Australia’s burgeoning satellite industry faces a looming crisis: a shortage of launch facilities to put its technology into orbit. If left unaddressed, this crisis will add cost and delay to realising Australia’s plans for space.

The Government, universities and businesses are identifying more ways to use satellites for national security, research and economic growth, but none of these services can be accessed until the satellites are orbiting. Therefore, launch facilities are vital. This should be obvious, but the Australian space industry mostly focuses on developing smart satellite payloads.

Instead, it needs to prioritise building a space port—an essential piece of infrastructure that would enable our much-heralded revolution in space technology.

Globally, space innovation is considered a key driver of the fourth industrial revolution. Satellite applications boost productivity and efficiency across many sectors including agriculture, mining, telecommunications, climate and meteorology, as well as defence and location-based services.

In Australia too, our economy, security and civic life are already irreversibly dependent on satellites, and over the past 15 years our space industry has undergone rapid evolution and commercialisation in Low Earth Orbit (LEO) applications. But there is still a critical absence of the permanent infrastructure needed to launch LEO satellites.

Australia currently uses overseas launch capabilities, but reliance on other nations’ launch schedules and availability can lead to costly delays. On top of that, we’re now in a time of increased demand and rapidly changing strategic risk, so it’s even more urgent that we end our dependence on others.

There are launch facilities in the United States, Japan, India, China, Europe and South America, and the demand for these is expected to exceed supply by 3:1 over the next 10 years. And with the global strategic balance under stress, access to these launch sites can be quickly cut. For instance, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine cut access to launch facilities in Kazakhstan—a reduction of 15-20% in large payload launch facilities available to the Western world.

The war has also demonstrated that the space domain is the first to be attacked in modern conflicts; Russia disrupted or destroyed Ukraine’s global positioning systems (GPS), essential communications and satellites prior to invasion. Satellites may also become unavailable due to direct military action, obsolescence, change in the orbital environment or equipment failure. Certain areas may need coverage and not be able to get it.

The lesson is clear: geopolitical instability and war can simultaneously limit access to launch facilities and increase the need for more launches. Australia’s future space operations will need to respond to military action or natural disasters in a flexible, timely manner.

The conflict in Ukraine also showed that a country controlling a key space resource can deny others access to data, affecting the success of launch and space operations, whether combat or humanitarian. To operate without disruption, Australia’s space industry will need to be confident in a continuous supply of data, and a sovereign launch infrastructure can help achieve this.

Things are moving in the right direction but not fast enough. Space capabilities were designated as a sovereign industrial capability priority (SICP) in 2021 by the Morrison government, along with robotics, autonomous systems and artificial intelligence. SICPs have a strong focus on building ‘a robust, resilient and internationally competitive defence industry’, and more broadly to boost critical industry and a technology-focused workforce. But a detailed plan for space as a SICP is yet to be released. The Albanese government must address this.

For an Australian sovereign industrial capability for space to deliver any practical economic or security outcome, it’s vital to understand that the space SICP needs to be about more than developing satellites. What counts is the end-to-end space value chain: every aspect of the industry contributing to production, operation, supply and enablement activities.

If Australia develops its own space launch capability, we can know when, where and how to make the most of our satellites, benefiting our economy, security and society. Australia would have the flexibility and resilience to ensure continuity of space-based data. We could replace unserviceable satellites and launch new satellites without waiting for access to facilities overseas.

Space Centre Australia is one such company building strategic launch infrastructure capabilities, with a $750 million project in development in Far North Queensland. Having started with internal funding, the project is now collaborating with the federal and Queensland governments. First launches are anticipated after 2026.

Last year the project achieved significant milestones. Negotiating began on Indigenous land use agreements, environmental analysis was undertaken and development approvals were received. Progress was made on site design, the number of staff increased and the initial stages of securing federal government funding were passed.

To achieve Australian sovereignty, we need a domestically owned, globally competitive strategic launch infrastructure that prioritises Australian interests. Addressing this need is an essential first step in realising Australia’s ambitious space plans, strengthening our defence capability and developing a sophisticated, resilient economy.

The 2019 movie Ad Astra had a US military base on the moon and a memorable battle scene involving a moon rover, implying that by late this century the moon will be heavily militarised. A question now being discussed in space policy circles is whether fact will follow science fiction, as the US Space Force considers exactly what its role will be. It has some pretty ambitious ideas, and a recent report indicates that its thinking will be shaped by a deep astrostrategic perspective.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when news emerged that a group of US Air Force Academy cadets are researching the idea of military bases on the lunar surface. The academy’s Institute for Applied Space Policy and Strategy has a ‘military on the moon’ research team that was set up ‘to evaluate the possibility and necessity of a sustained United States presence on the lunar surface’. The focus seems to be on a military base, though there’s little information on exactly what they’re planning.

But the very notion of a military base on the moon has the space law community understandably seeing red.

Such a base would directly conflict with both the spirit and letter of the 1967 Outer Space Treaty (OST), which provides the foundation for space law. Article IV of the treaty states that:

The Moon and other celestial bodies shall be used by all States Parties to the Treaty exclusively for peaceful purposes. The establishment of military bases, installations and fortifications, the testing of any type of weapon and the conduct of military manoeuvres on celestial bodies shall be forbidden.

A military base on the moon would also violate the 1979 Moon Treaty, which Australia supports, though no major space power has ratified it. So that means no overt or declared lunar military bases, at least as long as all powers remain signatories to the OST.

The academy cadets would no doubt be aware of this. Why even consider such a move, then?

Current space law was developed for a different, more benign era and doesn’t adequately address the emerging dynamics of space activities. The framework has gaps that that an adversary could exploit in grey zones in coming decades. In particular, commercial space operations provide a convenient cover for states that wish to creep around international space norms and sidestep established law.

The OST doesn’t prohibit military personnel from being on the moon for scientific ‘or any other peaceful purposes’, and states that ‘the use of any equipment or facility necessary for peaceful exploration of the moon and other celestial bodies shall also not be prohibited’. That implies that a commercial facility supposedly established for peaceful exploration could be staffed by military personnel. Because the treaty leaves a facility’s role wide open to interpretation, a thin veneer could separate a commercial base from an undeclared military facility. A classic example of this problem exists here on earth—in Antarctica.

The OST does require signatories to ensure that they or their commercial representatives conform with Article IV: ‘States Parties to the Treaty shall bear international responsibility for national activities in outer space, including the Moon and other celestial bodies, whether such activities are carried on by government agencies or by non-governmental entities.’

That sounds good, but the clarity dissipates when future commercial space activities are considered in more depth in the light of recent developments in space law. The 2015 US Commercial Space Launch Competitiveness Act sets a precedent for potential grey zones over legitimate activity by permitting a commercial company to secure, own and profit from a space resource.

The act explicitly states this doesn’t allow a company to claim sovereignty, and thus avoids a challenge to the OST’s provision that, ‘Outer space, including the moon and other celestial bodies, is not subject to national appropriation by claim of sovereignty, by means of use or occupation, or by any other means.’

Yet it’s unclear how a private company will see securing and profiting from a resource as compatible with not controlling the region of a celestial body on which the resource is found. Safeguarding access to a resource—and preventing a competitor from intruding in the region being exploited—implies a security dimension that the OST wasn’t designed to manage.

In April, US President Donald Trump signed an executive order on ‘encouraging support for the recovery and use of space resources’ which said that ‘it shall be the policy of the United States to encourage international support for the public and private recovery and use of resources in outer space, consistent with applicable law’.

The administration then released the Artemis Accords, which are designed to establish a common set of principles to govern the civil exploration and use of outer space. The accords make clear that ‘all activities [on the moon] will be conducted for peaceful purposes, per the tenets of the Outer Space Treaty’. That tends to reinforce the role of the OST, at least for the US and its allies and partners in space.

The Artemis Accords require the US and its partners to share information on the location and general nature of operations so that ‘safety zones’ can be created to ‘prevent harmful interference’. That implies delineation of territory or a zone of control around a facility.

Space is a global commons that is rich in resources, and major-power competition—as well as commercial competition—is already happening and will intensify in coming decades. It seems likely that, despite the OST, states and non-state actors will compete for access to and control over resources in space. And achieving that access and control will require a permanent presence in the region where the resources are located.

The messy debate over how the commercial and astropolitical realities sit with the OST’s vision of space as a peaceful sanctuary and commons open to all is just getting started. Lunar military bases are not inevitable, but competition for resource wealth on the high frontier is.

On 1 July, the Australian Space Agency, led by Dr Megan Clark AC, officially opened for business.

In the May 2018 budget, the Australian government allocated $41 million over four years to fund the establishment of a space agency. That amount includes $15 million for ‘partnering with international space agencies to enable Australian businesses to compete in the global space economy’. Jobs and Innovation Minister Michaelia Cash’s announcement is here.

The international space economy is expected to grow significantly in the coming decade, and the government’s aim is to triple Australia’s space industry to $10–12 billion by 2030.

The government’s intent for the agency is clear:

• Its ambit is confined to civil and commercial space matters.
• There’s no plan to change existing arrangements for departments and agencies that have well-established dependencies on and uses for satellite-based services and data; including Geoscience Australia, the Bureau of Meteorology and CSIRO.
• Funded activities will be designed to encourage private interests to invest.

The agency’s funding beyond 2021–22 may well depend on how convincingly and quickly it can demonstrate its worth. The agency and the broader community will need to know the measures by which the success of the agency will be judged.

The government’s intent has been broadly supported by the opposition. Kim Carr, the shadow minister for innovation, industry, science and research, has pledged a slightly higher amount of money than has the government, and the Labor Party is committed to continuous funding for the agency. Labor’s policy may be viewed here.

Although the agency has been created and funded explicitly to achieve economic objectives, ASPI executive director Peter Jennings has pointed out that the industry today is well below critical mass and may struggle to become big enough to be self-sustaining. That’s not an argument not to have an agency; there is much for it to do in coordinating domestic efforts and contributing to international space governance.

Much of the commentary about the agency and the prospects for a local space industry has been led by astronomers, space scientists and engineers. Their comments, interest and advocacy are welcomed and there’s no question that they will play an important role as the sector develops.

The broader media response suggests that people outside the sector don’t make fine distinctions between satellites, human space flight, planetary science, astrophysics and the ‘Big Bang’. These topics are simply lumped together as ‘space’ and it’s all ‘cool’. That points to an enormous reservoir of community goodwill just waiting to be tapped by the agency.

Comment from industry representatives, in marked contrast to the science and academic communities, has been muted. The Space Industry Association of Australia, the industry’s peak advocacy body, has been proper and formal in its responses to the various announcements, but the exposure of spokespeople from the association in the national media has been limited. Except for one announcement from Lockheed Martin welcoming the creation of the agency, larger companies, which might conceivably become part of the Australian space sector’s success, have remained silent. Industry will need to become more vocal if the agency is to survive.

New South Wales, South Australia, Victoria, Western Australia and the ACT are jostling to host the space agency. Each contender has strengths, but none of them has such a compelling and comprehensive suite of capabilities and connections to warrant hosting a fledgling national institution. A bidding war is utterly counterproductive and the Commonwealth should put an end to it by simply stating that the agency will be headquartered in Canberra, not just for 12 months but permanently.

Beyond the noise, two matters demand fuller and more careful discussion.

First, how the new civil agency will relate to the defence and national security communities is vitally important. Almost all space technologies are dual use—that is, they can support both civilian and military activities. This has implications for investment, jobs, national self-sufficiency, and exports. Australia needs a national space strategy that embraces all aspects of space activity. The agency may be hamstrung in delivering this much-needed national perspective if undue emphasis is placed on the civil nature of its responsibilities.

Second, managing and mitigating space debris is also a profoundly dual activity. Space junk does not distinguish between military and non-military satellites. All are at risk. Australia, as much commentary has noted, is well placed to contribute to international efforts to manage and eventually mitigate the problem that space debris presents, especially in low-earth orbits. There’s a potential role for the agency to promote Australia as a lead nation for this activity as responsibility for space situational awareness and space traffic management moves progressively from the military to civilian sphere.

Space may be ‘cool’, but it’s not ‘special’. In this regard, the agency stands to make two important contributions: first, to normalise the conversation about space; and second, to serve as an insurance policy by helping to protect the millions of jobs across the economy that depend on access to the services and data provided by satellites. New jobs will come and might be best regarded as a bonus.

Dr Clark and her team are embarking on vital and noble work. I wish them well.

The head of the Chinese lunar exploration program, Ye Peijian, has remarked that:

the universe is an ocean, the moon is the Diaoyu Islands, Mars is Huangyan Island. If we don’t go there now even though we’re capable of doing so, then we will be blamed by our descendants. If others go there, then they will take over, and you won’t be able to go even if you want to. This is reason enough.

His reference to the Senkaku Islands (Diaoyu  Islands) and Huangyan Island (Scarborough Shoal) suggests that China sees space in terms of astrostrategic terrain: the moon and Mars are places of astropolitical importance, rather than simply the focus of scientific exploration. Just as China sees control of the ‘first island chain’ in East Asia as vital to its maritime security, Ye’s comment suggests that these high grounds in space will bear directly on Chinese strategic interests in the coming decades.

Astropolitics is defined by Everett Dolman as ‘the study of the relationship between outer space terrain and technology and the development of political and military policy and strategy’. It contrasts with traditional geocentric approaches to space power, which focus on how space directly influences terrestrial affairs and downplays the vast astrostrategic terrain in cislunar space (the region between the Earth and the moon).

Astropolitics and astrostrategy are big ideas whose time is coming. The 2020s promise greater commercial and national activity from low-Earth orbit (LEO) to the moon and beyond, shifting mindsets from geocentric to space-centric thinking.

Ye Peijian is clearly thinking long term: Mars is distant and probably won’t be astropolitically significant for many decades, but the moon is more important, given its gravitational proximity to ‘near-Earth space’—the region from LEO out to geostationary orbit (GEO)—and its status as the highest natural ground above Earth’s gravity well.

It’s important to understand the astrostrategic terrain of space. Dolman notes:

What appears at first a featureless void is in fact a rich vista of gravitational mountains and valleys, oceans and rivers of resources and energy alternately dispersed and concentrated, broadly strewn danger zones of deadly radiation, and precisely placed peculiarities of astrodynamics.

Rather than being an infinite emptiness, space is delineated by gravitation and transfer trajectories, which constrain human activities in the same way as strategic maritime choke points. An actor that can control them can control access to resources of great value and strategic significance throughout the remainder of the 21st century.

Dolman relates astropolitics to Halford Mackinder’s early 20th-century ideas about geopolitics, which emerged as new technologies for ships, aircraft and railways were fast transforming advanced economies and thus power hierarchies. The driver for that change was a desire to control strategically important resources to gain comparative advantage over other states.

In the 2020s, there’s likely to be a similar recognition of the potential value of resources on the moon or on near-Earth asteroids, in addition to a requirement to control the LEO to GEO region. Under these circumstances, the traditional geocentric approach to space power will be increasingly challenged.

At the same time, space technology is being transformed through the introduction of lower cost reusable rockets, airborne launch systems and, on the horizon, hypersonic aerospace planes. Getting into space is becoming easier, quicker and cheaper, allowing more states and commercial actors to exploit it for geostrategic and commercial gain. Space is becoming more competitive and more congested as a result. It’s no sanctuary from human competition, and major-power conflict on the high frontier is becoming increasingly likely.

Into this complex astropolitical environment, President Donald Trump’s United States Space Force—another big idea—will emerge and evolve, probably over a similar timescale to the expansion of human activity to cislunar space in the 2020s.

There’s been a good deal of criticism—some thoughtful and some based on a kneejerk derision of Trump—about the idea of a US Space Force. The more thoughtful critiques have highlighted challenges in funding a sixth military force from an already constrained US defence budget. There are legitimate concerns about the need to avoid duplicating organisational structures and current US Air Force missions in space. Critics stress that the formation of a space force could severely disrupt the air force at a time of growing international uncertainty.

There’s also been criticism that a US Space Force would violate the 1967 Outer Space Treaty and related agreements. However, nothing in space law prevents the military use of space or the development of space weapons, provided they aren’t weapons of mass destruction or involve the military use of the moon and other celestial bodies. The Space Force per se wouldn’t violate the Outer Space Treaty, but there’s a growing threat that the treaty may come under increasing strain as major-power competition extends out to the cislunar region.

The formation of the US Air Force, which split from the US Army in 1947, was driven by operational experience in World War II, maturing technology and the strategic importance of the air domain. There’s been a similar maturing of thinking on space as an operational war-fighting domain in recent years, and, like the air domain of the 1940s, the space domain in the next decade will be highly contested. Maybe the space force is an idea whose time has come, and it shouldn’t be dismissed outright without deep consideration of the risks and opportunities.

That means it’s important to understand what’s driving Chinese aspirations. If the Chinese see the space domain in line with Dolman’s astropolitics thesis, Ye’s parallel of the moon and Mars with strategically contested terrain on Earth should make space thinkers in the West sit up and take notice. Control of the high frontier doesn’t need to end at GEO, particularly if the moon and other celestial bodies hold strategic wealth and value, and will be within easier reach by the end of the next decade.

The prospect of major-power competition on the high frontier may extend beyond GEO. Ye is making clear that either China will control the moon and other celestial bodies, or others will. The US and its allies must decide whether Chinese control of this high ground is acceptable. The US Space Force’s mission may be completely different from what the US Air Force currently does in space.