Iran International
Iran has imposed new restrictions on internet access, further limiting VPN connections and reportedly targeting Starlink users, leaving even fewer people able to access global networks.
Seventeen days after the outbreak of war, connectivity in the country has fallen to about one percent of normal levels, leaving most people unable to reach the global internet.
Some users initially managed limited access using specialized VPN configurations, but many say those options have largely stopped working since Sunday.
Asked in a CBS interview why he was able to conduct a Zoom call while ordinary citizens could not access the internet, Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi said he had access because he is “the voice of Iranians” and must defend their rights.
The comment drew criticism from Iranians still able to briefly connect.
“People of Iran are not voiceless themselves, and this man is not their voice,” one user wrote. “Open the internet so you can hear the real voice of the people from inside the country.”
‘No picture, no voice’
Even among the few who can still connect, the internet is barely usable. Users say images and videos on social media often fail to load, and in many cases, core features of platforms have stopped functioning.
“Direct messages practically don’t open, and mentions disappear quickly if I try to answer them,” one user said. “Videos and voice messages are basically inaccessible because they consume too much data.”
Another described the experience in stark terms: “The internet feels more like a dying breath than a means of communication these days,” adding that data-limited connections have become extremely slow and prices have sharply increased.
The internet monitoring group NetBlocks said Monday that disruptions to telecommunications infrastructure were further reducing VPN availability and sending some whitelisted users and services offline, it said.
The restrictions appear to be affecting domestic networks as well. Some users say even Iranian websites are difficult to access, while customers of certain banks have temporarily lost access to their accounts.
Reports of disruptions have also surfaced in mobile banking apps, payment cards and Iranian messaging platforms such as Bale, suggesting that parts of Iran’s internal network are also experiencing instability.
Experts say the cause of the broader disruptions remains unclear.
Starlink crackdown
At the same time, warnings have spread widely online urging owners of Starlink satellite internet devices to turn them off.
According to posts circulating on social media, Iranian security forces may be actively searching for Starlink kits and detaining users, with some claims of arrests in cities including Tehran and Kermanshah.
The warnings say patrol vehicles equipped with signal scanners are being used to detect radio emissions from Starlink equipment and pinpoint their location.
A Starlink user told Iran International he has taken multiple precautions to avoid detection but said the risk remains constant.
“I’m afraid all the time that a neighbor might report it,” he said. “They might accuse Starlink users of espionage and sentence them to heavy punishment as a warning to others.”
He added that the restrictions have forced ordinary users to learn complex technical workarounds simply to stay connected.
Not everyone believes the warnings about Starlink detection are accurate.
Some users say the reports may be part of a psychological campaign to frighten people into turning off their devices, noting that locating satellite terminals at scale would require capabilities authorities may not widely possess.
But amid the uncertainty, many say they are preparing for the possibility that their last remaining connection to the outside world could disappear entirely.
It entered their bodies – in sleepless nights, stomach illness, obsessive counting of the dead, and a persistent sense that something in their relationship to Iran had been permanently altered.
Now, two months later, as the United States and Israel wage war against the Islamic Republic and another far stricter internet blackout grips the country, that earlier rupture is returning with renewed force.
Images of death, the disappearance of communication, and the uncertainty surrounding Iran’s future have reopened a wound many in the diaspora say never fully closed.
A new qualitative study by researcher Nazanin Shahbazi, a PhD student at the University of Manchester, helps explain why.
Based on eight in-depth interviews with politically engaged members of the Iranian diaspora conducted shortly after the January killings and end of internet shutdown, the research explores how people far from the violence nevertheless experienced the uprising and massacre as a personal rupture – one that reshaped their bodies, their sense of time, and even what it meant to say “I am Iranian.”
“The protests, the killings, the internet blackout and the blocked funerals were not separate chapters,” Shahbazi told Iran International. “For the people I spoke with they formed one continuous shock that reorganized their lives.”
Human rights organizations have documented the repression in detail – the shootings, the arrests, the intimidation of families and the pressure placed on relatives of the dead. What those reports cannot capture is how such violence lives on in those who witness it from afar.
“They can tell us what was done to people and roughly how many were killed,” Shahbazi said. “But they can’t show what it feels like to live with that in your body, your sleep, your relationships and your sense of future.”
Body keeps the score
One of the most striking patterns in the interviews is how often the experience of the massacre appeared in the body.
Participants described vomiting after seeing images of burned bodies, sudden weight gain, eczema, IBS flare-ups, breathlessness, grinding teeth and persistent insomnia. Some lost their appetite entirely. Others said their ordinary routines collapsed into constant monitoring of news from Iran.
“When words ran out, people kept returning to their bodies,” Shahbazi said. “Sudden vomiting, weight gained in twenty days, neck spasms or grinding teeth were how they registered what they could not yet fully think or articulate.”
The body, in this sense, became both witness and container.
Political violence was not simply something they analyzed or debated. It was something that settled into digestion, sleep, muscles and skin.
Shahbazi believes those reactions reveal dimensions of suffering that familiar categories like trauma or PTSD sometimes fail to capture.
“Diagnostic labels can flatten experience into symptom lists,” she said. “What people described were very concrete bodily dramas tied to images and events in Iran.”
Safe but summoned
Another recurring theme was the strange moral position created by exile.
The interviewees were physically safe – living in UK, Europe, North America or elsewhere outside Iran – yet many said they did not experience themselves as distant observers.
“I would describe their condition as safe but summoned,” Shahbazi said. “They lived outside the field of bullets but inside a field of responsibility.”
Again and again participants returned to a painful question: why am I here while others were killed?
Exile did not reduce the emotional weight of the uprising. In many cases it intensified it.
“Safety, mobility and an intact body were experienced not simply as privileges,” Shahbazi said. “They were felt as a kind of unpaid debt to those who stayed and faced lethal risk.”
That sense of symbolic debt helps explain why many interviewees described weeks in which work, sleep and daily routines collapsed into constant monitoring of events in Iran.
Some called friends inside the country repeatedly. Others spent hours tracking death tolls or watching newly emerging videos.
They were not simply following the news. They were trying to answer a moral demand they felt placed upon them.
Language at its limit
The scale of the violence also strained language itself. Participants repeatedly reached for extreme words – “catastrophe,” “slaughter,” or “something like a Holocaust” – because ordinary vocabulary seemed incapable of holding what they had seen.
“Everyday language felt too small,” Shahbazi said. “So people borrowed the biggest words they could find.”
Even those words felt insufficient.
Many interviewees hesitated as they spoke, qualifying their descriptions with phrases like “something like” or “nothing else really covers it.”
Numbers became another way of trying to grasp the event.
Several participants described compulsively tracking death tolls or attempting rough calculations of how many people might have been killed.
“Counting was a way of making the killings halfway thinkable,” Shahbazi said.
A different Iranian-ness
Despite the suffering described in the interviews, the research also uncovered something unexpected. Several participants said the uprising had changed how they understood their own identity.
For years, many had associated being Iranian internationally with embarrassment tied to the Islamic Republic’s image abroad. After the protests, that feeling began to shift.
Shahbazi said several participants described a “partial lifting of shame” when saying they were Iranian.
“In its place they spoke about pride in the courage and sacrifices of protesters,” she said.
Some described renewed attachment to Iranian culture, language and land. Others spoke about admiration for the mothers who stood at the forefront of demonstrations.
Shahbazi believes this shift may have political consequences as well.
“It recenters being Iranian around equality, justice and shared humanity,” she said, “rather than around the state’s ideology.”
That transformation remains fragile.
The war now unfolding and the renewed blackout mean that images of violence are again entering Iranian homes and diaspora communities alike.
But if the interviews reveal anything, it is that the event did not remain confined to the streets where it began.
As Shahbazi put it: “For many Iranians in the diaspora, the massacre did not stay on their screens; it cut into their bodies, their sense of time, and even the way they dare to say, ‘I am Iranian.’”
Users on X and Instagram circulated the announcement with laughing emojis and sarcastic commentary, questioning the move and turning it into a fresh round of online satire.
“I first thought this was a joke, but the news is real,” one user wrote shortly after the reports appeared online.
The adviser named in the decree was former Revolutionary Guards commander Mohsen Rezaei, a longtime political figure who has repeatedly run for Iran’s presidency but never succeeded.
Another post mocked the circumstances of the appointment: “This is good news. Apparently, no one else is left alive, so Mohsen Rezaei has been appointed military adviser.”
Some users played with the language of the announcement itself, replacing official terms with parody.
“Mohsen Rezaei has been appointed military adviser to the command of recycled and non-recycled cardboard,” one comment read, using a pun aimed at Mojtaba Khamenei, the son of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, whom critics refer to sarcastically as a “cardboard leader.”
The nickname reflects jokes online that he has rarely been seen publicly since assuming power, with supporters sometimes carrying cardboard cutouts of him at gatherings.
Others suggested the appointment reflected heavy losses within the security establishment.
“The fact that Mohsen Rezaei got a position means every Guards commander must have been wiped out and they had to bring him back,” another user wrote.
Several comments also mocked Rezaei personally.
“You’re making fun of him, but the only reason Mohsen Rezaei is still alive is that belt buckle,” one user wrote, referring to a widely shared meme about the former commander.
“For drones, the angle of the belt buckle makes them think he’s coming when he’s actually going,” the user joked.
Reaction to remarks at funeral ceremony
The ridicule intensified after a video circulated of Rezaei speaking at the funeral of former senior adviser and Defense Council Secretary Ali Shamkhani.
In the remarks, Rezaei said Iran was already winning in multiple arenas.
“Even now we are in victory. Politically, defensively and economically we are victorious at this very point,” Rezaei said in the speech.
He argued that the United States had weakened itself through confrontation with Iran.
“America attacked Iran and made itself smaller while making us bigger,” he said, adding that Iran would emerge from the conflict with greater influence in the region.
Online reactions to the remarks were swift, with many users reposting clips of the speech alongside sarcastic captions or parody edits.
One post read: “Someone admit this man to a psychiatric hospital.”
Longstanding subject of online satire
Rezaei has repeatedly run for president over the past two decades.
He entered the presidential race in 2005, 2009, 2013 and 2021 but failed to win in any of the contests.
In recent years, his repeated candidacies and public statements have turned him into a recurring subject of humor among Iranian internet users.
A recurring joke on Persian social media is that whenever an election is held anywhere in the world, users comment that “Mohsen Rezaei Mir-Ghaed is also a candidate,” a meme referencing his repeated appearances on Iranian presidential ballots.
Some of his television appearances and campaign debates also generated viral moments online, particularly when he outlined ambitious economic plans or discussed new “unknown military tactics.”
For many users, the latest appointment simply revived a familiar online pattern. As one post put it: “Looks like Mohsen Rezaei is finally getting closer to his dreams.”
The players had been part of Iran’s women’s national team delegation competing abroad before leaving the team and seeking protection in Australia.
In a statement posted on social media, chief executive Kaz Patafta said Brisbane Roar was committed to providing a supportive environment for the players while they considered their next steps.
The crisis surrounding the team began earlier in the month when the players refused to sing the Iranian national anthem before their opening match against South Korea in AFC Women's Asian Cup.
The silent protest came shortly after the escalation of war involving Iran and the killing of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, and was quickly condemned by state media in Tehran as an act of “wartime treason.”
In the days that followed, several members of the Iranian delegation sought asylum in Australia. But according to informed sources, pressure from Iranian authorities soon intensified, with messages relayed to the players through members of the team’s own staff urging them to abandon asylum plans and return to Iran.
One member of the technical staff, Zahra Meshkinkar, who had also sought asylum, has been relaying messages from Iranian football officials to players, encouraging them to withdraw their requests and rejoin the team.
Remaining members of the squad were later moved to Kuala Lumpur, where sources say the players have been kept under tight supervision in a hotel.
Journalists and outside visitors have been barred from entering, and some players have had their mobile phones confiscated or are allowed to use them only under the supervision of officials linked to the Iranian Football Federation.
Despite the earlier asylum requests, several players have now withdrawn their applications and are en route to return to Iran, after what sources described as sustained pressure on the team and warnings that their families could face consequences if they refused to go back.
Human rights groups have warned that athletes involved in the anthem protest could face punishment upon their return.