Frustration is spilling over across Papua New Guinea after authorities ordered Starlink to halt internet services, cutting off thousands of users almost overnight. From classrooms to rural clinics, the shutdown has exposed how deeply communities had come to depend on the satellite network.
A sudden blackout ordered by regulators
The order came quietly in mid-December, but its impact has been loud. Papua New Guinea’s telecom regulator said Starlink was operating without a valid licence and must stop providing internet until the legal process is complete.
The directive was issued by the National Information and Communications Technology Authority, known locally as National Information and Communications Technology Authority, or Nicta. Acting chief executive Lume Polume was blunt.
Starlink, he said, is “currently not licensed to operate in Papua New Guinea, and until the legal process is completed, services cannot be allowed.”
For users, that translated into a hard stop. Connections dropped. Terminals went dark. Entire villages that had, for the first time, reliable internet access were pushed back into digital silence.
No clear timeline has been given for when the ombudsman or the courts might issue a ruling on whether Starlink can receive approval.
That uncertainty is, basically, driving people mad.
Why Starlink mattered so much in Papua New Guinea
Papua New Guinea’s geography is stunning, but it’s also brutal for infrastructure. Mountains, dense forests, and scattered islands make traditional mobile and fibre networks expensive and patchy.
That’s where Starlink stepped in. Owned by Elon Musk’s aerospace firm SpaceX, the satellite service beams internet from low-Earth orbit straight to small ground terminals.
For many rural users, it was the first connection that actually worked.
Telecom analysts estimate that before the shutdown, thousands of people were using Starlink terminals across Papua New Guinea. In some remote districts, a single dish served schools, aid posts, and nearby homes.
Other satellite providers exist, sure. But users say they are slower, less reliable, and far more expensive.
And cost matters here. A lot.
One former MP and businessman, John Simon, didn’t hide his anger. He said the decision ignored the daily struggles of ordinary people trying to run small businesses in a tough economy.
Internet services, he said, have been “very expensive and slow for years,” and Starlink was finally a cheaper, faster option.
Businesses, payments, and the grind of daily disruption
The economic impact has been immediate and messy.
Small retailers say they can’t process digital payments. Traders who relied on messaging apps to line up buyers are suddenly offline. Farmers now travel long distances just to access banking services.
One shop owner in a rural area described it as going “back ten years in one night.”
A few practical effects mentioned repeatedly by users include:
-
Inability to process mobile or card payments.
-
Loss of access to online marketplaces and customer messaging.
-
Extra travel costs just to check bank balances or send invoices.
It’s not dramatic rhetoric. It’s day-to-day stuff. And it adds up.
The country’s communications minister has declined to comment publicly, which has only fueled speculation and resentment.
Meanwhile, an online petition calling for Starlink to be allowed to operate legally has attracted around 200 signatures. That number may sound small, but online petitions are hardly easy to circulate when the internet is down.
Schools and clinics feel the cut even more sharply
If businesses are hurting, schools and health clinics are, frankly, stuck.
In the Southern Highlands, high school teacher Simon Jack said students relied on Starlink to check exam results and placement lists for further study.
For many of them, it was the only reliable connection available.
Now, students are waiting. And waiting. Some may miss deadlines simply because they can’t get online.
Health workers tell an even tougher story. Theresa Juni, who works at a clinic in East Sepik province, said Starlink had allowed staff to send reports quickly and consult doctors in towns.
Without it, communication can take days.
“For patients who need urgent care,” she said, “these delays can be dangerous.”
That single sentence hangs heavy. Internet access here isn’t about scrolling or streaming. It’s about response times, coordination, and, sometimes, survival.
Licensing rules versus lived reality
From the regulator’s perspective, the issue is straightforward. Operating without a licence breaks the law. Rules exist for a reason, and exceptions can set precedents.
Nicta says it is simply waiting for legal direction.
Starlink, for its part, has not responded publicly to media questions. In an email to customers, the company said it wants to provide internet services in PNG once approvals are granted.
That’s polite. And vague.
What frustrates users is the gap between regulation and reality. Starlink terminals were already in use, already improving lives, already filling holes left by traditional networks.
So people are asking, quietly and loudly: why shut it down first and sort the paperwork later?
A familiar story in the Pacific
This isn’t Starlink’s first clash with Pacific regulators.
In 2024, the government of Tonga ordered the company to stop operating until it received a licence. That move came after an earthquake disrupted communications, making the timing especially sensitive.
The reaction there was similar. Public frustration. Dependence laid bare. Officials caught between legal frameworks and urgent needs.
Papua New Guinea now finds itself in that same uncomfortable space.
And people are watching closely to see how long it takes for common sense, law, and technology to line up.
