Last month, Iran The Tehran Times published what appeared to be damning satellite evidence: a before-and-after image of the “American radar,” supposedly “completely destroyed.”
This was not the case. The image was an AI-manipulated version of a year-old Google Earth shot taken in Bahrain: wrong location, wrong timeline, fabricated damage. Open source intelligence researchers I demystified it in a few hours matching it to older satellite images and identifying identical visual artifacts, down to cars frozen in the same positions.
A small act of disinformation, quickly debunked. But he highlighted a challenge that becomes more difficult during an active conflict: The satellite infrastructure that journalists, analysts, pilots and governments rely on to clearly see the conflict in the Gulf is itself becoming contested terrain — delayed, usurped, denied or simply controlled by actors whose interests do not always align with public access.
The escalation follows growing tensions between the United States, Israel and Iran, with missile and drone activity crossing Gulf airspace and regional infrastructure – including satellites and navigation systems – coming into conflict.
Infrastructure is no longer neutral
When satellite data becomes unreliable, its control becomes a central issue.
In the Gulf, satellite infrastructure is largely managed by state-backed operators. These rely on geostationary satellites, positioned well above the equator, which are used for activities such as broadcasting, communications and weather forecasting.
In the UAE, this includes Space42 for secure communications and Earth observation. Saudi Arabia-led Arabsat handles broadcasting and broadband, while Qatar’s Es’hailSat supports regional connectivity. All operate under close government surveillance.
Iran is building a parallel system. Its satellites, including Paya (also known as Tolou-3), are part of a broader desire for expansion independent surveillance capabilities of Western infrastructures. The high-resolution Earth observation satellite was launched from the Russian Vostochny cosmodrome.
The market around this infrastructure is growing rapidly. The satellite communications sector in the Middle East is valued at more than $4 billion and is expected to reach $5.64 billion by 2031, according to one estimate, largely driven by air connectivity tied to demand from commercial aviation and defense. Maritime platforms already represent almost a third of regional revenues.
Access is the new bottleneck
Commercial fleets in low Earth orbit like Planet Labs and Maxar operate differently from government-owned systems – and access is the main constraint. Governments receive priority tasks, while newsrooms and NGOs rely on paid subscriptions.
On March 11, Planet Labs announced it would extend deadlines for imaging the Middle East by two weeks. THE the company denied the decision ” stemmed from a government request, instead stating that it was to “ensure that our images are not tactically exploited by adversary actors to target Allied and NATO partner personnel and civilians.”
Open Source Intelligence (OSINT) journalist Maryam Ishani Thompson told WIRED Middle East that “losing Planet Labs is so hard because we were getting a fast refresh rate. Even if we look to Chinese satellites, we’re not getting that speed.”
Chinese platforms like MizarVision, an open-source geospatial intelligence provider based in Shanghai, have seen an increase in usage since these delays, part of a broader shift in who controls the imagery pipeline. Russia and China also increasingly share access to satellites with Iran, meaning the companies that once set the terms of what the world could see are no longer the only ones with their eyes on the Gulf.
If you can’t verify, you can’t dispute the story
On an operational level, the consequences are immediate.
Ishani’s verification process depends on historical reference points. The static nature of the Tehran Times image – with cars in identical positions in both frames – was detectable precisely because the journalists had recent images with which to compare. Remove that baseline and the same image becomes harder to debunk.
“In this opaque space,” says Ishani. “Iran is producing its own false narrative. If we can’t document it and verify it, they can continue to create a narrative and sell it to their people.”
Victoria Samson, chief director of space security and stability at the nonprofit Secure World Foundation, says that for most commercial and private satellite companies, the U.S. government is one of their biggest customers, which creates “a reluctance to antagonize the U.S. government.”
She adds that self-censorship could be a way to get ahead of regulation. “Companies always like to go for the low-hanging fruit. You say, ‘Look, you don’t need to impose regulation on us. We get it.'”
Responsibility for all this lies in a legal gray area. The Outer Space Treaty of 1967 gives nations a duty to continually authorize and supervise their national actors in space, in theory making the United States responsible for companies like SpaceX and Starlink. In practice, this turns figures like Elon Musk into geopolitical actors operating within a framework that was not designed for them.
Alghanim Industries of Kuwait announced Starlink availability via Sama X authorized dealer this month, followed by the UAE shortly after. Initially provided free in Ukraine, access to Starlink was later restricted in parts of the conflict, with Reuters reporting that officials were instructed limit coverage in certain areas. Since then, the model has shifted to government and military contracts. But a contract with an individual whose political positions can change constitutes a kind of security guarantee fundamentally different from that concluded with a state. “If you provide services or capabilities to combatants in an active military conflict, under the laws of armed conflict, you are a legitimate target,” Samson says.
There is no international body with the power to dictate what private satellite companies can or cannot do in a conflict zone. What exists instead is a patchwork of commercial contracts, self-regulation and individual judgments.
The impact reached the cockpit
The consequences of this void do not remain abstract for long.
Flight radar24a widely used flight tracking platform that aggregates real-time aircraft data from transponders and satellites, reports “a dramatic increase in GPS interference in the region since the start of the war, particularly in the southeastern area of the Arabian Peninsula.”
A pilot who regularly flies over Gulf Cooperation Council states, speaking on condition of anonymity, described his experience from inside the cockpit. “It usually starts with a message on our FMC,” he says, referring to a flight management computer, “telling us that our left or right GPS signal is lost.”
For the passengers, nothing seems abnormal. For the pilot, a cascade of procedures begins.
Once both GPS signals are lost, pilots move on to updating distance measuring equipment, a backup navigation method that calculates the aircraft’s position by measuring its distance from multiple radio beacons on the ground, rather than satellites. In fact, the system relies on an older infrastructure, predating GPS.
The tradeoff is immediate: They lose access to the Enhanced Ground Proximity Warning System, a critical onboard safety system that uses GPS data and terrain maps to warn pilots if the plane is in danger of flying too close to the ground. GPS spoofing can also corrupt the timing of the on-board clock, introducing another level of navigation unreliability.
The pilot describes the situation with a matter-of-fact tone that is perhaps the most disturbing detail of all: “GPS jamming has become quite common in the area. » Mitigation procedures were only introduced industry-wide a few years ago, in response to jamming that occurred during the war between Russia and Ukraine. They are now commonplace in the Gulf, he says.
Satellite infrastructure was built by states, inherited by corporations, and is now contested by both. In the Gulf, the question of who controls the skies is no longer a political abstraction. As fragments of access to satellite data, these gaps shape everything from how quickly misinformation is debunked to how pilots navigate disrupted airspace.
This story was originally published by WIRED Middle East.
