EntryUpdated 2026/08/09
If the Cable Breaks, Can Satellites Take Over?
Partly — but they are not the same thing. Submarine cables carry almost all international traffic and satellites a small fraction of it. The difference is not only capacity but who decides when the service stops.
Read this first: How Do You Change the Status Quo Without Firing?
How does international internet traffic actually travel?
Overwhelmingly through submarine cables. This surprises people, because everyday internet feels wireless — but the wireless part covers only the last few dozen metres. Crossing an ocean is almost entirely physical fibre.
There are fewer cables than people assume and far fewer landing points. Bringing a cable ashore needs suitable seabed, a protected stretch of coast, and a local landing permit, so several cables serving one region often converge on a handful of landing stations — a textbook single point of failure: many routes on paper, a few doorways in reality.
Satellites operate at an entirely different scale. Even the large low-earth-orbit constellations of recent years fall well short of a single modern submarine cable in total capacity — and that capacity is shared among every user across the coverage area.
How do cables break, and how long is the repair?
Most breaks are accidental: fishing gear and dragged anchors account for the great majority, followed by seabed earthquakes and landslides. Hundreds of faults occur worldwide each year and most go unnoticed, because traffic reroutes automatically.
Repair requires a specialised cable ship. There are not many, they are unevenly distributed, and the work means locating the fault, lifting the cable off the seabed, splicing it, and laying it back — weeks when it goes well, longer with weather, sea state, or permits. That is the sharpest contrast with terrestrial networks: on land you can dig the same day; at sea you cannot.
It is also why deliberate and accidental are hard to separate in the moment. The same marks can come from a trawler or from an anchor dragged on purpose, and attribution takes time and evidence — which is exactly why grey-zone operations favour this method: real damage, blurred responsibility, and a victim who must prove the case before responding.
What did low-earth-orbit constellations change?
Two things above all: latency and speed of deployment. Low orbits are far closer, cutting round-trip latency from hundreds of milliseconds in geostationary orbit to tens, which makes real-time calls and remote operation usable; and a terminal needs only an antenna, with no physical line at all.
That made satellites a genuine backup for the first time rather than merely an option for remote areas. In a crisis this is the valuable property: it depends on no local physical infrastructure, so it does not fail alongside that infrastructure.
The capacity gap did not change, though — it only became less obvious. Constellations suit traffic that is small in volume and high in importance: command communications, financial settlement, emergency coordination, news transmission. They do not suit carrying an economy’s everyday internet. Treating them as an equivalent substitute for cable is the standard over-optimism here.
They are also a textbook dual-use system: one constellation serving commercial users and military units at once, which complicates its position in a conflict — interrupting a commercial service and disabling a military capability become technically the same act.
Who decides when the service stops?
This is the deepest difference beyond capacity. Submarine cables are owned by consortia of multiple carriers, which makes unilateral shutdown hard. A constellation typically sits with a single operator, which can enable, restrict, or geographically limit service from its own console.
So resilience takes a different shape in each. A cable’s fragility is physical — an anchor severs it and repair is slow. A constellation’s fragility is governance — nothing severs it, but service in a region can end through a commercial decision, an export control, or the policy of the operator’s home state.
Which means “we have a backup” needs qualifying. Physical redundancy and governance redundancy do not substitute for one another: another cable does not solve a single-operator problem, and another satellite contract does not solve a seabed one. Real resilience here means having both and confirming in advance that they do not share a weakness.
The logic is exactly that of a chokepoint, except the choke is not a strait but a landing station and an administrative console: whoever holds the point holds asymmetric bargaining power.
What does this mean for Taiwan?
Taiwan is an island whose international connectivity rests almost entirely on submarine cables, landing at a small number of points — which makes the single point of failure above concrete rather than abstract. It is starker for the outlying islands, where one break can drop connectivity to a minimal level, as has already happened.
Preparation works on two layers. Physically, more landing points and more route diversity, including deliberately indirect paths in different directions. In governance terms, ensuring backup does not concentrate in one operator, and negotiating crisis-time service conditions in advance — negotiate during the crisis and negotiating speed decides the outcome.
For an ordinary organisation, two questions are enough to take away: can my critical operations continue with connectivity fully down, and is my “backup” merely a second account on the same path? The second is the same question the supply chain piece asks — nominal diversification and physical diversification are frequently not the same thing.