-Earth orbit, private constellations of satellites are transforming space into the new information superhighway. SpaceX’s Starlink, Amazon’s Project Kuiper, and Eutelsat-OneWeb have become household names — not just in Silicon Valley but in war zones and blackout regions.
Starlink’s network has exploded to more than 8,000 active satellites as of late 2025. It already proved its worth in Ukraine, where it kept hospitals, journalists, and rescue teams connected even as Russia targeted communications infrastructure.
Amazon’s Project Kuiper plans a network of 3,236 satellites by 2032, while OneWeb, merged with Europe’s Eutelsat, operates 648 satellites with coverage focused on enterprise and government clients.
And the technology keeps evolving. In 2025, SpaceX and T-Mobile launched a direct-to-cell service, allowing ordinary LTE phones to connect directly to satellites without terminals or dishes — a feature that could soon make censorship technically impossible. The service, expected to cost around $10–15 per month, would allow texting and voice in the remotest corners of Earth.
In theory, it’s the perfect antidote to authoritarian control: an uncensorable internet that no regime can shut down.
But in practice, it comes with its own price — environmental, ethical, and political.
The Hidden Costs of the Satellite Boom
Every Starlink satellite has a lifespan of about five years. To prevent orbital congestion, SpaceX “deorbits” 1–2 satellites per day, sending them to burn up in the upper atmosphere. By 2028, that rate could double. Each satellite releases around 30 kilograms of aluminum oxide upon re-entry — a compound that scientists warn could deplete ozone and alter atmospheric chemistry.
The U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) has begun studying how satellite re-entries affect climate, and early findings suggest the cumulative impact could rival that of major volcanic events if the current launch rate continues.
Then there’s the light pollution crisis. Astronomers now report that up to 10% of long-exposure astronomical images are ruined by satellite streaks. Research published in Nature Astronomy and The Astronomical Journal calls mega-constellations a “serious threat” to ground-based research. The effect isn’t just scientific — it’s cultural. Indigenous communities, astrophotographers, and stargazers alike are losing access to the natural night sky, a shared heritage of humankind.
Even the debris problem has a moral dimension. Most re-entries occur near the equator — over poorer nations that neither profit from nor regulate these constellations. The environmental risks fall on those least connected to the internet they enable.
The Legal Vacuum Above
Under the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, space is a “global commons” — not owned by any nation, and meant to benefit all humankind. But the treaty, drafted long before private spaceflight, never anticipated an era when billionaires would effectively privatize low-Earth orbit.
Today, corporations act as de facto space states. They decide who gets access to the sky, how fast data moves, and even who can afford a connection. They profit from a resource that belongs to everyone while externalizing the costs to everyone else.
And yet, the political world seems unwilling — or unequipped — to hold them accountable. Western governments that once led the fight for internet freedom now negotiate privately with the very companies they once regulated. Talks between the Biden administration and Elon Musk over providing Starlink access to Iran, for instance, collapsed in 2023 amid security disputes and sanctions.
The result is a vacuum — moral, legal, and literal — in which orbital monopolies thrive while those most in need of connection remain offline.
Tax the Orbit, Not the Income
If these companies are using a global commons, they should contribute to it. But instead of taxing them in dollars — which governments might misuse — we could tax them in service.
Imagine a global rule requiring every satellite internet provider to supply a baseline level of free, low-bandwidth access — enough for text, emergency messages, and news — to anyone, anywhere. Think of it as a digital public utility: not a handout, but a condition of doing business in space.
Such a model could be regulated by the International Telecommunication Union (ITU) or the UN Office for Outer Space Affairs (UNOOSA), with NGOs verifying delivery in repressed or remote regions. Direct-to-cell technology makes this feasible. A small share of each company’s bandwidth could support “lifeline access” for those trapped behind digital walls.
In return, providers would gain tax incentives, spectrum rights, and international goodwill — the modern equivalent of a “corporate social responsibility” clause for orbit.
It would also fulfill the humanitarian spirit of the Outer Space Treaty: ensuring that the exploration and use of space are carried out “for the benefit and in the interests of all countries.”
The Billionaires’ Moral Debt
The irony is that the same billionaires who promise global connectivity often treat it as a commodity rather than a right. Musk charges wartime governments for access; Amazon markets Kuiper to luxury yachts; OneWeb sells bandwidth to airlines. Connectivity for the few, pollution for the many.
This is not liberation — it’s enclosure.
By demanding that satellite operators provide a minimum level of free access, we wouldn’t be punishing innovation. We’d be ensuring that those who profit from the sky also protect the freedom that the sky once symbolized.
After all, these companies already acknowledge their responsibility to prevent orbital debris. Under U.S. Federal Communications Commission (FCC) rules introduced in 2023, they must deorbit dead satellites within five years. That’s a form of environmental taxation — a recognition that shared space comes with shared duty.
The same logic must now apply to connectivity itself.
A Sky Full of Promises
As we move toward an age where the internet beams down from the heavens rather than up from the ground, the moral question isn’t whether we can build a free internet — it’s whether we can build a fair one.
A future where satellites provide lifeline communication during crackdowns, natural disasters, or humanitarian crises is within reach. But it will only happen if those who own the infrastructure see freedom not as a business model, but as a service obligation.
We already “tax” the rich through their wealth. Perhaps it’s time to tax them through their access to the stars.
Because if they are going to fill our skies, the least they can do is fill our silences — with connection, not control.