Mahsa Alimardani
On March 10, 2026, Iran’s government spokesperson Fatemeh Mohajerani made a notable public admission in the middle of a war, at a moment when its citizens had already spent one-third of 2026 in a near-total digital darkness thanks to shutdowns imposed by the regime. She said, “For those who can carry our voice further, opportunities will be provided.” This is a reference to the regime’s privileged system that grants unfiltered connectivity to select individuals. Five days later, Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi appeared on CBS News via Zoom while millions of Iranians remained offline. He was asked why he had internet access. His answer: “because I’m the voice of Iranians.”
Together, these statements did something new: Rather than hiding behind security justifications, regime officials openly defended connectivity as a political instrument. The internet is reserved for those who carry the state’s voice, and it is withheld from everyone else. Internet access during a dangerous war was not being restored, rather, it was being allocated exclusively to people who would amplify the regime’s voice outward.
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