Sovereignty at Stake: The Hidden Dangers of Letting Starlink Into South Africa

A NOTE FROM THE CHAIR'S DESK

By Tebogo Khaas

“Don’t be evil” was once the moral hallmark of Silicon Valley — an aspirational ethos adopted by Google that suggested technology could advance without compromising human dignity, sovereignty, or global democratic values. Today, that ideal has been unceremoniously buried beneath the rising tide of corporate exceptionalism and geopolitical entanglements. Nowhere is this more evident than in the case of Elon Musk, whose growing tech empire — from satellite networks to artificial intelligence, and electric motor vehicles to social media platforms — exemplifies the disturbing intersection of private control and global influence.

At the heart of this new frontier is Starlink, Musk’s satellite internet service, which has become indispensable in some of the regions afflicted by conflict, authoritarian censorship, and poor public service delivery. Praised for enabling connectivity in remote areas, Starlink has also quietly assumed a role in modern warfare — serving as critical infrastructure in Ukraine’s defence against Russian aggression. Yet this reliance proved perilous when, in 2023, Musk reportedly disabled Starlink access near Crimea, just as Ukrainian forces were preparing a counter-offensive.

His rationale? A unilateral decision to avoid escalating the conflict with Russia.

In that moment, a single billionaire — without consultation, oversight, or public mandate — undermined the strategic calculations of a sovereign nation fighting for its territorial integrity. The implications are chilling. A private actor, operating outside the realm of diplomacy or international law, made a battlefield decision that altered the trajectory of a war. It is a stark reminder that we are living in an era where corporate infrastructure can override national sovereignty and influence geopolitics.

This is not an isolated concern. Musk’s xAI and its AI chatbot Grok now position themselves as guardians of truth and reasoned discourse. But as these tools shape the way information is disseminated and consumed, we must ask: truth according to whom? Grok and similar platforms are trained on vast datasets, filtered through invisible ideological frameworks, and deployed within commercial ecosystems that often reflect the strategic priorities of their creators and political masters. There is no neutral AI, just as there is no apolitical infrastructure when such tools can be selectively activated or withheld at moments of geopolitical consequence.

The principal justification advanced by the United States government for its ban on Huawei and potential commercial restrictions on Tik Tok – which currently operates under the looming threat of regulatory decapitation - is the perceived risk that their telecommunications infrastructure could be exploited by the Chinese government for surveillance and espionage. This concern was amplified by several factors: the broader structural realities of China’s state-corporate nexus, where companies may be compelled to cooperate with state intelligence under laws such as the 2017 National Intelligence Law.

This pattern reveals a broader geopolitical trend: technological infrastructure is no longer seen as neutral, but rather as a potential vector of strategic influence. However, this scrutiny appears selectively applied. While Chinese firms are framed as Trojan horses of authoritarian overreach, Western multinationals — despite demonstrable instances of surveillance complicity — are rarely subjected to the same level of scepticism or sanction. The challenge, therefore, lies not only in confronting genuine national security threats but also in resisting the hypocritical instrumentalisation of “security” as a pretext for economic protectionism or ideological supremacy.

Starlink is currently licensed and operational in at least 18 African countries. Its footprint on the continent has expanded rapidly, with new national markets being integrated into the network at a pace that underscores both technological ambition and aggressive commercial diplomacy.

However, this expansion has not been without controversy. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), Starlink’s eventual authorisation was reportedly secured under considerable external pressure — illustrating the coercive dynamics embedded in the US’ transactional foreign policy doctrine. This doctrine often linked development assistance, military support, or diplomatic favour to acquiescence in the adoption of US-aligned technologies. In such cases, the line between infrastructure development and geopolitical arm-twisting becomes increasingly blurred, raising questions about the digital sovereignty of African states and the long-term implications of dependence on privately controlled, foreign-owned critical infrastructure.

With Starlink actively lobbying for a licence to operate in South Africa, serious questions arise about the broader implications such an authorisation could have for national security, and constitutional policy imperatives, including equity and transformation. While the appeal of high-speed satellite internet — particularly for underserved rural areas — is undeniable, the risks associated with ceding critical digital infrastructure to a foreign, privately controlled entity warrant far greater scrutiny.

Musk’s public disdain for diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives — policies with strong parallels in South Africa’s own constitutional commitment to redress and transformation — has been well documented. Under the ideological encouragement of Trump, Musk has not only undermined DEI initiatives in the United States but positioned himself as a vocal antagonist of progressive democratic values globally.

Now consider the implications of that worldview being hardwired into a platform that might soon underpin critical public services in South Africa. Imagine a scenario in which the delivery of educational content to rural schools is throttled or suspended because the curriculum foregrounds the injustices of apartheid — a history Musk or his corporate emissaries may deem too “woke.” Or picture a healthcare facility in a remote province losing connectivity because it provides telemedicine-based abortion services in compliance with South African law — services Musk personally opposes.

These are not far-fetched hypotheticals. In Ukraine, Musk infamously curtailed Starlink access at a critical juncture in the country’s resistance against Russian invasion, unilaterally disabling coverage near Crimea to prevent what he characterised as an "escalation." That decision, made without democratic accountability, had tangible consequences on the battlefield and highlighted the peril of allowing a private, mercurial individual to function as a de facto arbiter of foreign policy.

South Africa must therefore tread with caution. To license Starlink without a robust regulatory and oversight framework is to risk surrendering digital sovereignty to an evil genius with an unpredictable ideological agenda, a billionaire with a nexus to international white supremacy groups, and a proven track record of leveraging his infrastructure for political ends. At stake is more than just connectivity — it is the integrity of our national policies, the resilience of our democracy, and the right of sovereign states to chart their own developmental course without interference from unelected tech oligarchs.

The deeper danger lies in the absence of democratic accountability. Neither the public nor elected officials have meaningful oversight over how these technologies are used — or withheld. As artificial intelligence, global connectivity, and space-based infrastructure become the battlegrounds of 21st-century geopolitics, the stakes are no longer theoretical. Lives are on the line, and so is the future of international order.

South Africa must resist becoming a passive recipient of technological imperialism. The rules that govern our digital future must be grounded not in double standards, but in mutual respect, national interest, and strategic foresight.

If our legislature fails to exercise judicious oversight, we risk ceding sovereign decision-making to a handful of tech titans who increasingly act as unaccountable arbiters of war and peace, and who position themselves as imperious influencers of our economic development and foreign policy priorities. Such a vacuum in regulatory vigilance would not only compromise national security but also undermine South Africa’s constitutional commitment to equity, democracy, and self-determined progress.

We must move urgently toward multilateral regulation, transparency standards, and enforceable digital sovereignty protections. States, particularly in the Global South, must resist becoming digital client-states to corporate fiefdoms masquerading as benevolent innovators.

The evolution from “Don’t be evil” to today’s reality is not merely rhetorical. It marks the transition from ethical ambition to unchecked ambition. And if we fail to address the dangers now, particularly considering the US’ mercurial diplomatic posture towards South Africa, we may soon find that the most consequential decisions in our constitutional democracy — about speech, security, economic development, and sovereignty — are no longer made in parliaments or courts, but in private boardrooms and encrypted servers.

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Khaas is chairperson of Public Interest SA.