The debate over Iran's frozen assets has intensified following the Islamabad memorandum, which paves the way for releasing $24 billion in reserves once a final nuclear deal is sealed. President Trump has insisted the funds will only be unlocked after a comprehensive agreement, but a deeper question remains: who actually owns that money, and what would best serve their interests?
An estimated $100 billion in Iranian assets held abroad represent the collective wealth generated by the country's oil, trade, and workforce. International law recognizes the Islamic Republic as the sovereign representative, but critics argue that a regime that suppresses dissent and exports instability has no legitimate claim to that national patrimony. Returning the funds as a reward for aggression, they say, would validate the regime's false narrative that the Iranian people and their rulers share the same goals.
Washington has already set a precedent for handling such assets. When the Afghan Republic collapsed in 2021, the U.S. froze about $7 billion in central bank reserves. Instead of handing them over to the Taliban or creditors, the U.S. created the Fund for the Afghan People, a Swiss-based trust that allocated $3.5 billion for the population while denying the sanctioned regime any access. Federal courts later blocked attempts by 9/11 creditors to seize those funds, reinforcing the principle that central bank assets are not the property of a ruling faction.
A similar mechanism was established for Venezuela a year earlier by the U.S., EU, and UN, ring-fencing over $3 billion from the Maduro regime. The legal framework, rooted in the International Emergency Economic Powers Act, is already in place. The core principle is clear: frozen wealth of an illegitimate government can be preserved for the people it oppresses.
So what would serve Iranians most? Digital connectivity is a critical need. The regime's survival depends on information isolation, as seen during the last major uprising when it cut domestic internet access for nearly three months to prevent documentation of state violence. Tehran has since criminalized Starlink, threatening users with severe penalties, including capital punishment for unauthorized connectivity classified as espionage. Despite these risks, Starlink usage is growing, but cost and access remain barriers. Direct-to-cell satellite service, which works with ordinary phones and requires no smuggled terminals, could bypass these hurdles. The Pentagon explored this option but balked at an estimated $500 million launch cost and $100 million monthly operating fee—a gap that a dedicated trust could fill.
Washington has long treated internet access for Iranians as a policy priority. The Office of Foreign Assets Control issued General License D-2, now codified, which explicitly supports providing tools to counter state censorship and surveillance, even authorizing satellite capacity leasing into Iran. The legal architecture is ready; what's missing is political will and sufficient funding.
A proposed Iranian People's Connectivity or Internet Freedom Fund would draw entirely from frozen and confiscated Iranian assets, governed like the Afghan and Venezuelan models with independent trustees and unanimous-consent safeguards to ensure the regime cannot touch a dollar. The fund would underwrite lawful procurement under existing U.S. regulations, supporting direct-to-cell capacity and secure hardware distribution through trusted networks.
The administration faces a genuine choice: return the reserves to the regime, financing oppression, regional aggression, and terrorism, or redirect them to the tens of millions of Iranians who oppose their rulers. Only the latter path honors the rightful owners of the national patrimony and strikes the regime at its choke point of state control. As one analyst put it, a free Iran begins with a connected one—and that connection can be financed by the assets that belong to its people.
