It is nothing new that war, in parallel with battlefields, moves into the ethereal realm of waves and satellites. And it is certainly not the first time that technological innovation has intertwined with a conflict and helped determine its outcome.

But rarely has a single system – born to connect the civilised world – become so central to the developments of a protracted conflict as the one in Ukraine.
Thus the Starlink satellite constellation, conceived and deployed in orbit on the private initiative of Elon Musk, has entered fully into the strategic narrative of 2026.

At first, it was an almost instinctive response to the crisis that erupted after the large-scale Russian invasion of Russia: the Starlink network was activated at Kiev’s request to keep communication alive between units and command centres, to guide drones and to hold together pieces of the army and society that would otherwise have been isolated.
In those early stages, the technology – and the man behind it – became a symbol of a resistance trying to survive in a world where traditional communication networks were being wiped out by bombing.

However, history does not like simplifications, and what started out as help for a country under attack soon turned into something more ambiguous.
Over the years, investigative sources have revealed that Musk would, on more than one occasion, arrange for the Starlink service to be switched off in strategic areas where Ukrainian forces were about to carry out decisive manoeuvres, such as during the counteroffensive in the Kherson oblast in autumn 2022.

That choice cast a long shadow over the public perception of the role of a private technician in a continent-wide war, thus reinforcing doubts about the role and purpose of a controversial figure, who even displayed the Nazi salute during one of his public speeches.

But it is now February 2026, and the relationship between Starlink and the evolution of the conflict has become the subject of even more complex manoeuvres.
In the last few days, the Ukrainian authorities announced that tens of thousands of Starlink terminals used by Russian forces on the front lines had been deactivated: a move that – according to Kiev – would severely affect the communication and coordination capacity of Moscow’s army.

The technique behind this decision is no mystery: in collaboration with SpaceX, the Kiev authorities created a list of terminals authorised to operate on Ukrainian territory, excluding all others.
Thus, many of the devices that had ended up in Russian hands, often through unofficial channels or because they had been captured in the field, remained isolated, leaving entire units of the invading army unaware of the terrain and the movements of other units.

Musk himself confirmed that measures ‘to prevent Russia’s unauthorised use of Starlink seem to have worked’, while reiterating that SpaceX does not sell services to the Russian government or its armed forces.
Musk’s words, however, do not erase the evidence of a deeper transformation: a technological infrastructure that was designed to connect civilian users has become, in fact, a laboratory for controlling the flow of war.

This episode is not the only one to highlight the intricate relationship between Starlink and major theatres of global conflict.
Already in the past, during the long months of blackouts in the Gaza Strip, Musk had offered the service to recognised humanitarian organisations to alleviate the total isolation imposed by the destruction of local infrastructure, however, provoking strong reactions from the Israeli authorities and a heated debate over who has the legitimate authority to provide connectivity in a civil war zone.

This is no longer a technical detail: it is a dynamic that recalls the big story, one that is composed of tensions between the economic power of private citizens, national interests and the moral responsibility of governments.

In Ukraine, the fact that a private communications system can be enabled or suspended on a strategic scale has highlighted how 21st century technologies are at the heart of a new theatre of war, where the ability to control information and networks can turn into a tactical advantage. And if, as military sources report, disruptions have already slowed down attack operations and forced armies to resort to less effective solutions, the lesson becomes clear: he who dominates communication, dominates battle.

At a time when conflicts no longer know clear-cut demarcation lines between physical territory and digital space, the story of Musk and Starlink does not belong to an isolated chapter, but tells of the urgency of rethinking the role of private technologies in warfare and their operational licences.

Because if a network of satellites, born to connect humanity, can decide who can enjoy some decisive advantage on the battlefield, then historians, even before generals, will have to question who really holds the power to count in tomorrow’s conflicts.

The governments of the various countries, and especially those held accountable to the governed for their actions, will sooner or later have to ask themselves how they should relate to those with such great power, for it is obvious that an individual should not have the same geopolitical weight as a state actor.

Although this has long been the case with dictatorships, where the power of the dictator coincides with that of the country he has subjugated, democracies should learn to draw shared boundaries.
One cannot, in fact, rely on the goodwill of the Elon Musks on duty, as there is no guarantee that this is genuine and stable.
Perhaps their actions should be submitted to a commission appointed by the countries that have the precise will, enshrined in a corresponding pact, to defend freedom and democracy in the world and in every sphere. And, in the meantime, one should hurry to light up the sky with alternative constellations.