After the Jan. 3 ouster of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro, paramilitary groups loyal to the deposed leader’s political movement began randomly stopping people on the streets of the capital, Caracas.
They were searching for a type of contraband notoriously common in Venezuela – a virtual private network, or VPN. Often installed as software on a cellphone, a VPN masks a user’s location, allowing that person to bypass government restrictions that keep large swaths of the internet blocked here.
“It’s a clear indicator of someone looking for information beyond what the government tells [them] is true,” explains Iria Puyosa, a senior research fellow at the Atlantic Council’s Democracy+Tech Initiative, who has lived and worked in Venezuela.
Why We Wrote This
Recent blackouts in Iran, Uganda, and beyond highlight a new front emerging in conflicts around the world: the fight to stay online. Though governments hold most of the power, people are finding ways to push back.
Venezuela’s paranoia about what its citizens might find – and share – online is not unique. In 2024, the most recent year for which data is available, there were 296 internet shutdowns in 54 countries, according to the watchdog Access Now. Most were implemented by the country’s government or at authorities’ behest.
Experts agree these blackouts are becoming more frequent. But in recent weeks, as shutdowns have rocked countries from Uganda to Iran, a parallel trend is also clear: Citizens are fighting back.
The digital front
For now, anyway, the state still has the edge.
“Internet shutdowns are an expression of power difference,” says Tony Roberts, co-editor of “Internet Shutdowns in Africa: Technology, Rights and Power.” “They can only be carried out by powerful people, on people with less power.”
In nearly every country, the state either directly controls telecommunications infrastructure or regulates the private companies that do. That gives them almost unrestricted power to decide when the internet stays on, and when it goes off.
On Jan. 8, as 11 days of protests in Iran morphed into widespread calls for regime change, its government decided to flip the switch. At 8:30 p.m. local time, internet access plunged from nearly 100% connectivity into a total blackout, according to NetBlocks, which monitors internet freedom.
Under the cover of this digital darkness, Iran’s security forces moved in, massacring protesters. By mid-February, 7,015 Iranians had been confirmed dead, with 11,744 possible additional fatalities still “under investigation,” according to the Washington-based Human Rights Activists News Agency, which has tabulated accurate casualty numbers in the past.
Just days after the internet went off in Iran, Uganda’s government announced it was also pulling the plug. On Jan. 13, two days before the country’s presidential election, the Uganda Communications Commission ordered all mobile operators to shut off service. In a letter, the commission thanked operators for “upholding national stability.”
Atta Kenar/AFP/Getty Images
But many observers saw a more nefarious aim, to sever the online ties between opposition candidate Robert Kyagulanyi – better known as Bobi Wine – and his Generation Z base.
A former pop star with a flair for online self-promotion, Mr. Wine along with his team has long used the internet to rally supporters in a context where, offline, opposition members are routinely harassed, beaten, and arrested.
Young Ugandans aren’t the only ones using the internet to mobilize. In 2025, Gen Z demonstrators used the internet to rattle the gates of power in Nepal, Morocco, Madagascar, Kenya, Togo, Georgia, and Peru, among others. Anger was fomented in Facebook groups, and Discord servers spilled into the streets. Crackdowns were fast, deadly, and often aided by the virtual tear gas of internet restrictions.
“Gen Z’s fluency with digital tools has certainly reshaped how contemporary protest movements organize, mobilize, and communicate,” says Tomiwa Ilori, a senior researcher in the technology, rights, and investigations division of Human Rights Watch.
He says that while it is far from the only factor contributing to the rise of internet shutdowns, young protesters have helped governments understand the internet as “critical infrastructure for activism. That perception has made internet shutdowns more attractive.”
Hajarah Nalwadda/AP
Cost of a blackout
Some effects of internet shutdowns are obvious. In Iran, for instance, the slow return of connectivity was accompanied by a torrent of photos and videos showing what the regime was able to do when no one was watching.
“Now that things are coming back on, people are scrambling to put together the puzzle pieces of the truth,” explains Mahsa Alimardani, associate director of the Technology Threats and Opportunities program at the New York-based human rights organization Witness.
Other effects of these blackouts are less immediately evident. In 2025, VPN industry watchdog Top10VPN estimated that internet blackouts cost the countries that implemented them a collective $19.7 billion. These economic hits come in a variety of forms. During Uganda’s recent shutdown, for instance, people who keep their money in virtual wallets found themselves suddenly unable to buy food or take a motorcycle taxi to work.
Meanwhile, in India, Nasir Mir still lives with the consequences of a 2019 internet shutdown in the Kashmiri city of Srinagar, where he ran a courier service. When he was suddenly unable to organize deliveries online, his business collapsed. Since then, he has sworn off online work. “It felt like too much of a risk,” he says. “I lost confidence in running a business that depends on the internet.”
There was a personal toll, too.
As the blackout stretched on, Mr. Mir couldn’t speak to his brothers in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, and the siblings couldn’t reach him or their mother in Kashmir. For months, neither group knew if the other were safe.
“My mother cried nearly every day,” he says.
Indranil Aditya/Nurphoto/AP/File
Shifting playing field
As internet censorship and shutdowns become more frequent, citizens are fighting back.
The classic tool is a VPN, like the ones used by many Venezuelans. When governments block access to particular corners of the internet – such as social media services – VPNs allow netizens to play a game of internet whack-a-mole, disappearing from local servers and popping up virtually somewhere else in the world.
But when the entire internet goes down, so do VPNs. For a long time, that left most information seekers with one decidedly low-tech option. “I kept myself informed by standing at my window,” explains J.V., a resident of Caracas, describing how he followed the aftermath of Venezuela’s 2024 election. The Monitor is not using his full name for his security, as government repression has increased in the wake of Mr. Maduro’s capture.
Morteza Nikoubazl/Nurphoto/AP
Now, offline messaging services like Bitchat, which operates over Bluetooth, and satellite internet services like Elon Musk’s Starlink provide more modern alternatives.
During the Iranian protests, this was a “game changer,” Ms. Alimardani explains. A few days into the internet blackout, Starlink began providing services free of charge inside Iran, even though the service is illegal. Activists say the government succeeded in disrupting Starlink signals for the first 24 to 48 hours of the crackdown, which they believe was carried out with technology from Russia. But there are about 50,000 smuggled units operating inside the country, and they were able to beam out images showing scenes of overwhelmed morgues and police firing live rounds into crowds of demonstrators.
But satellite internet isn’t a free-for-all. For instance, in India, which has the dubious distinction of being the country with the most internet shutdowns in the world, government regulators have dragged their feet in negotiations to allow Starlink to operate there. “Security requirements” top the list of sticking points, says Apar Gupta, co-founder of the Internet Freedom Foundation, an Indian advocacy group. In other words, Delhi wants to know that Starlink will comply with its internet shut-off orders, he says.
Services like Starlink also have their own gatekeepers. For example, while Mr. Musk’s company was quick to make services free to Iranian protesters, the world’s richest man was silent on the Ugandan government’s suspension of Starlink ahead of the election there. If Starlink devices make it into India and Uganda, the company doesn’t need government permission to turn them on. But for Mr. Musk, the business costs of angering these governments might outweigh the benefits of providing Starlink service.
“What we have seen is that this tool remains under the control and whims of owners and those who influence them from one hand, and local governments who are finding ways to jam this service from the other,” wrote Hanna Kreitem, director of internet technology and development at the Internet Society, an advocacy organization, via a messaging app.
Still, at least some of those doing the jamming appear worried about the future. In late January, Abolhassan Firouzabadi, the former secretary of Iran’s Supreme Council of Cyberspace, told Iranian media that his government’s ability to control protests by turning off the web had a clear expiration date – “one or two more years.”
“Unfortunately, internet shutdowns will soon be obsolete,” he said.