Three-minute read
The mobile-data price hike arrived quietly, folded into a weekday morning of school closures, air-quality alerts, and transport delays. But the shock was immediate: another jump in internet tariffs, even as speeds remain throttled and whole platforms stay blocked. Then, almost on cue, an intelligence-linked outlet published a list of officials and media figures alleged to enjoy “white internet”—near-unfiltered lines unavailable to ordinary users. The coincidence was not subtle. As the public pays more for less, the system’s own hierarchy has become impossible to hide.
A Leak That Confirmed the Privilege Structure
In early December, Boltan News—widely described in Iranian media as tied to the Ministry of Intelligence—released a roster of political veterans and state-adjacent commentators who had reportedly used “white SIM” cards. The list skewed sharply toward establishment “reformists:” Javad Zarif, Ali Rabiei, Hesamoddin Ashna, Gholamhossein Karbaschi, Mohammad-Ali Abtahi and several well-known pundits. Names linked to Etemad, Shargh, Entekhab and Ham-Mihan also appeared.
The disclosure read less as transparency than as a targeted embarrassment of the faction Khamenei-aligned outlets routinely cast as a rival. But it confirmed what users had long suspected: censorship is not applied evenly. Those inside or adjacent to state institutions often surf with fewer obstacles, while the public navigates filters, broken VPNs and sudden drop-offs in service. When such privilege becomes publicly traceable—as it did when location metadata exposed unfiltered posting—resentment grows. Official data and even regime-adjacent analytics tend to understate the gravity of this divide.
#Iran’s White-SIM Internet: How Tehran Hacks the Feed You Trusthttps://t.co/IUhKVR2wcg
— NCRI-FAC (@iran_policy) November 26, 2025
A System Built on Uneven Access
Iran’s filtering architecture has always aimed at control, not universal limitation. During politically sensitive moments, platforms slow or vanish for most users, while selected institutions continue operating with minimal disruption. Domestic reporting has shown how repeated shutdowns during crises carve the digital sphere into tiers:
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Whitelisted lines for state figures;
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Semi-privileged business packages marketed as “professional”;
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The public, dependent on VPNs whose legality is deliberately ambiguous.
The white-SIM leak made this structure visible at a moment when public trust was already thinning. It also exposed the contradiction at the heart of the censorship project: authorities insist restrictions exist to “protect society,” yet carve out broad exemptions for those most responsible for shaping official narratives. When privileges become instruments of intra-elite pressure, the policy’s political nature is laid bare.
#Iran’s Digital Apartheid: Regime Loyalists Flood the #Internet While the Rest of the Nation Goes Darkhttps://t.co/qFQw7Bi9wc
— NCRI-FAC (@iran_policy) June 20, 2025
Prices Rise, Quality Doesn’t
The tariff increase that took effect on Tuesday, December 2, 2025, deepened this sense of inequity. According to Iranian state media and operator statements, regulators approved up to a 20% rise in mobile-internet prices. MCI (Hamrah-e Aval) and Irancell both said the adjustment followed months of requests tied to inflation, exchange-rate pressure and higher maintenance costs.
These explanations are technically plausible, but they do not alter the lived reality: service quality has not improved. A 2024 assessment by the Tehran E-Commerce Association placed Iran 97th of 100 countries for internet quality, describing it as “slow, restricted and disrupted.” That ranking aligns with daily experience. VPN use—now a necessity rather than a choice—routes traffic through inefficient paths and further strains the network. Operators warn of investment shortfalls, yet users see neither more stability nor fewer blocks.
For poorer households, the cost increase lands hardest. Connectivity is required for banking, job searches, and schooling—especially after hundreds of air-pollution-driven closures pushed students back into online classes. When monthly food and transport expenses already outpace wage growth, higher data prices function as a barrier to participation in public life.
#Iran News: Regime Demands 70% Internet Tariff Hike as Blackout Warning Loomshttps://t.co/7YTCRnq5Dv
— NCRI-FAC (@iran_policy) August 18, 2025
Why Digital Inequality Fuels Political Tension
The reaction to the white-SIM revelations reflects more than anger over discrimination. It taps into a broader sense that scarcity—of water, fuel, health care, and now connectivity—is allocated in ways that reward loyalty and punish distance from power. Even regime-licensed outlets such as Jahan-e Sanat have warned of a kind of “digital apartheid,” noting that insiders bypass the very restrictions they defend in public.
That hierarchy weakens one of the state’s central claims about filtering: that it protects the national interest uniformly. When a security-aligned platform selectively exposes its rival factions but avoids mentioning peers and aligned insiders, citizens see political choreography rather than policy. And when higher tariffs arrive in the same week, the sequence feels intentional—rationing for the public, reminders for the elite.
Critique from within the system—whether from lawyers who call filtering economically perverse or officials who complain about outages—ultimately aims to preserve the model, not liberalize it. These voices demand smoother management or clearer rules, not open access. The premise that censorship is structural, not temporary, remains untouched.
Report Shows 94% of #Iranian Youth Defy Regime's #Internet Iron Curtainhttps://t.co/jZrFLyM8bz
— NCRI-FAC (@iran_policy) August 9, 2025
A Regime Trapped Between Permission and Fear
No technical adjustment can resolve the political logic driving this system. Small concessions—temporary tariff caps, selective unblocking, or a public review of “professional” packages—will not alter the core reality: two internets, two standards of access, and one government unable to reconcile them.
Iran’s digital landscape now mirrors its broader governance crisis. The state cannot fully open the internet without empowering criticism, and it cannot fully close it without provoking the public anger it fears most. As long as scarcity and privilege remain the backbone of its information strategy, each new price surge or leak will sharpen the same conclusion: the problem is not bandwidth or cost, but the political architecture shaping who may speak, who must circumvent, and who pays for both.