Orbits, Oligarchs and the Republic

Last week Elon Musk took to X and declared that a shadowy group of “certain oligarchs” were sabotaging Starlink’s entry into India. He didn’t name anyone, didn’t produce proof, and basically invited the Indian net‑savvy crowd to fill in the blanks. The post went viral, but it also steered the conversation into the usual Musk‑style ad‑hominium.

Let’s start with what India has actually managed to build. A voice call costs roughly three paise per minute, and a gigabyte of mobile data hovers around nine rupees – among the cheapest rates on the planet. Over a billion Indians now own a mobile phone, and the average handset swallows about 32 GB a month, dwarfing the global average of 19 GB. An American, by contrast, pays several times more for the same amount of data. Those numbers didn’t appear by accident; they’re the product of fierce competition, a public‑leaning digital infrastructure and, frankly, a lot of policy patience.

If Musk is hunting for a “connectivity crime,” perhaps he should look a little closer to home. In the United States Starlink has roamed free for years without any oligarchic roadblocks, yet residents of upstate New York complain of more than four thousand dead zones. The same story repeats from the Appalachian hollows to the sprawling plains of the Midwest. The FCC’s own drive‑tests have shown that coverage maps often overpromise, indicating service where there is none. It’s a reminder that even in the country that birthed the internet, powerful interests can shape the rules, sometimes to the detriment of ordinary users.

Back in India, the decisive policy battle over satellite communications was not about a mysterious cabal but about how the spectrum should be allocated. The government opted for an administrative allocation in Starlink’s favour, sidestepping a costly auction that incumbent telecom operators had pushed for. If there were any oligarchs pulling strings, they apparently wrote the rulebook in a way that actually benefited the newcomer.

One might also pause and wonder who the real “oligarch” is in this saga. Musk owns the rockets, the satellites, the social platform he used to vent, and even a direct line to the White House. When the world’s richest man complains about monopolistic chokeholds on a platform he himself controls, the mirror is worth a closer look.

What remains between Starlink and Indian consumers is a standard national‑security review, the same one applied to any prospective operator. That scrutiny isn’t a bureaucratic hurdle for its own sake; satellite internet can bypass the terrestrial chokepoints that enable lawful oversight. A terminal in a remote Himalayan valley can be a lifeline for a school, yet the same device in an insurgent hideout could pose a real threat to the state. Critical infrastructure – whether ports, power grids or orbital networks – deserves careful stewardship.

This episode also shines a light on a bigger, global pattern. A handful of tech owners now command networks, orbits and audiences that dwarf many nations. They increasingly treat national law as a mere opening bid, wielding their platforms as leverage against governments. Musk’s X has already taken Indian authorities to court over content rules; the Starlink tweet follows the same playbook: paint due process as a conspiracy, cast regulators as villains, and let the crowd do the lobbying.

I warned a few years back that runaway platforms and “cowboy capitalism” would become the defining governance challenge of the digital age. The solution, I argued, lies in shifting from mere liability to genuine responsibility – tech platforms that shape public life must answer to a nation’s laws and constitutional ethos. Satellite internet raises the stakes even higher because the infrastructure literally sits above national borders.

The ramifications stretch far beyond India. Starlink has just launched a direct‑to‑mobile service in Bangladesh, and the UAE granted it a ten‑year licence in August. Across the Global South, governments will grapple with how orbital networks enter their skies. India’s approach offers a useful template: welcome the technology, demand accountability, and apply the same rules to foreign giants and domestic champions alike. A technology must answer to the geography it serves.

India has survived far heavier pressure than a viral tweet. It built a self‑reliant nuclear programme under sanctions, and it created the world’s most widely used public digital infrastructure without bowing to anyone. The last Indian village will be connected on its own terms, with partners who respect the republic’s rule of law.

Starlink is, in principle, welcome in India. Musk’s impatience is his own affair. Whether he ends up at a White House dinner or a courtroom, the country’s sovereign framework will decide the final outcome.