Oil pressure and economic strain drive Iran-US talks

Several commentators and state-linked outlets have suggested Qatar may be exploring financial mechanisms that would give Tehran access to some of its frozen assets without requiring direct US cash transfers to Iran.

Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf, Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi and Central Bank Governor Abdolnaser Hemmati paid a highly publicized visit to Doha on Monday, fueling speculation that talks focused heavily on the frozen assets issue.

Iranian media widely linked Hemmati’s presence to negotiations over financial guarantees, though no official details of the discussions have been released.

CNN reported on Monday that Intense talks were ongoing in Doha in coordination with the United States, focusing on the Strait of Hormuz, Iran’s highly enriched uranium and frozen funds.

A day earlier, an informed source with direct knowledge of the negotiations told Iran International that Tehran has demanded guaranteed access to $12 billion in frozen assets during the first phase of any arrangement.

Iranian officials continue to insist that the country’s nuclear program and stockpile of highly enriched uranium should only be addressed in later stages of a broader agreement.

The current focus appears to center on roughly $6 billion in Iranian assets transferred from South Korea to Qatar in 2023 under a US-Iran prisoner exchange deal.

The funds were later re-frozen following the October 7 Hamas attack on Israel and the subsequent deterioration in relations between Tehran and Washington.

Mohammad Marandi, a commentator close to the Iranian government, suggested in a televised interview Sunday that Qatar could initially transfer the money to Iran before later being reimbursed by the United States.

Political analyst Shahir Shahidsaless wrote on X that such an arrangement would allow Washington to avoid directly paying Tehran while still meeting one of Iran’s principal demands.

Reuters previously reported, citing senior Iranian sources, that Washington had agreed in principle to release some frozen Iranian assets as part of efforts to secure safe passage through the Strait of Hormuz, though US officials later denied that any final agreement had been reached.

The IRGC-linked Tasnim news agency, citing what it described as an informed source, reported Sunday that Tehran had made clear it would reject any preliminary arrangement lacking a concrete first step by Washington on the assets issue.

“Iran has emphasized that without the release of a specific portion of the blocked assets in the very first step, and without a clear and guaranteed mechanism for the release of all frozen assets, no agreement will be possible,” the source told Tasnim.

Tasnim also claimed US officials were backtracking on earlier signals delivered through intermediaries regarding the funds.

“Based on past experiences of repeated American violations and obstruction,” the source said, “Iran will not allow the issue of asset release to be reduced to vague and unreal promises.”

Despite the tensions, Mashallah Shamsolvaezin, a member of President Masoud Pezeshkian’s Media Council, expressed cautious optimism, describing the frozen-assets dispute as “a small problem” in remarks to Fars News Agency.

He said the disagreement could be resolved within 48 hours and suggested future negotiations might move from Doha to Geneva or another location more accessible to the American delegation.

At the same time, hardline figures continue to insist on preserving what they describe as “Iran’s management” of the Strait of Hormuz.

Foreign Ministry spokesperson Esmaeil Baghaei denied Monday that Tehran was seeking to impose tolls on ships passing through the waterway, but said providing navigation and environmental protection services would require fees.

Hossein Shariatmadari, editor-in-chief of the hardline Kayhan newspaper, criticized reports suggesting Iran could agree to reopen the Strait of Hormuz under a broader understanding with Washington.

“If this news is true,” he wrote, “the real meaning of opening the Strait of Hormuz is the disarmament of Iran against military, economic and political attacks by enemies.”

The comments highlighted the enduring influence of hardliners advocating maximalist demands, a dynamic critics say has repeatedly helped sink fragile diplomatic openings between Tehran and Washington.

The cadence of Trump’s remarks about Iran belongs less to the world of foreign policy than to the culture that shaped him long before politics did: New York real estate, tabloid combat, and public brinkmanship treated as performance art.

The comparison that comes closest may not come from diplomacy at all, but from David Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross, that ruthless portrait of American real-estate sales culture, where power belongs not to the wisest man in the room, but to the most psychologically relentless.

In the film’s most famous scene appears Blake, the sleek corporate predator whose confidence and aggression are treated as forms of intelligence. He does not simply sell real estate. He sells power, status, and the fantasy of invulnerability itself.

Trump comes from that exact culture, though he did not invent it. He emerged from it.

It is difficult to understand Trump’s approach to Iran through the traditional frameworks of Republican foreign policy because Trump does not instinctively speak that language. He speaks the language of the deal, more specifically, the language of the New York deal.

To diplomats, consistency creates stability and ambiguity introduces risk. For Trump, unpredictability is leverage. Negotiation is a psychological contest in which pressure, timing, perception, and dominance become instruments of power.

One week, a deal appears close. The next, Tehran faces catastrophic consequences if it refuses American demands. To conventional policymakers, the reversals can appear chaotic. But those familiar with the culture of aggressive American salesmanship recognize the game: create urgency, destabilize expectations, project strength, keep the other side uncertain.

But Trump’s instincts are tied not only to commerce, but to performance.

The United States is approaching the 2026 FIFA World Cup, one of the largest international spectacles ever hosted on American soil. Beginning next June, the tournament will unfold across multiple cities before a global audience measured not in millions, but billions.

That context may help explain the curious patience embedded in some of his recent remarks on Iran.

In a Truth Social post on Sunday, Trump insisted negotiators should “not rush into a deal” because “time is on our side.” Pressure on Iran, he wrote, would remain in place until an agreement was “reached, certified, and signed.”

In other words: “get them to sign on the line which is dotted.”

The negotiations with Iran may therefore be less about immediate resolution than about the management of instability until after the World Cup final, a spectacle Trump instinctively understands.

A regional escalation or collapsing diplomatic process in the weeks leading up to the tournament would threaten precisely the atmosphere Trump values most: the image of American strength, prosperity, and control.

This does not mean the negotiations are insincere or a deal is impossible. But it does suggest observers should be cautious about interpreting every public signal as evidence of imminent breakthrough or collapse.

He is not fundamentally opposed to negotiation with Iran. On the contrary, he appears deeply attracted to the possibility of a grand bargain. What he seeks, however, is not simply a workable agreement, but a visible triumph dramatic enough to dominate headlines and simple enough to market politically.

This may be the most distinctly American dimension of Trump’s foreign policy: the belief that geopolitical success must also function as branding. Trump wants ownership of the moment as much as he wants a deal. He wants the image of resolution itself: Iran returning to the table, concessions publicly framed as victories, history compressed into a photograph.

But history rarely cooperates with theatrical instincts. Foreign policy does not bend as easily as commercial real-estate negotiation because nations are not distressed assets waiting to be restructured.

The Islamic Republic measures survival differently: absorbing pressure can itself become a form of victory.

Salesmanship can generate headlines, pressure, and even temporary breakthroughs. But there are crises in which personality eventually collides with structure. That may be the clearest lesson of Trump’s long and unfinished confrontation with Tehran.

The art of the deal becomes far more complicated when the other side sees the conflict as a question of historical survival, when the only thing both sides have in common is a profound sense of mistrust.

Whether there will be a hostile takeover after the World Cup remains unclear. But one does not need to be a geopolitical genius to recognize the underlying logic of pressure if one understands the culture from which Trump emerged.

As Blake says in Glengarry Glen Ross, “The only thing that counts in this life is to get them to sign on the line which is dotted.”

The pressure comes as parliament prepares to elect its new presidium on Monday.

An unusually blunt report published Sunday by the semi-official Iran Labour News Agency (ILNA) described what it called “organized destruction,” media pressure campaigns and coordinated text-message attacks targeting Ghalibaf ahead of the vote.

A lawmaker interviewed by ILNA, Rouhollah Lak Aliabadi, accused political rivals of orchestrating text-message campaigns against Ghalibaf in an effort to influence members of parliament before the leadership vote.

He said opponents were portraying support for negotiations as a form of surrender or deviation from revolutionary principles, even though decisions regarding diplomacy ultimately rest with Iran’s top leadership.

The attacks reflect broader tensions inside Iran’s conservative establishment as indirect negotiations with Washington appear to be gaining momentum.

US President Donald Trump struck a cautiously optimistic tone over the weekend, saying negotiators should “not rush into a deal” because “time is on our side,” while administration officials indicated progress had been made on the outlines of a possible agreement.

At the same time, officials and media outlets close to the Revolutionary Guards have emphasized deep skepticism toward Washington, insisting major disagreements remain unresolved and warning against excessive optimism.

Among the most contentious issues are restrictions affecting the Strait of Hormuz, sanctions relief, the future of Iran’s enriched uranium stockpile and the sequencing of commitments by both sides.

The growing attacks on Ghalibaf suggest hardliners fear that even a limited diplomatic breakthrough could shift the balance of power within the Islamic Republic toward figures advocating a more controlled and pragmatic form of engagement with the West.

A similar dynamic is also visible in Washington, where prominent Republican hawks and conservative commentators have begun warning against any agreement they believe would leave Iran’s military or nuclear infrastructure substantially intact.

Senator Ted Cruz has been among those signaling concern that the administration may be softening its position, while Democratic critics such as Senator Chris Murphy argue the war failed to achieve its objectives and ultimately left Tehran in a stronger position.

The internet was once seen in Iran as a gateway to the outside world, but it is increasingly being reshaped into something narrower and more conditional: a privilege that can be restricted, filtered or priced at will.

After two months offline, Morteza finally managed to reconnect for a few minutes and send a message to a group of old friends.

“Hi guys, do you know any VPN that actually works?” he wrote. “I’m locked out of my hearing-aid account. I can’t update it.”

The message captured something many Iranians have been trying to explain for months: the country’s internet crisis is no longer just about Instagram, Telegram or access to foreign news websites. The internet has become woven into nearly every aspect of daily life: from work and banking to transportation, education and healthcare.

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After two months offline, Morteza finally managed to reconnect for a few minutes and send a message to a group of old friends.

“Hi guys, do you know any VPN that actually works?” he wrote. “I’m locked out of my hearing-aid account. I can’t update it.”

The message captured something many Iranians have been trying to explain for months: the country’s internet crisis is no longer just about Instagram, Telegram or access to foreign news websites. The internet has become woven into nearly every aspect of daily life: from work and banking to transportation, education and healthcare.

Iran’s latest shutdown, which began on February 28 and continues in various forms, has become one of the longest nationwide internet disruptions in the world.

Even global tech companies have begun to feel its effects. Meta, the owner of WhatsApp, Facebook and Instagram, recently reported that the average daily users of its apps fell from 3.58 billion to 3.56 billion in the first quarter of the year, partly because of internet disruptions in Iran.

The decline was small by Meta standards but striking nonetheless: Iran’s blackout had become large enough to leave visible marks on the usage charts of some of the world’s biggest technology platforms.

The whitelist

During wars, outages caused by attacks on infrastructure are not unusual. But in Iran’s case, the authorities themselves ordered and implemented the restrictions while simultaneously insisting that no real “internet shutdown” had occurred.

Officials instead describe the measures as restrictions on “foreign platforms” imposed because of wartime conditions.

Rasool Jalili, a member of Iran’s Supreme Council of Cyberspace, argued that when foreign media speak about an internet shutdown, they really mean access to Instagram and Telegram. He went further, placing those platforms in the same category as American fighter jets and missiles.

The comparison reflects a broader shift in how parts of the Iranian establishment increasingly view the internet: not as infrastructure, but as a threat to governance and security.

The same argument is often echoed abroad by commentators close to the government. Mohammad Marandi, for example, argued in response to an Al Jazeera report that because some domestic applications and services remained functional, describing the situation as an “internet blackout” was misleading.

Technically, internet filtering usually means blocking specific websites or services from a global network—a system based on blacklists.

But what Iran is now moving toward goes further than blocking Instagram, X or Telegram. Increasingly, access itself is being reorganized around approved users and approved services through a system marketed as “Internet Pro.”

Internet as privilege

The idea emerged publicly after the ceasefire alongside official talk of domestic governance of foreign platforms. 

The government presented the plan—reportedly approved by Iran’s Supreme National Security Council—as a temporary measure designed to reduce pressure on businesses during wartime.

In practice, it creates different layers of internet access based on profession, identity and official approval.

A doctor’s package may allow access to YouTube while keeping Instagram blocked. A businessman’s package may permit Instagram but not other services. The result is a more formalized version of what critics inside Iran have long described as “class-based internet.”

The prolonged restrictions have inflicted severe damage on businesses already weakened by inflation and war. But they have also created new economic opportunities.

Pursuit of workarounds

VPNs sold in Iran vary widely. Some are commercial products, others are homemade “configurations” that function only through specific servers and routes, while some reportedly rely indirectly on systems such as Starlink.

For users, however, they all mean the same thing: paying increasingly large sums for fragments of connection to the outside world.

Reports suggest VPN prices have multiplied several times since the beginning of the war, though free anti-censorship tools developed by independent developers occasionally disrupt the market and drive prices down.

But here is the contradiction: if unrestricted internet access is truly considered a security threat, why does that same access become available to approved groups through money, permits or connections?

Independent investigative journalist Yashar Soltani has argued that the “Internet Pro” system is tied partly to the financial interests of major telecom operators and networks linked to powerful state institutions.

Whether or not all aspects of those claims withstand scrutiny, one reality is already visible inside Iran: alongside the shutdown itself, a market has emerged for selling different levels of digital access.

The result is a growing divide between those who remain connected and those effectively cut off from the outside world.

At the same time as restricting access to the global internet, the Islamic Republic has increasingly redefined connectivity not as a public right but as a controlled privilege—one that can be priced, restricted and distributed according to political and economic priorities.

In Iran today, internet access is becoming not just a tool of communication, but a commodity and an instrument of control.