‘The militarization of space still needs to be better understood in its

political, economic, and legal dimensions. This book provides new

essential and innovative responses.’
Prof. Kai-Uwe Schrogl, President, International Institute of Space
Law (IISL)

‘In the shadow of great power competition in space, pan-European

perspectives provide a middle-of-the-road alternative. In this deeply
provocative and thoughtful text, the authors confront the need for a
unified European space defence policy in an increasingly defined
space warfighting domain while preserving as much of the peaceful,
shared responsibility of a space-dependent world as is plausible.’
Dr. Everett Dolman, US Air Force’s Air War College (AWC) and
the US Space Force’s West Space Seminar (WSS)
The Militarization of European Space
Policy

This book is focused on militarization as the nucleus of EU space policy

and the interrelatedness of European security, industrial competitiveness,
and military capabilities in the shaping of this policy.
The EU and key member states have increasingly joined the US, China
and Russia, among others, in regarding space assets as critical military, as
well as economic, industrial, and technological, enablers. This book tackles
this issue by, first, shedding light on the military aspects of EU space policy,
with special emphasis on the security and defence dimensions of projects
such as Galileo, Copernicus, Space Situational Awareness, and Satellite
Communication. In this context, contributors confront the empirical aspect
of developments, including the role of different institutional actors and the
involvement of specific member states. Further, the volume analyses the
discursive, ideological, normative, and theoretical foundations of the use of
space by the EU for strategic purposes, drawing on the broad spectrum of
European integration/International Relations theory. Last, but not least, the
volume discusses initiatives outside the EU by key global space players,
with an emphasis on the US and transatlantic space relations. All chapters
maintain a solid empirical foundation, in the form of geographical or issue-
related focus, with an area-specific emphasis on the EU as a whole,
transatlantic relations, the policies of key member states (such as France
and Italy), and core space powers such as the US, China and India.
This book will be of much interest to students of space power, security
studies, European politics and International Relations.

Thomas Hoerber is Professor and Jean Monnet Chair in European Studies,

Director of the EU*Asia Institute at ESSCA School of Management,
Angers, France. He is the author/editor of fifteen books.
Iraklis Oikonomou is Independent Researcher based in Athens, Greece.
He holds a PhD in International Politics from the University of Wales,
Aberystwyth, UK. He is the editor of four books.
Space Power and Politics
Series Editors: Thomas Hoerber, ESSCA, France and Mariel
Borowitz, Georgia Institute of Technology, USA

The Space Power and Politics series will provide a forum where space
policy and historical issues can be explored and examined in-depth. The
series will produce works that examine civil, commercial, and military uses
of space and their implications for international politics, strategy, and
political economy. This will include works on government and private
space programs, technological developments, conflict and cooperation,
security issues, and history.

A European Space Policy

Past Consolidation, Present Challenges and Future Perspectives
Edited by Thomas Hoerber and Sarah Lieberman

Security and Stability in the New Space Age

Alternatives to Arming
Brad Townsend

European Integration and Space Policy

A Growing Security Discourse
Edited by Thomas Hoerber and Antonella Forganni

The Commercialisation of Space

Politics, Economics and Ethics
Edited by Sarah Lieberman, Harald Köpping Athanasopoulos and Thomas
Hoerber

The Geopolitics of Space Colonization

Future Power Relations in the Inner Solar System
Bohumil Doboš
The Militarization of European
Space Policy

Edited by
Thomas Hoerber & Iraklis Oikonomou
First published 2024
by Routledge
4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

and by Routledge
605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

© 2024 selection and editorial matter, Thomas Hoerber & Iraklis Oikonomou; individual chapters,
the contributors
The right of Thomas Hoerber & Iraklis Oikonomou to be identified as the authors of the editorial
material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with
sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by
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photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in
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Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are
used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-032-13744-5 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-032-13745-2 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-003-23067-0 (ebk)

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670

Typeset in Times New Roman

by codeMantra
The Duty to Protect

We have the duty to protect life.

We have the duty to protect ordinary lives that can be so great
in their essence.
We have to give the means to protect the institutions that
protect us.

These means must never be used for anything else but to

protect.
And we have to make sure that that is inscribed in the
institutions that hold that power to protect.

It must be so clearly said that all temptation and corruption

will be revealed as petty forces that soil this sacred duty to
protect.

Thomas Hoerber, 26.2.2023, Angers

Contents

List of contributors

Introduction
THOMAS HOERBER AND IRAKLIS OIKONOMOU

PART I
The Conceptual & Strategic Dimension

1 Militarisation and Space: Constructing Space as Location

LORNA RYAN

2 Europe’s “Defensive Militarisation” of Space: Space in the

Context of the EU’s Emerging Military Agenda
FRANK SLIJPER

3 The Militarisation of Outer Space: A European Perspective

PASCAL LEGAI

4 From Fragmented Space to the Space University Institute

THOMAS HOERBER

PART II
Actors, Issues & Interests
 5 Outer Space, Debris and the Militarisation of Space
ISABELLE SOURBÈS-VERGER

6 The European Space Industry as a Driving Force for

Militarization
IRAKLIS OIKONOMOU

7 Italy’s Space Policy: Between Domestic Preferences and European

Policies
ANTONIO CALCARA

8 The Case of Luxembourg: A New Role for the Melians?

HELEN KAVVADIA

PART III
The Global Dimension

9 From Space Situational Awareness to Space Domain Awareness:

Examining Rhetorical and Substantive Transitions in the U.S.
Approach to Space Security
MARIEL BOROWITZ

10 China and India as Rising Powers and the Militarisation of Space

DIMITRIOS STROIKOS

11 Military Strategy in Outer Space: A Call to Arms Control

JESSICA WEST

Conclusion: A European Third Way in Space

THOMAS HOERBER

Index
Contributors

Mariel Borowitz is an Associate Professor in the Sam Nunn School of

International Affairs at the Georgia Institute of Technology and head of
the Nunn School Program on International Affairs, Science, and
Technology. Her research deals with international space policy issues,
focusing particularly on global developments related to remote sensing
satellites and challenges to space security and sustainability. Her book,
“Open Space: The Global Effort for Open Access to Environmental
Satellite Data,” published by MIT Press, examines trends in the
development of data-sharing policies governing Earth observing satellites
as well as interactions with the growing commercial remote sensing
sector. Her work has been published in Science, Strategic Studies
Quarterly, Data & Policy, Space Policy, Astropolitics, and New Space.
Her research has been supported by grants from the National Science
Foundation, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, and the
U.S. Department of Defense. Dr. Borowitz completed a detail as a policy
analyst for the Science Mission Directorate at NASA Headquarters in
Washington, DC from 2016 to 2018. In 2022, she testified to the U.S.
House of Representatives Subcommittee on Space and Aeronautics in a
hearing titled, “Space Situational Awareness: Guiding the Transition to a
Civil Capability.” Dr. Borowitz earned a PhD in Public Policy at the
University of Maryland and a Masters degree in International Science
and Technology Policy from the George Washington University. She
received a Bachelor of Science degree in Aerospace Engineering from
the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

Antonio Calcara is FWO researcher at the University of Antwerp. His

research has appeared in International Security, Security Studies, Review
of International Political Economy, Governance, Journal of European
 Integration, and European Security. He is the author of “European
Defence Decision-Making: Dilemmas of Collaborative Arms
Procurement” (Routledge).

Thomas Hoerber is a Professor for European Studies and holds a Jean

Monnet Chair in European Studies. He directs the EU-Asia Institute at
ESSCA School of Management.

Dr. Helen Kavvadia is a researcher in residence at the University of

Luxembourg. She was a senior adviser at the European Investment Bank.
Her research and publications focus on political economy and economic
diplomacy. She has a special interest in space issues and regional
development banks.

Major General (Ret) Pascal Legai, started his career as a mission

preparation officer in the French Air Force. He acquired experience
mainly in the fields of geography, imagery, international relations, Space
and Security issues. He has extensive international experience in the
geospatial information domain. He had been appointed as a geographer in
the French Air Force staff in Paris for 5 years (1994–1999). He was also
the Head of the French Imagery Intelligence Centre (2004–2006), Human
Resources adviser of the French Air Force (2006–2008), and the
Commanding Officer of the French Air Force Base in Grenoble (2008–
2010) before joining the EU Satellite Centre in July 2010 as Deputy
Director. He has been elected by the Member States as the EU Satellite
Centre Director on the 1 January 2015, an imagery analysis centre, based
near Madrid, Spain, providing Geospatial Intelligence (GEOINT) and
Imagery Intelligence (IMINT) products and services to support the EU
external action. He left this position on 30 April 2019. On 1 May 2019,
he has been appointed to the European Space Agency (ESA), first as a
Senior Security Adviser to the ESA/Earth Observation Director, in
Frascati (Rome), and today as a Senior Security Coordinator to ESA DG
in Paris. He holds a PhD in International Relations, a law degree, several
master degrees in Imagery Processing, Computer Sciences, in History, in
British Civilization, in Mathematics. He is an aerospace engineer and
also holds an Engineer Diploma in the field of the geographic sciences.
Iraklis Oikonomou is an independent researcher based in Greece. He holds
a PhD in International Politics from the University of Wales
Aberystwyth.

Lorna Ryan, PhD, is an academic at the School of Policy and Global

Affairs, City, University of London. Her interest in space policy,
particularly EU space policy, and its evolution, developed from a wider
research interest in the governance of EU research. Current research
activities include the role of different EU institutions in the development
of EU space policy, including its regional dimension. She is a Research
Fellow at the EU*Asia Institute, ESSCA, France.

Frank Slijper (1970, MA in Economics, University of Groningen) has

investigated military-industrial issues ever since writing his master thesis
in 1993. With a focus on arms control, he has also published extensively
on the militarization of the European Union, including the role of the
arms industry, the European Peace Facility, the European Defence
Agency and the EU’s military space policy. More recently, the emergence
of increasingly autonomous weapons has been central to his research and
advocacy at Dutch peace organisation PAX, where he has worked since
2014.

Isabelle Sourbès-Verger is a Research Director at the CNRS (National

Center for Scientific Research) in Paris. She is one of the few French
researchers specialised in the study of outer space activities and related
national space policies. Her research focuses on the interface of national
public policy and technological ambitions taking into account very
different issues such as strategic matters and international security, the
impact of public opinion and the role of media as support to space
activities. Beside Europe, Russia, Japan, China and India are the major
space powers on which she developed extensive expertise. Using
comparative analysis of different national space policies, her research
provides an original view on various models of acquisition and
development of national space competences. Her current work deals with
the part to be played by space capabilities, including space surveillance,
in the construction of European security and defense architecture. She is
a member of different international networks such as European Space
 Policy Institute Network (ESPI), Space Security Working Group (McGill
University). She contributes to different advisory panels at the national
and international level. Currently she is part of the Organisation
Committee of Manfred Lachs international conference on “Global Space
Governance”, Montréal, 2014, 2016 and 2017. She is also a member of
the ESA History Project Academic Council (EHPAC). She has authored
or co-authored in French and English books including The Cambridge
Encyclopedia of Space, more than 60 chapters or articles, about 20
research reports for French and European decision-making bodies.

Dr Dimitrios Stroikos is LSE Fellow in the Department of International

Relations at the LSE and Head of the Space Policy Programme at LSE
IDEAS. He is also the editor-in-chief of Space Policy: An International
Journal. His research publications have appeared in journals such as
International Politics, Review of International Studies, and Journal of
Contemporary China. His latest publication is “International Relations
and Outer Space”, Oxford Research Encyclopedia of International
Studies.

Dr. Jessica West is a senior researcher at the Canadian peace research

institute Project Ploughshares. Her research and policy work focuses on
technology, security, and governance with a particular interest in peace
and security in outer space. Jessica interacts regularly with key United
Nations bodies tasked with space security and space safety issues. She
holds a PhD in global governance and international security from the
Balsillie School of International Affairs, Wilfrid Laurier University.
Introduction
Thomas Hoerber and Iraklis Oikonomou

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-1

In their last book, Hoerber and Forganni (2021) discerned a growing

security discourse in European space policy, with a growing influence of
the military-industrial complex in the field and the tentative acceptance, if
not active encouragement, by the European Commission. The Commission
has been found to be the European institution, which is the most proactive
in the security field. Historically, defence has always been one of the most
problematic issues of European integration, in which we have found at best
not only slow progress but also serious setbacks, such as the rejection of the
European Defence Community as early as 1954. Since then, defence policy
has not become easier to manage in Europe, and until the Treaty of
Maastricht (1992/1993), defence was either left to NATO or to the
European nation states, notwithstanding individual initiatives, such as the
Franco-German brigade.1 The Petersberg Tasks were supposed to establish
European Defence Policy coming from the Maastricht Treaty. In the Laeken
Summit of 2001, the defence capabilities of the EU were still weak to non-
existent, which did not prevent the Heads of State and Government to
declare the creation of a European Rapid Reaction Force of 60,000 troops
deployable within 60 days within 5,000 km of Brussels, and able to be
stationed for a year. These objectives have still not been realised more than
20 years later. Back on the bilateral level between the two biggest EU
military powers at the time, the St. Malo Agreement between France and
Great Britain in 1998 was posited as a major step forward. Nothing much
came of it. In 2004, the European Defence Agency was founded in order to
arrive at a common defence procurement policy. In general, it has not
produced that result.
It has been argued that there are good reasons why defence integration
has not worked. The most idealist strand of argument sees the EU as a
civilian power based on peace, which would be in contradiction to its own
founding principles if it engaged in military policy (Telò, 2006). The case of
legitimate defence has of course been made (Legai, 2023: in this book), as a
middle ground between pacifism and militarisation, and indeed as an
inalienable right guaranteed under international law. Here, however, Europe
runs into the divisive question of what should be defended and who has this
right. Mostly, this right has been attributed to nation states, as, for example,
in the UN charter. Can the EU claim that right, too, as a source of
legitimacy for its defence policy?
A more down-to-earth argument has been that every country has
historically built up its own military-industrial complex. No government
can afford to be seen to lose that national prestige, and the employment and
the expertise that could be lost with a shift of that industry away from the
nation state to the European level. In its bluntest version, Charles de Gaulle
said that ‘French defence must be French’2 (de Gaulle, 1970: 161) and that
therefore the link between a nation and its defence cannot be broken. One
may add that the military-industrial complex is usually not positively
disposed towards sharing its military secrets with other nations. This
attitude of secrecy remains well engrained in national defence champions
and their engineering researchers (Hoerber, 2006, 2014).
Based on this nationalistic analysis and on the long list of European
defence failures, the argument can be made that the dominance of
intergovernmental structures in defence policies, such national interests,
will always prevail. The European answer to that conclusion is that
supranationalism must be introduced. The Commission, as the motor of
European integration and therefore perhaps as the most supranational
institution, has tried to introduce supranational elements into the defence
sector but this has mostly been unsuccessful. Perhaps this is because Europe
is no more ready today for a European defence policy than it was in the
1950s. The growing threat to all Member States of the EU, as exemplified
in the Russian aggression against Ukraine, tells otherwise in a unified EU
response to that aggression. The need for common defence arrangements
was shown in the consensual agreement to help Ukraine militarily. Defence,
however, remains intergovernmental. Is Europe ready for a supranational
defence policy? The reaction to the aggression against Ukraine seems to
prove that it is. If that conclusion is true, then that would allow the EU to
dispense with what this book has shown space policy to be, the
supranational backdoor into intergovernmental defence policy. Before the
aggression against Ukraine, Hoerber and Forganni (2022) showed increased
military spending in the space sector and thus a growing influence of
defence actors in space policy. This might be regrettable, particularly
against the backdrop of space having been founded in Europe as a civilian
policy with exclusively peaceful purposes (ESA Convention, 1975:
Preamble). One may also have the hunch that Europe is growing up,
growing out of the shadow of its protector the United States and, by
becoming more powerful, also has to be able to defend itself (Hoerber,
Forganni, 2022: Conclusion). If Russian aggression ushers in supranational
European defence – notwithstanding due cooperation with NATO – then the
space sector with its dual-use military and civilian applications will most
likely be a staging ground for that European defence, not least because of
the military potential in space that has always been there and has only been
used sparsely in Europe. We will see the development of these phenomena
in the following chapters, before concluding at the end of the book with the
inevitably very European question of whether we cannot do better in space
than turning it into another war domain. Against the backdrop of the
peaceful past of European space policy, there will always be the hope
emanating from this continent that peaceful cooperation will take
humankind further than confrontation.

Empirical Scope and Methodological

Considerations
The end of the Cold War largely removed space from debates on security
and defence, since the arms race between the two superpowers – with space
being one of the key venues of this race – ended abruptly. However, all
hopes for a strictly peaceful use of space dissipated, as new competition for
dominance in space quickly kicked off, with major powers reorienting their
space policies in an attempt to benefit strategically from the use of space
systems for security and military purposes. The EU and key member states
have increasingly joined the US, China and Russia, among others, in
regarding space assets as critical military, as well as economic, industrial
and technological, enablers.
The addition of defence requirements and applications – of an entire
multifaceted military layer – in EU space policy has been the single most
important development in the long and fascinating story of the Union’s
endeavours in space. Up until recently, this addition was mostly taking
place in the realm of official discourse, pointing to the need to utilise space
for the purposes of the Common Foreign and Defence Policy (CSDP). But
today, rhetoric has given way to practise in an empirically verifiable
phenomenon that seems to define the very essence and orientation of EU
space policy: militarisation. It is true that Galileo and Copernicus, the
Union’s two flagship space programmes, were indicative of a keen urge to
include security and defence in space. As regards Galileo, the inclusion of
the public regulated service reserved for EU authorities and member states
in the context of the CSDP pointed to a clear non-civilian dimension in
satellite navigation. And as far as Copernicus is concerned, its security
service geared to support the EU’s external action means that the Union has
sought to exploit the full spectrum of earth observation’s non-civilian
applications. But what started as a mostly civilian space programme with
some parallel security and defence usages is now turning into primarily a
security and defence space programme with secondary civilian applications.
Indeed, the present publication comes in the aftermath of the launch of a
fully integrated space programme, spanning the period 2021–2027 and
offering a single roof to all EU space activities. The programme is
accompanied by a generous financial framework totalling approximately 15
billion euros, intended to fund the development not only of the now mature
Galileo and Copernicus programmes but also of the nascent Space
Situational Awareness and Government Satellite Communications
programmes (Wilson, 2021). The latter two have clear security and defence
applications, thereby illustrating the need to engage seriously with an
irreversible trend: the involvement of the Union in space for non-civilian
purposes. This involvement, however, unfolds in a very complex setting,
defined by the co-existence of the European Commission with the European
Space Agency (ESA), the EU member states and major space powers that
are extremely active in the military and security use of space.
 How can this trend towards space militarisation be empirically
documented and theoretically analysed? What interests, ideas and
institutions are involved in its making in the EU and beyond? How is the
drive towards the increased military use of space being promoted
politically, facilitated industrially and legitimised discursively? This book
tackles these questions by, first of all, shedding light on the military aspects
of EU space policy, with special emphasis on the security and defence
dimensions of the projects of the European Space Programme. In this
context, contributors confront and provide detailed descriptions of the
empirical aspects of development, including the role of different
institutional actors and the involvement of specific member states. Also, the
volume analyses the discursive, ideological, normative and theoretical
foundations of the use of space by the EU for strategic purposes, drawing
on the broad spectrum of European Integration/International Relations
theory. No single theory has been uniformly adopted by this volume, but an
effort has been made by most contributors to base their analysis
theoretically and to connect their empirical findings to broader debates
concerning the ontology of European integration and/or the international
system. Last but not least, the project discusses initiatives outside the EU by
key global space players. This reflects our understanding that the European
orientation towards a more military-oriented space policy did not appear in
a void; on the contrary, it is an episode in a much bigger and broader trend
on a global scale.
European space militarisation has been a rather infertile, sporadically
covered field of study. There is a reason behind this trend: students of
European integration have traditionally viewed space as a mere technical
addition to the European project and have disregarded militarisation as a
feature that is not compatible with the civilian nature of the Commission’s
and ESA’s engagement, in line with the official rhetoric. In other words, this
uneasiness to engage with space and militarisation in the European context
stems from the seeming technical complexity of the area: the idea that space
is more of a tool rather than a field of politics and power, and the depiction
of the EU as a civilian power (Telò, 2006). This, nevertheless, is beginning
to change for two main reasons. Firstly, the literature has been enriched by a
series of volumes that point to space as a distinct, empirically fascinating
and theoretically significant field of study that is of direct relevance to the
process of European integration and to European integration theory alike
(the role of Routledge’s Space Power and Politics series has been key in this
regard). Secondly, a series of developments, such as the involvement of the
European Defence Agency in space, the maturation of the security
applications of Galileo and Copernicus and the introduction of the
European Defence Fund, have enabled observers to depart from the official
rhetoric and acknowledge the rapid and profound introduction of military
purposes and tools in the Union’s activities, including those in space.
By overcoming the intellectual fashion of ‘civilian space power Europe’
and ‘space as a technical matter’, tremendous opportunities arise for the
academic treatment of the Union’s key strategic reflections and priorities in
the non-civilian use of space, the institutional actors and interests embedded
in the generation of these priorities, the military capabilities in space and
the political economy of the development of those capabilities. Starting
from a well-defined epicentre of the phenomenon of the militarisation of
space policy in the EU context, the book covers all of the empirical layers
of this phenomenon (member states, European, Global). The chapters
document the following claim: the EU is increasingly turning to space for
the fulfilment of security and defence purposes and this process has
significant political, economic and institutional sources and implications.
This shows that the militarisation of EU space policy is part of a broader,
global orientation to space as a field of strategic competition. In this
respect, despite individual variations, all the chapters are structured around
the central themes of the topicality of militarisation being the nucleus of
European space policy, the interrelatedness of European security, industrial
competitiveness, military capabilities in the shaping of this policy and the
way the latter is placed in a broader context beyond the Union.
A conceptual distinction that underpins the present volume should be
noted – that of the militarisation versus the weaponisation of outer space.
Weaponisation denotes the introduction of space-based systems that act as
weapons, i.e., that have a direct destructive capacity. On the contrary,
militarisation describes the use of space to support military operations; in
this case, the space-based system plays an enabling role in ground-based,
air-based and sea-based warfare but does not itself have a destructive
capacity (see Mutchler & Venet, 2012: 119; Peoples, 2010: 205–206). Even
though the difference is rather subtle, the two concepts maintain their
ontological value in order to distinguish between two contexts of the use of
space for non-civilian purposes. The development of European space policy
discussed in this volume falls under the umbrella of militarisation and not
under that of weaponisation; in other words, our use of the term
‘militarisation’ should not be conflated with the placement of weapons in
space.

Structure and Summary of the Chapters

The first section, which includes four chapters, highlights the conceptual
aspect of European space militarisation, attempting to both document the
relevant processes and present ways of viewing and interpreting these
developments. In the first chapter, Lorna Ryan argues that the discursive
construction of ‘the battlefield’ is an important element of the process of the
militarisation of space. The place where military action occurs is of critical
importance in terms of the application of law, specifically that of
international humanitarian law. While, as a concept, the idea of a
‘battlefield’ may not receive explicit attention in international law journals,
Megret (2011) refers to how the idea of a battlefield ‘haunts’ the law. The
militarisation of space brings into relief the issue of how the ‘battlefield’ is
constructed, raising questions of what are the ‘warfighting domains’ and
how does this impact on processes of militarisation. This chapter presents
the results of a preliminary exploration of EU space policy texts to identify
the, possibly shifting, constructions of ‘the battlefield’. Its contribution aims
to illustrate how the militarisation of space and the weaponisation of space
draw, or otherwise, on familiar concepts of ‘the battlefield’.
In Chapter 2, Frank Slijper observes that space has become a
cornerstone of the European Union’s security and defence policies, which
have grown extensively over the past 20 years. This has been partly driven
by technological progress that has generally enabled space assets to become
part of our everyday lives, but also because of a new focus on space as a
specific, stand-alone domain in military doctrine. In fact, the two
developments are interrelated since technological progress is a civilian-
military two-way street. However, with more and more countries setting up
specific space forces, and with warfare in general becoming increasingly
dependent on space assets (navigation, communication, observation), the
notion of space for peaceful purposes has gradually eroded, not least after
the collapse of the Soviet Union. Moreover, with current developments in
the area of emerging technologies (hypersonic missiles, autonomous
weapons, and increasingly integrated and automated command
architectures) relevant to the space domain as well, renewed rivalry among
the United States, China and Russia in particular is affecting the peaceful
use of space. While the EU is clearly taking a less assertive approach, it is
also afraid to get left behind. This chapter looks into the recent history of
the EU’s endeavours in the military use of space and analyses policies that
are currently guiding it. It, among others, looks into the roles that ESA,
EDA, PESCO (Permanent Structured Cooperation) and the newly created
European Defence Fund (EDF) play.
Pascal Legai’s starting point in Chapter 3 is a wealth of empirical
evidence pointing to space militarisation. On 7 September 2018, Madame
Florence Parly, French Minister for the Armed Forces, announced the
creation of the French Space Command under military governance, similar
to the US model, in order to implement a national space strategy. Likewise,
NATO decided to declare Space as a full-fledged operational domain at the
same level as that of land, marine, air and cyber areas. These essential
orientations are the result of the growing willingness of the major space
powers, mainly Russia and China, to find dominance by spying from space
and using anti-satellite capabilities. The militarisation of space is underway.
The EU anticipated this worrying evolution. In this regard, the year 2016
marks a decisive inflexion of the EU towards space development to
significantly contribute to the effectiveness of EU external action, including
security and defence purposes. The increasing, multifaceted, transnational
threats described in the EU Global Strategy for Foreign and Security policy
of June 2016 raise the question of the policies to be implemented to tackle
them, and importantly about space and related activities. This orientation
opens an active debate among the European space actors identified in
Article 189 of the Lisbon Treaty: EU, member states and ESA within their
respective remits, highlighting in particular the growing role of the
European Commission with the Space Strategy for Europe (October 2016)
and the European Defence Action Plan (November 2016), and the
Regulation establishing the space programme of the Union to be adopted by
the European Parliament and the Council in 2020. The current evolution of
a stronger Union questions the historic national prerogatives of sovereign
responsibility in the security and defence fields that governmental space
policies underpin. Thus, European space policy, based on the idea that
Security from Space requires Security in Space, sets up a unique space
programme encompassing a comprehensive set of dual components:
Galileo, Copernicus, SSA/SST, Govsatcom and launchers. It implies the
preservation of a world-class research and innovation level, and a state-of-
the-art industrial and technological base as part of crucial strategic
autonomy. The budgetary proposals for the period 2021–2027 should also
remain at a credible level. In addition, the EU did not manage until now to
promote a peaceful use of outer space through an internationally recognised
legal framework. Within this context, ESA brings its fundamental
longstanding experience, despite its Convention excluding defence and
military activities, in the design, development and procurement of space
systems, in addition to its innovation know-how for downstream
applications dealing with huge amounts of space and non-space data. This
chapter will elaborate on these different intertwined and sometimes
contradictory issues to define an EU future between submission and
independence.
Next, in Chapter 4, Thomas Hoerber explains the inconsistency of
current institutional settings between the ESA and EU space policy, starting
from the origin of European space policy and its institutions since WW2.
He points out the historical cause of this problematic situation and
elaborates on how it undermines potential synergies that were envisaged
initially. Based on this analysis, it is proposed to open up ESA
internationally, embodied in re-naming ESA to the Space University
Institute (SUI), taken from a parallel development of the European
University Institute (EUI), or even entertaining the name International
Space Agency. It would build on ESA’s strength in fostering research,
training and innovation, while leaving the utilitarian side of downstream
usage of space applications to the EU. This opening up of ESA to a wider
international constituency could create partnerships that already exist within
ESA with Canada, for example, and with which ESA has substantial
experience.
In the second section, there is a move from conceptual clarification to
empirical delineation, focusing on concrete policy realms and actors,
including the Member States. According to Isabelle Sourbès-Verger, in
Chapter 5, the issue of space debris has to be considered at the global level,
as it is a growing challenge for the international community. Only in the last
20 years, has Europe become increasingly aware of the necessity to deal
with the subject and primarily in the goal of securing safety for its satellites.
The accumulation of launches since the beginning of the space era – as
many as 7,500 objects by January 2017 – has resulted in the multiplication
of uncontrolled objects in orbit: launcher stages, defunct satellites, small
fragments due to fairing jettison shock and various materials due to
processes of deterioration. Even if technical measures were adopted by
space agencies to limit its increase, the amount of debris keeps rising, albeit
at a moderate rate. The concerns related to space debris and the risks of
collision with operational spacecraft are thus increasingly pressing in light
of the intensification of space activity, including the expected multiplication
of small satellites.
In the next chapter, Iraklis Oikonomou claims that, when dissecting the
emergence of EU space and defence policies, industrial actors are usually
depicted as merely those who are supposed to produce what states and EU
institutions ask for in terms of capabilities. In other words, their political
role as the drivers of militarisation is not fully appreciated – crushed
somewhere among the supranational Commission, the intergovernmental
ESA and the myriads of member-state interests. This chapter introduces
industrial interests as a key source of policy transformation, examining in
particular the role of their Brussels lobbying organisation, Eurospace-ASD,
as well as that of individual companies. Adopting a neo-Gramscian
perspective inspired by the work of, among others, Bastiaan van Apeldoorn,
Andreas Bieler and Kees van der Pijl, the chapter is a first attempt to
establish the crucial part played by internationalised space-industrial capital
in promoting military space agenda in the EU. This trend is documented
empirically via material deriving from interviews, official discourse and
publications by the industry. Also, it is interpreted by examining key
developments in the global political economy of space production that fuel
the industry’s quest for more security and defence space programmes at the
Brussels level. Overall, it is argued that the European space manufacturers
facilitated the emergence of a non-civilian dimension in European space
activity, seeing in it a huge opportunity for market expansion and
competitive survival.
Turning to the member-state level, Antonio Calcara approaches the
Italian case starting from the idea that the space sector is at the centre of
international competition. Great powers such as the United States, China
and Russia look to space as a critical domain for economic, technological
and military purposes. The EU has also shown considerable activity, both in
supranational policy and at the intergovernmental level of individual states.
In the context of this evolving international framework, the chapter focuses
specifically on the Italian case study with a twofold objective: firstly, it
aims to understand what role space policy militarisation plays in the current
Italian security and defence debate, with particular attention to the
relationship between the state and the defence and aerospace industries.
Secondly, this chapter aims to investigate Italian preferences in the
European context. Theoretically, it draws on intergovernmentalism in
European integration theory to shed light on the complex relationship
between domestic preferences and EU policies in space policy.
Then, Helen Kavvadia focuses on a small-state case that of
Luxembourg. Thirty years since the end of the Cold War, important
developments in the European Union and the international system include
radical changes in the security context with new threats, capabilities,
‘battlefields’ and players. Against this intricate backdrop, and constituting
the majority of EU Member States, where do the European small states
stand? Do they continue bandwagoning as security consumers following
larger Member States, or do they become security contributors? Academic
interest has been increasing in both space militarisation and small states.
The nexus of the two realms remains under-exposed and under-researched.
This chapter instead examines the role of small European states in the
militarisation of space, looking at Luxembourg, as a case study. Despite its
size, Luxembourg has been a frontrunner in space development. Its enabling
environment includes a regulating framework, as well as vibrant
technological, financial and academic ecosystems. Building on the dual use
of space capabilities, Luxembourg has been expanding into space
militarisation applications. Using a structural realist and constructivist
perspective, this chapter posits that Luxembourg has been pursuing space
militarisation as a window of opportunity for increasing its influence and
clout in Europe, as well as in the anarchic structure of the international
order.
Finally, the three chapters of the third section offer a glimpse into the
global context of space militarisation and, indirectly, into how this may
relate to European developments. In Chapter 9, Mariel Borowitz turns to
the transatlantic dimension of the processes studied in the volume. For
years, the U.S. military has maintained the most advanced space
surveillance system in the world, monitoring the status of human-made
objects in space and providing data and information to spacecraft operators
around the world to help avoid collisions in space. In October 2019, the
U.S. military announced that it would adopt the term ‘Space Domain
Awareness’ in place of the previously used – and broadly accepted – term
‘Space Situational Awareness’. This change was designed to reflect the shift
in focus from space as a benign environment to space as a warfighting
domain, corresponding with the creation of U.S. Space Command and U.S.
Space Force. This chapter examines how both the rhetoric and the
substantive approach to Space Situational Awareness/Space Domain
Awareness have shifted in recent years, treating this as an illustrative case
study of the trend towards militarisation in recent U.S. Space activities.
In the next chapter, Dimitrios Stroikos tackles the role of China and
India, arguing that one of the most important aspects of the international
politics of space has been the growing use of space assets for military
purposes by major space powers, at a time when a wide range of new actors
have given impetus to the commercialisation and privatisation of space
activities, which renders space an increasingly complex strategic domain. In
this reconfigured context, the rise of China and India as space powers has a
significant impact on overall space security activities and policies. Indeed,
the growing militarisation of the Chinese and Indian space programmes has
further consolidated the deterministic notion that conflict in space is
inevitable. But while most analyses tend to focus on national security
considerations and structural forces that shape the militarisation of space,
this chapter suggests that this does not adequately capture the complex
array of factors that underlie China’s and India’s growing interest in the
military use of space. In doing so, this chapter opens up with a brief
introduction of Sagan’s analytical framework on nuclear proliferation that
helps offer a more comprehensive approach to the drivers behind the
development of military space assets by taking into account national
security calculations, domestic politics and the role of state identity. It then
moves on to examine the key dynamics that influence China’s and India’s
military space activities as well as their engagement with global space
governance from a historical and comparative perspective. It concludes by
exploring the implications of China’s and India’s rise as military space
powers for EU space policies and strategies.
 Finally, Jessica West concludes this volume by highlighting the need for
arms control given that, as military competition in outer space rapidly
accelerates, a growing number of states are developing both policies and
technical capabilities that treat outer space itself as a domain of warfare.
Governance has not kept pace. There are few mechanisms in place to
prevent crisis escalation and almost none to avoid harmful destruction in
this sensitive and critical environment. Focused on the United States and
NATO, this chapter reviews the latest military doctrines and strategies to
manage the risks posed by this shift towards active warfighting in space,
including deterrence, resilience, norms of behaviour and active defences in
outer space. Missing from these strategies are formal arms control and other
military restrictions in outer space, which this chapter argues are essential to
maintaining peace and security in outer space.

Acknowledgements
The editors would like to thank Devon Harvey and Andrew Humphrys at
Routledge, Sashivadana at Codemantra and Romain Petrau at ESSCA
School of Management for their invaluable contribution to this volume.

Notes
1. See https://www.bundeswehr.de/de/organisation/heer/organisation/10-
panzerdivision/deutsch-franzoesische-brigade.
2. original: “(…) la défense de la France soit française.”, see also p. 165,
see also, Doise, J., Vaisse, M. (1991), Politique étrangère de la
France, p. 584.

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ESA Convention (7th ed.) (2010), ESA Communications, Noordwjik.
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panzerdivision/deutsch-franzoesische-brigade, consulted on 17
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Hoerber, T. (2006), The Foundations of Europe - European Integration
Ideas in France, Germany and Britain in the 1950s, VS-Verlag,
Wiesbaden.
Hoerber, T. (2014), A Converging Post-War European Discourse - War
Experience, Changing Security Concepts and Research &
Education, Lexington books, New York.
Hoerber, T. & Forganni. A. (eds.) (2021), A Growing Security
Discourse in European Space Policy, Routledge, London.
Hoerber, T. & Forganni, A. (2022), European Integration and Space
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Legai, P. (2023), ‘The militarisation of outer space – A European
perspective’, in: Hoerber, T. & Oikonomou, I. (eds.), The
Militarisation of European Space Policy, Routledge, London, pp.
53–65.
Megret, F. (2011), ‘War and the Vanishing Battlefield’, Loyola
University Chicago International Law Review, vol. 9, no. 1, pp.
131–155.
Mutchler, M. M. & Venet, C. (2012), ‘The European Union as an
emerging actor in space security’, Space Policy, vol. 28, no. 2, pp.
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Peoples, C. (2010), “The growing ‘securitization’ of outer space”,
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Telò, M. (2006), Europe: A Civilian Power? European Union, Global
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in Progress, 2021–2027 MFF, European Parliamentary Research
Service.
Part I
The Conceptual & Strategic
Dimension
1 Militarisation and Space
Constructing Space as Location

Lorna Ryan

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-3

Discussion about space as particular type of location has often been

addressed in international space law by reference to a concept of ‘terra
nullius’, that is, land that has no owner, itself linked to ‘res nullius’, that is,
a thing that has no owner (see Woodley, 2013: 369). In more general terms,
noting that terra is ‘land’, scholars have considered the implications of the
‘empty space’ of space between celestial bodies (e.g. Bello y Villarino,
2019). Such discussion gives rise to considerations of sovereignty and to
wider considerations of ownership. How space is understood as a particular
type of location also holds relevance for a range of social, and political,
processes, including the militarisation of space. Drawing on a generally
accepted definition of militarisation as ‘the use of space-based technology
and infrastructure for the purposes of supporting military operations and
functions’ (Sariak, 2017: 52–53), this chapter considers the designation of
space as a location within processes of militarisation. Focusing on European
Union space policy, it considers how space is discursively constructed as a
location in which particular activities occur. While this topic is largely
overlooked in the academic literature addressing space policy, the nature of
space as a particular location for specific activities is a routine feature of the
official texts on European space policy. In January 2022, Thierry Breton,
EU Commissioner for the Internal Market, addressing the 14th EU Space
Conference, stated, ‘space is exponentially a contested domain’(European
Commission, 2022, emphasis in original). He remarked that space is ‘a
strategic area where big powers are now competing… Europe must defend
its interests and freedom to operate in space. This brings a new strategic
dimension to space that must become a strong driver of all our plans’ (ibid.,
emphasis added), appealing to collective, rather than individual, interests.
Breton’s comments are of interest in situating a discussion about the
militarisation of space, indicating the European Union’s aspirations as a
global actor, as expressed in, for example, Space Strategy for Europe
(European Commission, 2016) and Global Strategy for Foreign and
Security Policy (European Union, 2016). Concepts of ‘strategic autonomy’
and of ‘technological sovereignty’ are central to discussions of EU goals
vis-à-vis space. These features are succinctly captured in a statement in
Space Strategy for Europe:

Space capacities are strategically important to civil, commercial,

security and defence-related policy objectives. Europe needs to ensure
its freedom of action and autonomy. Space is becoming a more
contested and challenged environment. …Growing threats are…
emerging in space: from space debris, to cyber threats or the impact of
space weather. These changes make greater synergies between civil
and defence aspects increasingly relevant. Europe must draw on its
assets and use space capacities to meet the security and safety needs of
the Member States and the EU…[and] to ensure that Europe maintains
autonomous, reliable and cost-effective access to space.
(European Commission, 2016: 8)

The debate as to the nature of these goals, e.g., whether power projection or
benign defence, is noted but not addressed in this chapter (for critical
analysis, see, for example, Oikonomou, 2013). The current focus is on how,
within the EU space policy texts, space is constructed as a location for
different activities in the context of the generally accepted understanding of
what is termed the dual-use of space. What is the nature of the ‘contest’ for,
in and of the domain of space? The purpose of this question is to direct
attention to processes of militarisation. Oikonomou has remarked that
militarisation is not pre-determined; ‘on the contrary it is a process that can
be contested’ (2013: 146). Access to, use of and presence in space are
central themes in an evolving EU space policy. The justifications for access
to, use of and presence in space centre on a concept of ‘strategic
autonomy’:

Space technologies, data and services have become indispensable in

the daily lives of European citizens…Space technologies, data and
services can support numerous EU policies and key political
proprieties…Space is also of strategic importance of Europe. It
reinforces Europe’s role as a stronger global player and is an asset for
its security and defence.
(European Commission, 2016: 2)

The link to strategic autonomy is also evident in the (legal) Regulation

establishing the European Space Programme (Regulation 2021/696):

To achieve the objectives of freedom of action, independence and

security, it is essential that the Union benefits from an autonomous
access to space and is able to use it safely. It is therefore essential that
the Union supports autonomous, reliable and cost-effective access to
space, especially as regards critical infrastructure and technology,
public security and the security of the Union and its Member States.
[…]To remain competitive in a rapidly evolving market, it is also
crucial that the Union continues to have access to modern, efficient
and flexible launch infrastructure facilities and benefits from
appropriate launch systems.
(European Union, 2021: 70)

That ‘space is a...contested domain’ directs attention not only to the

legislative framework, in particular, the Outer Space Treaty (OST) (1967),
with its provisions for the ‘peaceful’ use of space, but also to the wider
discussion of ‘dual-use’ of space within that framework (itself generally
regarded as urgently requiring revision in the context of technological and
other developments). It is generally acknowledged that space technology
can be used for both military and for civilian purposes, that is, what is
meant by ‘dual-use’:
 [M]ost space technologies, infrastructure and services can serve both
civilian and defence objectives. Although some space capabilities have
to remain under exclusive national and/or military control, in a number
of areas synergies between civilian and defence can reduce costs,
increase resilience and improve efficiency.
(European Commission, 2016: 10)

The military foundations of space technology are acknowledged (Sariak,

2017); this provenance means for commentators like Sariak that space is
already militarised. The literature on the concept and nature of
‘militarisation’ is considerable and not reviewed here other than to signal
the key texts informing a wider understanding of militarisation; this corpus
includes work such as Peoples (2010); Mutschler and Venet (2012); and
Bowen (2014, 2019). It is linked to a wider body of literature on security
(e.g. Marchisio, 2015) and ‘securitisation’ (McDonald, 2008; Baker-Beall,
2009; Peoples, 2010; Browning and McDonald, 2011; Beclard, 2013;
Sariak, 2017); and on territorialisation and space as a ‘global commons’
(Elhefnawy, 2003). This literature indicates the dynamic nature of how
‘security’ and ‘security threats’ are understood; how they are constructed
and the material – that is, real world – effects that may follow from
particular understandings of phenomena, for example, constructions of risk
and threat, requiring military action (see Ryan, 2020).
The understanding of ‘militarisation’ used in this chapter is based on the
generally used definition as provided by Sariak (2017), cited above, and
that provided by Peoples, ‘the use of space-based technology and
infrastructure for the purpose of supporting military operations’ (2010: 76).
The related term ‘weaponisation’ is understood as the actual placement of
weapons in outer space (Sariak, 2017: 53). Militarisation is also broadly
understood as an activity undertaken to territorialise space (Elhefnawy,
2003) in which ‘mere ownership of space systems [is] less of a guarantee of
access to space than they once were’ (2003: 55):

states may see ‘territorialisation’ through the laying of claims to given

sections of space as a way of bolstering that control [of space], and the
erection of a regime of controlled access as a way of restraining other,
more powerful states, otherwise able to dominate the skies above
them.
 (2003: 57)

Elhefnawy’s (2003) comments direct attention to the processual nature of

territorialisation; this same processual nature applies to militarisation. The
generally accepted definition of militarisation (Peoples, 2010; Sariak, 2017,
above) does not adequately convey the process of militarisation of space –
the processes by which the understanding of the access to, use of and
presence in space for military purposes is produced and reproduced; within
this process, the appeal to the legitimacy of the military presence in and
military use of space-based technology is central. The legitimisation is
achieved through the justification of the military-related aspects of space-
related activity (technology development, application). Considering
militarisation as a process, Henry and Natanel query its nature as a fixed
condition, pointing to its socially produced nature:

Militarisation is understood not as a homogeneous and complete

exercise of spatial power, but rather as a process which is constantly in
flux as well as continually negotiated, reiterated and resisted…
(2016: 850, emphasis added)

The ‘continual negotiation’ includes statement and re-statement(s) of the

justification of presence and action in space. It also, crucially, indicates that
the spatial aspect is foregrounded in such justifications; the location of areas
that are militarised and weaponised. Commentators have suggested that the
distinction between weaponisation and militarisation is somewhat artificial.
Peoples remarks, ‘proponents of the space weaponization make the case the
potential dual-use function of non-military satellites already constitutes a de
facto form of weaponization’ (Peoples, 2010: 205).1 He succinctly
identifies a key issue in ‘security studies’ as follows:

The definitional terrain associated with space arms control and the
subject of space security more generally is …notoriously fraught…
Key points of contention include the question of what constitutes a
space weapon or an anti-satellite (ASAT) weapon, the vagaries of the
potential ‘dual-use’ functions of ostensibly non-military space
technologies, and the issue of whether a meaningful distinction
 between the ‘militarization’ and ’weaponization’ of space can be
drawn and maintained.
(2010: 205)

He further comments, ‘[m]ost arms control proponents argue that a

distinction can be made between passive systems (militarization) and active
systems (weaponization)’ (2011: 205).
The foregoing raises an issue, neglected in the literature, as to how
space, as a location in which military activity (either through the situation
of satellites/in transit action/other) occurs, is constructed.2 It is notable that,
for instance, in a discussion about the diplomacy function achieved by EU
research and technological development programmes, Bello y Villarino
comments that as a result of military-related action such as cyber-attacks on
satellites and methods to jam signals from space:

we have today a militarised space, where a quarter of the active

satellites have some military use. Space is today a theatre in war
plans. From a legal point of view, this militarisation was made possible
through a particular interpretation of Article IV of the 1967 Outer
Space Treaty [which] distinguishes between ‘peaceful purposes’
applicable to space in general – and ‘exclusively peaceful purposes’ –
restricted to certain celestial bodies. Military uses of the moon and
other celestial bodies are then outrightly prohibited, but the ‘empty
space’ between the celestial bodies can be militarized.
(2019: 2, emphasis added)

Bello y Villarino comments on how such developments are ‘leading

military actors to consider the Earth’s orbit a new “warfighting domain”’
(2019: 3). He notes, providing examples, that some commentators view
these developments not as a race ‘to dominate space’ but as an incremental
development of ‘a range of options to control or deny outer space in a time
of open conflict’ (2019: 3).
Lyall and Larsen remark a propos the military use of space that the
question remains as to ‘what states may do militarily through using space
assets or capabilities or space simply [remaining] as a medium’ (2018:
453). This question is instructive, pointing to the different ways in which
space as location may be conceptualised; as a site in which assets are
located or as a transit area. The research question to which this observation
gives rise, given EU aspirations relating to access to, use of and presence in
space and the overt acknowledgement of the dual-use nature – of space
technology, of space access, presence in and use of, space, is how is space
constructed as an object of militarisation in EU space policy? This research
question directs attention to how space qua location is constructed as a
domain in which particular activities take place, and as a concomitant, the
legitimacy of action in a place. Focusing on this dimension of militarisation
directs attention to the ways in which justifications for independent access
to, uncontrolled presence in and self-determined use of space for military
purposes are clearly constructed as ‘self-protective actions’, defined by
Ercan and Kale as ‘actions that disrupt the attacker from harming space
systems’ (2017: 21), and in EU, space policy are set out/enunciated as
protection of the EU assets for the European economy. The increasing
importance of space has a corresponding sense of the increasing
requirement for protection –this is illustrated by Borrell’s remark, ‘we are
[now] very much aware of how important space has become as part of the
tools that we need to have, master and control in order to ensure our
collective security’ (EEAS/Borrell, 2022).
Lyall and Larsen note that pre-emptive self-defence ‘differs from
anticipatory self-defence in that it is triggered not by a specific event, but
from a more general apprehension of being attacked’ (2018: 452; see also
Baker-Beall, 2009). This understanding of pre-emptive self-defence may be
expanded to include a general sense of threat to European industry, given
the significant technological and industrial benefits of space, and hence to
European competitiveness, its autonomy within a global order and its
identity. The response to this generalised threat is correspondingly
unfocused. The locations of threats and strategies to address these threats
raise issues of where action may legitimately take place. These are not
fixed.
The structure of the chapter is as follows: further to this introductory
section setting out the broad context of the exploration of EU space policy
texts, the impetus for the exploration of what Paasi refers to as the social
production of spatiality or ‘spatial scales’ (2001: 9), an outline of how this
preliminary exploration of militarisation and place was conceived is
presented (see the ‘Methodology, Methods and Data’ section). This
emphasises an initial, unqualified, relationship made between militarisation
and war, giving rise to an initial concern with ‘the battlefield’. This initial
approach was revised as a priori and thus unwarranted; however, key
sensitising points from the literature relating to ‘battlefields’ (Blank, 2010;
Megret, 2012) are retained. These include the lack of fixity of places as
‘battlefields’ – a battlefield may be anywhere – and related legal
implications for the treatment of both actions and actors in these locations.
The important point that militarisation does not necessarily imply war is
restated. The legal framework, in particular Articles I and IV of the OST,
1967 is considered including the concept of space as a global commons. In
the ‘Preliminary Findings’ section, the methodology employed in
responding to the research question – how is space constructed as an object
of militarisation in EU space policy? – is presented. This question was
prompted by ethnomethodological approaches to place formulations
(especially Garfinkel, 1967; Schegloff, 1972; see also Dennis, 2019).
Ethnomethodologically informed analyses explore how ‘recognisably
correct’ descriptions of places as locations of particular activities are
constructed in text and talk (Ryan, 1996). Location analysis draws attention
to what types of activities, ‘properly’ and expectably, occur within what
locations. This work prompted the consideration of how space is
constructed as location within European space policy. A qualitative
thematic analysis of the official EU space policy texts focused on how
space as a place of action is presented in the ‘Discussion and Conclusion’
section. The preliminary analysis presented suggests two key characteristics
of how EU action in space is constructed: (i) different orders of spatiality
are present in space; for example, Low Earth Orbit (LEO) versus outer
space and (ii) space as an extension of Earth. Illustrative excerpts from the
EU space policy corpus are presented in this section. The question of what
is gained from a consideration of how space as a site or object of
militarisation is then considered (see the ‘Discussion and Conclusion’
section). It is noted that the need to protect is founded on claiming benefits
to the Union – for its role as a global actor, to the competitiveness of its
industries and to its citizens. The sense of threat to the European Union, its
economy and the lives of citizens in the event of disrupted access and use
means that possibility of threat relates to all areas of life – political,
economic and social; pre-emptive self-defence is presented as thus
warranted. This section also presents concluding remarks.
Militarisation, Battlefields and Zones of Conflict
The study of European space policy texts initially sought to consider
whether and how space is considered a ‘battlefield’. How a location is, or
becomes, identified as ‘a battlefield’ is a legal, as well as a general concern:
as Megret comments, the ‘concept of the battlefield has long structured the
understanding of war’ (2012: 123):

Defining the battlefield in war is not only a question of militarily

deciding where actual battle will occur, nor is it merely a theoretical or
doctrinal exercise. Behind these efforts lies a more fundamental
struggle to define what constitute a legitimate battlefield and, with it,
legitimate forms of war.
(2011: 123)

The formulation of the research question arose further to a consideration of

how militarisation may, but not necessarily, lead to war. Oikonomou,
rejecting the concept of ‘securitisation’ as an adequate construct to capture
the phenomenon of the use of space for military purposes, notes:

[m]ilitarization “is at the heart of these activities, not only as a process

for preparation and conduct of military activities but primarily as a
process for the expansion of particular class relations, social forces’
interests and forms of power through military means, irrespective of
the existence of actual war.
(2013: 142, emphasis in original)

This is an important point as the justifications used to defend the

introduction of activities or objects that may be used in military exercises
include reasoning appealing to a need for preparatory, that is, pre-emptive
self-defense, actions. The initial approach was, drawing particularly on the
work of Blank (2010) and Megret (2012), focused on locations of conflict,
specifically on whether the concept of ‘battlefield’ was present in the EU
policy texts and what this might mean for an understanding of
‘militarisation’. This was a priori and is not followed – as per Oikonomou’s
comment, there is no necessary relationship between militarisation and war,
thus no necessary relationship between militarisation and ‘battlefield’.
However, the key points from this literature are retained for current
purposes, illustrating, for example, how due to the dual-use nature of space
technology and of space, all areas are possible sites of conflict. The
‘battlefield’ is not a defined area on Earth or in space; it can be any and all
areas. Josep Borrell, High Representative of the European Union for
Foreign Affairs and Security Policy, speaking at the same conference as
Commissioner Breton (cited above), opened his presentation with the
following statement:

I would like to talk about space, the changes taking place in space and
what space means for security and defence. I used to say that outer
space is one of the new battlefields. Cyberspace, outer space and the
high seas are the new battlefields of our time. I wish they were not a
battlefield, but space is clearly an issue for EU security and defence.
First of all space is about technology…Satellites are there…They
enable us to frame a better response [to disasters]. So space is part of
the peaceful life of us all. But space is also increasingly important for
geopolitics and for our security and defence. Our freedom of action
depends on a safe, secure and autonomous access to space.
(EEAS/Borrell, 2022, no pagination, emphasis added)

He continued:

Space is getting more crowded…it is also getting more contested. We

are seeing more and more examples of an irresponsible and hostile
behaviour, and the weaponization of space. Nowadays everything is
being weaponised…every aspect of human activity can become a
weapon.
(ibid)

This position presents a view of the dynamic nature of European space

policy and is aligned with wider academic and policy discussions about the
fit-for-purpose status of the OST1967 (as well as the other international
agreements in place):

So, space is becoming increasingly central to European security and

the truth is that our current policy framework -what we call the
 European Union Space Strategy – is from 2016, 6 years ago. And, at
that time, it was written focusing mainly on civilian aspects because 6
years ago the idea of space being a battlefield was not as clear as it is
today. The 2016 strategy barely touched on the security and defence
dimensions of outer space.
(EEAS/Borrell, 2022)

Referring to the newly introduced A Strategic Compass for Security and

Defence (European Union, 2021a), Borrell remarks that the new EU Space
Strategy for Security and Defence ‘will get us up to speed with fast-
changing developments in outer space and provide us with the instruments
we need to defend our citizens and our interests from external threats’. He
concluded his speech:

we [the EU] are [now] very much aware of how important space has
become as part of the tools that we need to have, master and control in
order to ensure our collective security […]I am sorry to talk about the
satellites as if they were weapons, but it seems that from the beginning,
mankind has been dreaming about space […]. Every time that
humankind has been looking for new paths to go somewhere else,
unhappily it has become a scenario for war. Let us hope that it will not
happen in discovering the path to the stars.
(EEAS/Borrell, 2022, emphasis added)

Borrell’s conclusion sees space, or rather, the presence of satellites in space,

as part of an arsenal of the EU, and space as a location is both ‘scenario for
war’ and (to refer back to earlier parts in his speech) ‘a battlefield’.
The work by Blank (2010) and Megret (2012) was useful in providing
key features of the debate about how ‘the battlefield’ is considered in the
academic legal field. Megret presents the following as a definition of a
‘battlefield’:

The battlefield is typically an area, limited in space and time, upon

which a battle occurs. The battlefield may be created by the chance
encounter of enemy troops, but it may also be agreed upon by opposite
armies. The battlefield is not a clearly defined space, not even in the
most traditional of battles.
 (2012: 123, emphasis added)

Thus, what is identified as a battlefield is fleeting and contingent,

notwithstanding later commemorations of battlefields. There are no clear
boundaries: ‘the battlefield is… as much an idea as it is a space, and only
when one understands the assumptions underlying the idea of the battlefield
can one understanding how the battlefield has come under threat’ (Megret,
2012: 133, emphasis in original).
Thus, while Megret acknowledges the military significance of a
battlefield, he cautions ‘the battlefield as such does not exist…It is part of a
…construction of reality that allows us to understand certain armed
encounters as battles, themselves part of a larger thing called war’. (Megret,
2012: 133). He considers how the law treats activity in spaces identified as
battlefields; to simplify his detailed argument, the battlefield is ‘an idea and
a normative ideal, even as its reality may otherwise be challenged’.
Considering technological advances and their impact on the idea of a
battlefield as geographically limited (see 2011: 143), he remarks on the
‘expansion’ of the space. The battlefield, understood broadly, is
characteristic of the activity known as war because it tends to be ‘the place
where many of the markers of war coincide and its existence manifests
willingness for direct combat between troops’ (2011: 147). Following 9/11,
the concept of the battlefield is conceived as globalised and de-
territorialised – it is everywhere; as a consequence, ‘the] utter
disappearance of the battlefield leaves us with very few criteria to
determine what sort of activity is going on and, accordingly, what its proper
limitations should be’ (2011: 151). The implications of the situation in
which the concept of battlefield is not defined are that there is the likelihood
that force will be used in situations far removed from what the laws of war
anticipated. As a result, an effort to reassert the relevance of the concept of
battlefield is starting to be heard, i.e., to reassert the battlefield as a
‘recognisable and thus legally regulated space’ (2011: 151).
Considering the battlefield in relation to space, the issue of the global
character of space is evident. However, other aspects also arise that indicate
a concept of ‘battlefield’ in space is fundamentally ‘unstable’, that is, the
dual-use nature of both the presence of and activities in space means that
space by its nature is, at the one and the same time, a ‘(potential)
battlefield’ and another space for non-military use.
 As noted, defining the ‘battlefield’ is important particularly because
international law provides for treatment of those in such a space and
assesses actions by reference to the location of the action. Blank considers
how many contemporary conflicts, in which states fight against non-state
actors and terrorist groups, are ‘unbounded by sovereign territorial
boundaries … preferring tactics aimed at civilians often far from any
traditionally understood battlefield, can easily confound attempts to use
these existing terms effectively’ (Blank, 2010: 3, emphasis added).
This lack of fixity, or fluidity, results in ‘complex legal conundrums
regarding the application of the law to military and counterterrorism
operations’ (Blank, 2010: 4). Indeed, the term ‘zone of conflict’ is
preferred, encompassing areas beyond the traditional battlefield. However,
while it ‘may well have great value’ (2010: 5), as a concept, it raises
similarly complex legal questions as the concept of ‘battlefield’. Thus, the
matter of where armed conflict can be conducted against terrorist groups is
raised. Ancillary questions include ‘when and for how long is an area part
of a zone of combat’ and how far does this designation extend
geographically?’ (2010: 7). The determination of action in appropriate or
warranted location is of concern. Some territorial areas will have stronger
connection to an identified ‘zone of combat’ than others (Blank, 2010: 38).
Blank suggests that identifying ‘where and when a state can conduct
operations within an armed conflict framework [is] a necessary companion
to the ongoing debate about whether a state can conduct operations within
such a framework’ (2010: 38, emphasis in original). The legal order relating
to conflict within designated areas is instructive in indicating (a) the fluidity
of locations as conflict locations and (b) the resulting legal lacunae arising.

The Legal Framework

The research question, how is space constructed as an object of
militarisation in EU space policy?, directs attention to how space qua
location is constructed as a domain in which particular activities take place,
and as a concomitant, the legitimacy of action in a place. A key reference
point is the legal framework within which such assessments are made. This
legal framework is not only the legal framework relating to conflict as
indicated in the discussion about the nature of the battlefield but more
directly relates to the body of law referred to as ‘space law’ (see Diederiks-
Verschoor and Kopal, 2008; Lyall and Larsen, 2018). Academic law and
policy discussions of militarisation – and weaponisation – of space
routinely cite the OST 1967 in which Articles 1–4 (see Table 1.1 ) are
particularly relevant to such discussion. This Treaty, and the wider legal
framework ( five Treaties are generally understood as constituting the legal
framework relating to space) constitute the key reference point situating
activities in outer space, including the moon and other celestial bodies, in
relation to the peaceful purposes of space exploration and use. The
principles of non-appropriation, the prohibition on claims by means of
occupation or otherwise, are established. The statement that outer space
‘shall be the providence of all mankind’, i.e., that it is a global commons –
open to all, for use by all – is central to the 1967 OST (see below). The use
of space for the benefit of citizens as per the Global Strategy for the EU’s
Foreign and Security Policy (European Union Global Strategy/EUGS)
draws on the concept of global commons:

The EU will advance the prosperity of its people… A prosperous

Union also hinges on an open and fair international economic system
and sustainable access to the global commons.
(European Union, 2016: 8)

Table 1.1 Outer Space Treaty 1967 – Key provisions (Article 1 -IV)
Art The exploration and use of outer space, including the moon and
I other celestial bodies, shall be carried out for the benefit and in
the interests of all countries, irrespective of their degree of
economic or scientific development, and shall be the province of
all mankind.
Outer space, including the moon and other celestial bodies, shall
be free for exploration and use by all States without
discrimination of any kind, on a basis of equality and in
accordance with international law, and there shall be free access
to all areas of celestial bodies. There shall be freedom of
scientific investigation in outer space, including the moon and
other celestial bodies, and States shall facilitate and encourage
international co-operation in such investigation.
 Art Outer space, including the moon and other celestial bodies, is not
II subject to national appropriation by claim of sovereignty, by
means of use or occupation, or by any other means.
Art States Parties to the Treaty shall carry on activities in the
III exploration and use of outer space, including the moon and other
celestial bodies, in accordance with international law, including
the Charter of the United Nations, in the interest of maintaining
international peace and security and promoting international co-
operation and understanding.
Art States Parties to the Treaty undertake not to place in orbit around
IV the earth any objects carrying nuclear weapons or any other
kinds of weapons of mass destruction, install such weapons on
celestial bodies, or station such weapons in outer space in any
other manner.
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 weapons and the conduct of military
manoeuvres on celestial bodies shall be forbidden. The use of
military personnel for scientific research or for any other
peaceful purposes shall not be prohibited. The use of any
equipment or facility necessary for peaceful exploration of the
moon and other celestial bodies shall also not be prohibited.

Articles I–IV of the OST are presented below. Article IV emphasises

peaceful use; this is the ‘core’ element around which discussions about
militarisation are focused.

Methodology, Methods and Data

The methodology employed to explore the research question is qualitative,
exploring one aspect of how militarisation is constructed in official texts of
the space policy of the European Union. It is (loosely) informed by
ethnomethodological approaches to the study of descriptions of social life
as accomplishments. In particular, the work on place formulations as
interaction achievements is of relevance. This focuses on how recognisably
correct descriptions of places as sites of particular activities are produced. It
considers how space is constructed as an object of militarisation in official
discourse. The data sources are the official texts of the European Union
relating to space policy. The data are excerpts from the official texts from
1979 to 2021; the corpus contains documents from the European Parliament
Resolution on Space Policy, 1979, to the European Union Regulation
establishing the European Space Programme in 2021, a legal text. The
research question was refined over the course of this reading, moving from
an initial concern with whether and how space is constructed as a battlefield
to a consideration of how space as a location of action is constructed in the
policy texts. The preliminary focus is to identify the lexicon of location;
how the place of action was ‘spoken about’ in the policy texts. Texts were
read to identify themes across the entire corpus. The dataset that was
created includes excerpts from the texts, identified as relevant to this
research question. The purpose is not to consider the veracity or otherwise
of statements but rather to try to explore the production of meaning, to
explore how the place of ‘militarisation’ is constructed in the texts and how
‘space’ is employed in discussions about dual-use of place, in this case,
space.

Preliminary Findings
This preliminary study was prompted, as briefly described above, by
ethnomethodology (see Garfinkel, 1967), in particular, its work place
formulations as members’ accomplishments, rather than pre-existing
descriptions of locations (see Schegloff, 1972). It was more directly
prompted by considerations of the justification for defence as articulated in
EU space policy and related law (European Union, 2021). The research
question is how is space constructed as an object of militarisation in EU
space policy? The thematic analysis suggested firstly that ‘space’ is
constructed in a variety of different ways and secondly that it is presented
as an extension of Earth.
The initial approach arose from literature on battlefields, particularly
Megret (2012) and Blank (2010). However, a preliminary examination of
the empirical data, the EU space policy texts, indicated no references to
‘battlefields’ or ‘zones of conflict’. In this regard, Borrell’s speech
(EEAS/Borrell, 2022) referred to above is extraordinary in its repeated
identification of space as a battlefield. Assuming a link between
militarisation and war (and battlefield) was erroneous. However, the
preliminary review of the corpus of material – the EU space policy texts
from 1979 to 2021 – suggested that the rationale of EU action in support of
EU goals, routinely asserted, could be an analytically productive,
illustrating how an understanding of the use of place, in this case ‘space’
broadly defined, is linked to these objectives.
A typical statement about EU goals in space is evident in an excerpt
from a Commission Communication, Europe and Space: Turning to a New
Chapter. This communication refers to how economic, societal and political
factors are intertwined: ensuring satellite-based services is identified as ‘a
political factor for security as well as an instrument of global influence,
since an independent satellite capability ensures control over the use of the
information gathered’ (European Commission, 2000: 8). This ‘political
factor’ concerns the EU’s aspirations to function as a global actor. Securing
independent access to space is about defending access for the purpose of
non-dependence. It may be linked to the concept of the global commons; a
resource for all – the key space Treaties – seeks to maintain this ‘open’
space.

Constructions of Space as a Place

The lexicon or vocabulary of space as location includes the place terms that
are used. These are considered in relation to the broad question ‘what are
the ‘geographies of space’? An example of how ‘space’ is constructed is as
follows:

Space is often seen as the last frontier of mankind’s curiosity; an area

of pioneering technology development associated with science,
exploration, defence and informational prestige.
(European Commission, 2000: 6, emphasis added)

Designating different areas of space, Elhefnawy comments:

 [T]he most widely accepted definition appears to be that it is the
lowest perigee attainable by an orbiting vehicle; the definition relies
less on a system’s altitude than the class of system in question and all
satellites therefore enjoy complete freedom to overfly the Earth.
(2003: 60)

Elhefnawy notes the absence of a formal definition of space (ibid). This

definitional void is of note – where space is not clear – outer space is
marked by the Karman line; this represents an attempt to set a marker
between the Earth atmosphere and space – 100 KM above the planet’s
surface (see also Diederiks-Verschoor and Kopal, 2008: 23 ff and
McDowell, 2020: 1 for a distinction between upper and lower Low Earth
Orbit, for example).
In the literature, Elhefnawy comments, ‘the conventional wisdom is that
space will remain a commons’ (2003: 55), a perspective that is rooted in
what he terms the ‘profound ambiguities inhering in international law over
the enforcement of the regime for the use of space, and indeed, even where
the boundary of space is’ (2003: 55). Considering territorialisation as a
process relating to controlling access, he foregrounds processes of
discrimination between different areas:

Movement towards a regime of ‘controlled access’ at sea [e.g.

Exclusive Economic Zones] is a reminder that states are fundamental
territorial entities, with a tendency towards expanding their sphere of
responsibility, even when they cannot exercise effective control within
that sphere, a tendency that can be expected to carry over into space.
(2003: 56)

Further, considering the notion of a zero-sum feature of access by reference

to the limited number of geostationary slots and the bandwidth usable by
satellite communications to illustrate his point, he comments:

Even without states attempting to control such slots access to space is

coming to be regarded less as a question of owning space systems than
of militarily exercising control of space itself…Ownership of satellites
takes a backseat, while the ability to protect one’s satellites or attack
 those of an enemy combine to make control of strategically important
portions of space important.
(2003: 57, emphasis added)

That different areas of space into those that are strategically important or
unimportant are foregrounded as being more or less important is of interest,
pointing to a nuanced understanding of space as a particular type of location
that is internally differentiated. The militarisation of space is about the use
of space-based assets for Earth-based actions; however, activities also occur
in space and assets/objects may use space as a route. In such scenario, space
is a medium. The different characterisations of space hold relevance for the
definition of militarisation as the use of space-based technology and
infrastructure for the purpose of supporting military operations (see
Peoples, ibid). The focus of attention is not only about the placement of
objects in space but also about how space is viewed.3
In 1988, in the first Communication from the Commission, space is
described as:

an area in which the Community now seems destined to play a broader

and more active role…The era of the conquest of space has given way
to an era of space exploitation.
(European Commission, 1988: 1, emphasis added)

In 2001, the European Parliament described space as ‘a platform for

military action’ (2001: 13, emphasis added). To some extent, this is the end
point of militarisation – in this instance, space is conceptualised as the place
from which action is launched:

The Space Advisory Group in 2012, commented that ‘[t]here is a need

for consolidated, shared vision for robotic and human exploration of
Mars, the Moon and near Earth objects… Space should be a tool of the
EU for international cooperation…’
(2012: ixx)

The militarisation of space can be presented as affecting different ‘parts’ of

space – from outer space to LEO. Within the space policy texts, references
to space as ‘a platform’, ‘tool’, ‘segment’, as well as the specific references
to space as a location of action, are of note. This is because without
specificity, ‘space’ may be used to denote support to (military) activities as
well as the location of such activities. It is constructed as an ‘empty space’
between celestial bodies. Bello y Villarino regards the militarisation of
space as a result of the interpretation of the provisions of the OST1967 in
which the distinction between peaceful purposes applicable to space
generally and ‘exclusively peaceful purposes’ applicable to the Moon and
celestial bodies (2019: 2, see Note 1).
In the EU Global Strategy for the EU’s Foreign and Security Policy, the
following statement indicates this understanding of space as a differentiated
place:

We [the EU] have an interest in fair and open markets, in shaping

global economic and environmental rules, and in sustainable access to
the global commons through open sea, land, air and space routes. In
view of the digital revolution, our prosperity also depends on the free
flow of information and global value chains facilitated by a free and
secure Internet.
(2016: 15, emphasis added)

The use of space for the purposes of transit, that is, space as a medium
(Lyall and Larsen, 2018) as well as a specific resource – the global
commons – is suggested here. As Fluri has suggestively remarked:
‘[t]axonomies of…spaces are necessary for representations of state security
in order to frame epistemologically what is ‘secure’ and what is not..
[Contemporary state] security therefore reveals interrelated political, social
and economic parameters’ (2014: 797).
This interrelationship is evident in the EU’s 2021 Regulation in which
the statement that ‘the possibilities that space offers for the security of the
Union and its Member States should be exploited’ is followed by an
elaboration of what this means:

Historically, the space sector’s development has been linked to

security. In many cases, the equipment, components and instruments
used in the space sector, as well as space data and services, are dual-
use. However, the Union’s security and defence policy is determined
 within the framework of the Common Foreign and Security Policy, in
accordance with Title V of the Treaty on European Union (TEU).
(2021: paragraph 2, emphasis added)

Space as an Extension of Earth

Sariak (2017) reiterates Johannes Wolff’s position that military space
technology operates as a ‘force multiplier’, amplifying the effects of older,
more conventional forces. He suggests that this indicates how ‘those who
advocate a weaponization of space conversely see space as a theatre for
conflict itself, rather than the ultimate high ground for operations on Earth’
(2017: 53). Bowen has similarly commented, ‘[s]pace warfare is the
continuation of Terran [Earth] politics by other means, and the command of
space connects space warfare to those wider political goals’ (2019: 540).
This perspective is suggestive in terms of how the militarisation of space
‘connecting’ space to Earth may be understood in terms of Earthly goals.
These goals, that is, autonomous access to, use of and presence in space, are
not for space dominance per se but are for the protection of the Earth (that
is, ‘pre-emptive self-defence’ as discussed by Lyall and Larsen, 2018,
above). This theme is prominent in the EU space policy texts as the
following excerpts illustrate:

space has contributed in the past and will undoubtedly continue to

contribute in the future to the building of Europe: it serves both as a
focus for the European identity, a frontier which has a mobilising
influence on technology and the economy and a measure of political
power.
(The Community and Space: A Coherent Approach, European
Commission, 1988: 10)

How space can be used is a recurrent theme within the policy texts. In an
early Communication on space policy, the European Commission noted a
key question:

[…].An integrated Europe with 400 million citizens and a land area of
4 million km [squared] must ask the question of where it wants to
position itself in space and space applications and whether it wants to
 develop a vision for the future of its industry and service providers to
preserve at least a dual-source situation in the world in order to ensure
that competitive procurement remains an option.
(1999: 5–6, emphasis added)

The ‘Earthly’ gains arising from space dominance are clear. In 2000, the
Council Resolution on a European Space Strategy reaffirmed ‘the strategic
nature of space’ and the need ‘to conduct an overall space policy reflecting
Member States’ political ambitions and responding to the challenges of
European integration’ (European Council, 2000: 1). The alignment with
wider EU goals is evident in the Communication Towards a European
Research Area (European Commission, 2000), in which the following
characterisation is presented:

Global information and communications constitute the nervous system

of the knowledge society. Satellites, with their ability to cover and to
connect virtually every point around the world, are critical to the
effective functioning of this neural network. The observation satellite
systems deliver a continuous flow of near real-time data about any part
of the globe, in compliance with international law. This is of vital
importance...for early warning of crises and for arms control...Satellite
based services are of strategic value to Europe, where economic,
societal and political factors are inseparably mixed...Galileo…will
provide Europe with sovereignty in safety critical applications and
telematic infrastructure.
(2000: 7, 14, emphasis added)

Satellites in space form a link to the ‘nervous system’ of Earth; they

become extensions of this system. In Space Strategy for Europe, the
Commission noted the ways in which space technologies data and services
can – and do – support numerous EU policies and key political priorities:
‘Space is… of strategic importance for Europe. It reinforces Europe’s role
as a stronger global player and is an asset for its security and defence’
(European Commission, 2016: 2).
Finally, in the recital of the 2021 Regulation establishing the European
Space Programme, a legal text, the dual-use of systems and their
applications are presented as a matter of fact:
 Owing to the importance of space-related activities for the Union
economy and the lives of Union citizens, the dual-use nature of the
systems and of the applications based on those systems, achieving and
maintaining a high degree of security should be a key priority for the
Programme, particularly in order to safeguard the interests of the
Union and of its Member States, including in relation to classified and
other sensitive non-classified information.
(European Union, 2021, point 51).

The common sense enunciated in this instance is that space systems and
presence in space are simultaneously for military use and purpose and for
civil use and purpose. Satellites may be used for either, or both, purposes.
The contestation is removed – systems are ‘dual-use’.

Discussion and Conclusion

What has been gained from a consideration of how the official texts address
space within the wider context of processes of militarisation? The answer to
the research question, how is space constructed as an object of
militarisation in EU space policy, is that space is variously constructed as
both ‘a tool’ or ‘instrument’ and ‘a platform’ from which, to attain a
strategic position, as well as a particular location within which activities can
occur and objects can be placed. This finding holds relevance for an
understanding of how the process of militarisation has a ubiquitous reach.
As a process of militarisation, that is, the progressive infusion of military
requirements, needs and considerations, within a specific policy field, the
location of military activity, ‘the battlefield’, with associated rules of action
and benefits/penalties accruing, may be ascribed a constitutive role in
processes of ‘militarisation’. In 2010, Peoples commented, ‘outer space is
becoming ever more ‘securitized’; that is, access to space is now commonly
framed as crucial to the military, economic and environmental security of
leading states and international organisations’ (2010: 205, emphasis added).
Over a decade later, this goal of access to (alongside presence in) space has
extended to include use of space – the EU needs access to, presence in (via
its assets) and use of space for its economy and security. This supports Lyall
and Larsen’s assessment (presented in the context of US activity in space),
‘the line between military and civilian-political concerns might be
increasing difficult to discern’ (2018: 475).
While within space policy security as an issue has increased in
prominence in the last 40 years of European Union space policy
formulation (see European Parliamentary Research Service, 2017), the
harnessing of space policy explicitly to the Common Security and Defence
Policy and within the Global Strategy for Foreign and Security Policy
(European Union, 2016) is a recent phenomenon and one that is likely to
continue. The six-year period between the EU’s Space Strategy for Europe
(2016) and the 14th European Space Conference (January 2022) is
characterised by significant developments in relation to security – in this
view, the recognition of space as a battlefield, a pre-existing reality that was
not visible, becomes visible (see EEAS/Borrel, 20224). Borrell’s candour
about the militarisation process is striking, instancing what Hoerber and
Forganni have referred to how:

Security has become a more important issue in space circles. There is

still a major hesitation to call it defence, militarisation or even
weaponisation, all terms used in the past ten to fifteen years to describe
military influence on the space sector, which in a European context
was founded as a civilian endeavour for peaceful purposes.
(2020: 14)

Considering why such hesitation exists is more than a matter of academic

concern, they state that:

[A] more profound answer to the question why we are talking about
security and defence issues in the European sector, today, is that the
world is perceived to have become a more dangerous place; and that
the EU in particular has got to a stage of influence in the world and
institutional development where it has to protect its assets.
(ibid)

The process of the militarisation of space is presented as unavoidable, a

consequence of dual-use technology; co-presence of military and civil
activity is inevitable: the recital in Regulation 696/2021 remarks
‘[h]istorically, the space sector’s development has been linked to security.
In many cases, the equipment, components and instruments used in the
space sector, as well as space data and services, are dual-use’ (European
Union, 2021). The OST 1967 is assessed as outdated in terms of
contemporary technological developments and while the use of space for
‘peaceful’ purposes may be seen as routinely constituting a reference point
to discussions about the use of space, it was, remarkably, not referenced in
the current Space Strategy for Europe (European Commission, 2016). The
analysis presented indicates an increasing foregrounding of the rationale for
militarisation, that is, the justification(s) of the use of space-based systems
and space infrastructure – including ground segments –for pre-emptive self-
defence purposes is routinely mentioned in official texts on space. Space is
a tool for EU aspirations – political, economic and social. Megret’s (2012)
comment about the ‘legitimate battlefield’ directs attention to appeals for
legitimacy of actions; specifically, these appeals relate to the importance of
space for the economy, the lives of EU citizens and the capacity of the EU
to act on the global stage.
The policy texts function as discursive sites of contestation: how space is
understood, either as a tool or as a possible site or location for conflict will
affect how the institutions of the EU and the associated policies are
designed and implemented. Considering the constant ‘process of
negotiation’ (Henry and Natanel, 2016) directs attention to contestation
within policies. How space is understood as a location is central to this
process of negotiation.
Detailing a proposed future research agenda for space policy, Schrogl et
al. comment, ‘the militarization of outer space is a standing issue... As most
space policy is dominated by law, natural science and engineering, bringing
in social sciences could enhance our perception of militarisation,
weaponization and securitization’ (2021: xxxviii). This exploratory study of
how space is constructed in a particular discourse site, EU space policy
texts, suggests that an understanding of how ‘places’ in space are
constructed, or more precisely, how space is constructed as a location in
which particular activities, for particular purposes, take place, would
provide a much-needed contribution to the wider research agenda.

Acknowledgements
Thanks to Iraklis Oikonomou and Thomas Hoerber for constructive
comments on an earlier version of this chapter.

Notes
1. Oikonomou foregrounds the wider context of EU space policy
militarisation: it “belongs to a broader context of EU militarisation per
se, defined as ‘the contradictory and tense social process in which civil
society organises itself for the production of violence’” (Gills, cited in
Oikonomou, 2013: 134).
2. There is a rich literature on how space has been conceptualised, the
“space imaginary” (see Shukaitis, 2009), this is not addressed here but
is noted as part of a contextual web within which policy texts are
constructed and received.
3. The ethics of the different perspectives are not discussed here; suffice
it to note that this constitutes a separate area for consideration (see for
example, Williamson, 2003 for an overview of key ethical issues).
4. It is a suggestive comment in its intimation that space has always been
a battlefield, it was just that it was not recognised as such (‘the idea of
space being a battlefield was not as clear as it is today’). Megret
(2012) has suggested the concept of the battlefield‘haunts’ the law;
this preliminary exploration suggests the same may be said for
European space policy: the widening process of space securitisation, as
commented on by scholars such as Bowen (2014), has the effect that
the ‘battlefield’ of space is potentially always possible; access to, use
of and presence in space are at one and the same time military and
civil.

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2 Europe's “Defensive Militarisation” of
Space
Space in the Context of the EU's
Emerging Military Agenda

Frank Slijper

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-4

Introduction
In presenting the European Union’s draft Strategic Compass in November
2021, the EU High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy,
Josep Borrell, poses:

Europe is in danger: we need to operate in an increasingly competitive

strategic environment. The purpose of the Strategic Compass is to
draw an assessment of the threats and challenges we face and propose
operational guidelines to enable the European Union to become a
security provider for its citizens, protecting its values and interests.
[…] In recent years, the classic distinction between war and peace has
been diminishing. The world is full of hybrid situations where we face
intermediate dynamics of competition, intimidation and coercion. […]
The geopolitical stage is also becoming more complex. More and more
states are behaving as partners on certain issues and competitors or
rivals on others. International relations are increasingly organised on a
 transactional basis. For the EU, which remains the world’s most open
space and which borders many areas of conflict, this is a real
challenge. Even more so because there are also worrying dynamics
such as the collapse of states, the retreat of democratic freedoms,
violations of international and humanitarian law, plus the attacks on
the ‘global commons’: cyber space, the high seas and outer-space.
(EEAS, 2021)

It is unclear to what Borrell exactly refers to when mentioning attacks on

outer space. He must mean either real attacks by space powers (US, China
and Russia) on their own space assets in the form of anti-satellite (ASAT)
missile tests (BBC, 2008; West, 2020a; Gohd, 2021), or the general risk of
space debris hitting space assets, or he may have meant the potential of
attacks, including through cyberattacks, to satellites or supporting ground
systems. Regardless, it is clear that space has become a domain of key
importance to the functioning of much of our world, and that any threat to
that could lead to major trouble.
This chapter will explore the roots and evolution of the European
Union’s space policy, and its military dimensions in particular. It will first
look into how it emerged in the early years of this century. It will then look
at how these relate to parallel developments in agencies such as NATO, the
European Space Agency (ESA) and the European Defence Agency (EDA)
and analyse how space policy and practice have developed over time to
become a cornerstone of the EU’s security and defence policies. Finally, it
concludes that while it is logical for the EU to plan and prepare against
attacks – which the EU calls “defensive militarisation of space” – it is also
clear that it will not stop an arms race in space. For that, Europe should use
its diplomatic clout more and step up its role in multilateral initiatives.

EU
Although the 2003 EU Security Strategy – the EU’s first – also refers to
constantly evolving, more diverse, less visible and less predictable threats,
the general tone is less alarmist, while against the background of the
ongoing US-led “global war on terror” in response to the September 11,
2001 terrorist attacks, and the 2003 Iraq war that had just started: “Europe
has never been so prosperous, so secure nor so free. The violence of the
first half of the 20th Century has given way to a period of peace and
stability unprecedented in European history” (Solana, 2003). Also, in 2003,
the word “space” is nowhere mentioned in the EU security strategy.
Whether Europe is indeed more under threat and a less safe place now than
20 years ago is beyond the scope of this book, but at least one could
conclude that from an EU institutional perspective, the security of space has
become an area of increased concern over the past two decades. Regardless,
with extensive progress in satellite technology and the proliferation of its
use, both civilian and military, it is no surprise that the role of space has
grown in importance over the past two decades. While that is clearly visible
in the area of civilian applications (transport navigation,
telecommunications, even commercial space travel), it is also reflected in
the evolution of the EU’s security and defence policies and increased
military use of space assets, for example the use of satellite imagery in
support of EU military operations (Darnis, Veclani & Miranda, 2011).
“Space is essential for the efficacy of modern armies, while its strategic
aspect is undeniable”, then Belgian Foreign and Defence minister Philippe
Goffin told the European Space Conference in Brussels in January 2020.
“But we remain opposed to the militarisation of space” (Tigner, 2020).
Similarly, French armed forces’ space commander General Michel
Friedling stressed there that “space should not become the new Wild West...
but it is the security of our infrastructure in space that is at stake”, as
Europe’s adversaries are creating weapon systems “that can attack or
destroy our assets in space”. “France seeks neither a belligerent position nor
the militarisation of space, but we have to guard against hostile ‘grey’
actions or attacks that fall below the level of war”, according to the space
commander (Tigner, 2020). France has budgeted 5 billion euros for the
period until 2025 to build a military infrastructure and ability to identify,
detect and neutralise potential threats in space.
The notion of adversaries with bad intentions underlies much of the
European Union’s policy making in the area of space and security: while
being a responsible player itself, Europe needs to prepare for hostile entities
that could attack our space assets and interests. That rhetoric of increased
and unpredictable threats is of course required to get sufficient support for
an ever-expanding EU security and defence infrastructure. But with much
of today’s warfare inextricably linked with space systems – from
communications and surveillance, to navigation for the guidance of missiles
– the EU should be much clearer about the military potential of such
systems, and what they understand to be the militarisation of space. That is
a basic democratic obligation for a European Union that slowly keeps
expanding its political and military powers.

NATO
And while the latest EU buzzword is “strategic autonomy”, including in
areas of security and defence, NATO is also pushing for a stronger space
agenda on both sides of the Atlantic. In 2019, NATO declared space an
operational domain, and in October 2020, it founded a new Space Centre
housed within Allied Air Command (AIRCOM) at Ramstein Airbase in
Germany, embedded within the Operations Directorate (Jennings, 2021).
The Space Centre’s mission is to help coordinate and support allied and
NATO space activities and operations and also help protect allied space
systems by sharing information about potential threats. Moreover, NATO’s
new “center for excellence” in military space is being set up at the Centre
Spatial de Toulouse, also to be the headquarters of France’s Military Space
Command (Mackenzie, 2021). To further integrate the new domain, NATO
has extended its Article 5 to apply to space, warning that attacks against
allied space assets will risk triggering its mutual defence clause. In that
regard, it is developing a “multidomain approach” to the defence and
deterrence of attacks against its space assets. According to a military
official quoted by Jane’s Defence Weekly, such an approach to protecting
space could mean shifting from defensive to offensive tactics (Tigner,
2021). NATO’s “overarching space policy”, released in January 2022, refers
to partnerships with the EU, “on space and space-related aspects, as
appropriate, and where it adds value to NATO’s core tasks” (NATO, 2022).

An Emerging EU Space Policy

In 2001, then French President Jacques Chirac warned: “The United States
spends six times more public money on the space sector than Europe.
Failure to react would inevitably lead to our countries becoming first
scientific and technological vassals, then industrial and economic vassals”
(Slijper, 2012: 149). Clearly, Europe was doomed if it would not
dramatically increase its space profile. While not always put so strongly, the
need to catch up on bigger space powers has been a recurring theme
throughout the past two decades. In close cooperation with the ESA, the
European Commission and national capitals, Europe’s military space
agenda has developed to become a key element of the wider space policy
since the beginning of this century.
Well aware of the sensitivity of any military aspects, the EU long
preferred some ambiguity, with an emphasis on security rather than defence
or even military. Since 2003, a series of documents shaped early EU space
policy and created common ground on the use of space for security and
defence purposes, culminating in the 2007 European Space Policy (Slijper,
2012: 149–154). The 2003 White Paper for example asserted:

To be credible and effective, any CFSP and ESDP must be based on

autonomous access to reliable global information so as to foster
informed decision-making. Space technologies and infrastructures
ensure access to knowledge, information and military capabilities on
the ground that can only be available through the capacity to launch,
develop and operate satellites providing global communications,
positioning and observation systems.
(European Commission, 2003: 12)

Also, it set out:

space technology, infrastructure and services are an essential support to

one of the most rapidly evolving EU policies—the Common Foreign
and Security Policy (CFSP) including European Security and Defence
Policy (ESDP). Most space systems are inherently capable of multiple
use and the credibility of the above policies will be significantly
strengthened by taking better advantage of space applications.
(European Commission, 2003: 19)

Finally, it claimed:

the European Space Policy (…) carries the promise of substantial

economic, social and environmental benefits for the Union and its
 citizens. The policy will also bring new qualities to the Union’s
external actions, especially in defence, security, environment and
development.
(European Commission, 2003: 37)

In a 2005 letter to the European Parliament and the Council of Ministers,

the Commission further elaborated its vision on military aspects of space
policy:

The Council of the EU has recognised that space assets could

contribute both to making the EU more capable in the field of crisis
management and to fighting other security threats. It has therefore
approved the idea that identified and agreed upon ESDP requirements
should be reflected in the global EU space policy and European space
programme.
(European Commission, 2005: 4)

These phrases are indicative for how Europe’s early space policy was
developed. When released in 2007, the European Space Policy – a joint
product of the EC, and ESA – marked a clear departure from the past, when
clear policy reference to the military dimensions of space had always been
avoided (Slijper, 2012: 153). Under the “security and defence” header, the
policy document mentions:

The EU approach to crisis management emphasises the synergy

between civilian and military actors. Space system needs for planning
and conducting civilian and military Crisis Management Operations
overlap. Many civilian programmes have a multiple use capacity and
planned systems such as Galileo and GMES may have military users.
The Member States in the Council have identified Europe’s generic
space system needs for military operations and stressed the necessary
interoperability between civilian and military users. Military capability
will continue within the remit of Member States. This should not
prevent them from achieving the best level of capability, within limits
acceptable to their national sovereignty and essential security interests.
Sharing and pooling the resources of European civilian and military
space programmes, drawing on multiple-use technology and common
 standards, would allow more cost-effective solutions. The economy
and security of Europe and its citizens are increasingly dependent on
space-based capabilities which must be protected against disruption.
Within the framework of existing EU principles and institutional
competencies, Europe will substantially improve coordination between
its defence and civil space programmes, while retaining primary end-
user responsibility for funding.
(European Commission, 2007: 7)

While Galileo and Copernicus (GMES until 2008) were not yet operational,
this reflection on the military dimensions of EU space policy has remained
representative and has since become deeper embedded in ESDP/CSDP
language.
In the Treaty of Lisbon, which entered into force in December 2009,
article 189 refers to the importance of space for technical and scientific
progress and joint initiatives in support of that, and to “coordinate the
efforts needed for the exploration and exploitation of space” (European
Union, 2017). Without explicit reference to military purposes, the general,
open formulation in the treaty opens the door to further explore initiatives
in that domain; initiatives which get the necessary push from Commission
bureaucrats, industry representatives and politicians.
The integration of space into the ESDP has since then gradually evolved.
As a 2009 DG Enterprise and Industry brochure put it:

Space-based systems are making an increasingly large contribution to

the security of Europe, and to the European Security and Defence
Policy (ESDP) in particular. Europe faces constantly evolving threats
to its security that are now more diverse, less visible and less
predictable than in previous decades.
(quoted in Slijper, 2012: 149)

On its website at that time, it further added ambition to that:

Space systems are clearly strategic assets that demonstrate

independence and the ability to assume global responsibilities. To
maximise the benefits and opportunities that they can provide to
 Europe now and in the future, it is important to have an active, co-
ordinated strategy and a comprehensive European Space Policy.
(European Commission, 2009)

A few years later, in addition to the same phrase, the directorate expanded it
with financial-material consequences to back up ambitions:

Europe needs therefore to have access to the best affordable

capabilities for autonomous political assessment, sound decision-
making, prevention policies and the effective conduct of actions. Space
assets provide a significant contribution to confronting these threats
through global monitoring, communication and positioning
capabilities.
(European Commission, 2014)

The October 2016 Space Strategy for Europe again emphasises that space
“is also of strategic importance for Europe. It reinforces Europe’s role a
stronger global player and is an asset for its security and defence”:

Growing threats are also emerging in space: from space debris to cyber
threats or the impact of space weather. These changes make greater
synergies between civil and defence aspects increasingly relevant.
Europe must draw on its assets and use space capacities to meet the
security and safety needs of the Member States and the EU.

Also it emphasises the need to reinforce synergies between civil and

security space activities:

Space services can strengthen the EU’s and Member States’ capacity
to tackle growing security challenges and improve the monitoring and
control of flows which have security implications. Most space
technologies, infrastructure and services can serve both civilian and
defence objectives. Although some space capabilities have to remain
under exclusive national and/or military control, in a number of areas
synergies between civilian and defence can reduce costs, increase
resilience and improve efficiency. The EU needs to better exploit these
synergies. This will be a key theme of the European defence action
 plan, which is expected to highlight space’s crucial enabling role for
civilian and defence capabilities.
(European Commission, 2016)

Today, the Council of the European Union’s Why an EU space policy?

webpage actually puts security and defence rather central:

Helps create jobs and boost growth and investment in Europe; pushes
back the boundaries of science and research; promotes and facilitates
other policies in such areas as security and defence, industry and
digital technology; plays a crucial role in the economic recovery after
the COVID-19 crisis and in tackling global challenges such as climate
change.
(European Council, 2021)

As set out by Oikonomou (2017):

The development of EU space policy and its two main programmes,

Galileo and Copernicus, has necessitated a parallel process of
legitimisation of this policy. Popularisation, defined as the
simplification of a policy in order to be made accessible to the masses
and accepted by them.

Although the military dimension has been less popularised, it can be argued
that the dominant emphasis on its non-military purposes has contributed to
its popularisation generally and has also contributed to obfuscating its
military aspects, generally seen as the more controversial aspects of EU
policy.

The ESA
Established in 1975, the ESA has been the embodiment of Europe’s
common space efforts. It is maybe best known for its involvement in the
International Space Station (ISS), the so-called Spaceport in Kourou,
French Guiana, and the Ariane family of launch vehicles. It has now 22
member states. The national bodies responsible for space in these countries
sit on the ESA’s governing Council, which also includes Canada, under a
Cooperation Agreement. Not all EU states are members of the ESA and not
all ESA Member States are members of the EU. Especially the latter was
earlier identified as an “acute problem when it comes to security and
defence matters”, according to the European Commission (2012). Over
time, it seems that both have acknowledged mutual synergies. While the
Commission considers the ESA as a “technical manager” for its space
programmes, the ESA “views the Commission’s space budget as force
multiplier” (De Selding, 2013).
While maintaining close ties with the EU through an ESA/EC
Framework Agreement, aimed at avoiding the duplication of efforts, the
ESA is an entirely independent organisation. The two organisations have
worked together to develop the European Space Policy; since 2004, they
met about annually within the so-called Joint Space Council. ESA
programme boards each have their own field of activities, for example on
communication satellites, satellite navigation, earth observation and
launchers. Coherent with the security and defence perspective outlined in
the EU space policy and increased cooperation with Brussels, the ESA
gradually became more explicit regarding the security and defence
dimensions of its work. While there used to be a rather clear distinction
between the ESA’s civil space agenda and the predominant national military
space programmes, over the past two decades, the ESA has become
involved in space projects with both civilian and military aspects.
Still, the clear stipulation in article 2 of the ESA Convention that “the
purpose of the agency shall be to provide for and to promote, for
exclusively peaceful purposes, cooperation among European states”
required at least some further explanation as to how those exclusively
peaceful purposes could be guaranteed with an expansion of its military
footprint. ESA interprets “peaceful” use as “non-aggressive” (Praet, 2007),
rather than “non-military”. It has subsequently also been explained as
follows: “ESA’s security initiatives […] must be provided for exclusively
peaceful purposes, a provision which has been interpreted under
international law as non-aggressive uses of outer space” (Domecq, 2017).
This even narrower description appears to ignore the potential of aggressive
uses enabled by assets in outer space.
This raises the obvious question of how non-aggressive is then defined
for the obvious grey area covering what some would consider non-
aggressive support by space assets to potentially offensive military action
on the ground (or elsewhere). What if a country is bombed with intelligence
heavily leaning on satellite imagery from European space assets, or a bomb
is guided by Galileo navigational information? What are the boundaries and
how will they be checked and enforced? “To determine how it might be
involved in a European security programme without too obviously slipping
the bounds of its charter” the ESA contracted various studies (De Selding,
2008). It is not clear though how these studies exactly shaped ESA’s
position, but a comment in early 2007 from its then-science director is at
least illustrative: “Let’s be realistic. Europe hasn’t gone into space primarily
to do science. The ability to put satellites in orbit is now an essential
strategic and economic tool in telecommunications, navigation, security,
etc.” (Slijper, 2008: 36).

The EDA
The EDA, which became operational in 2004 through a Joint Action of the
EU, has since become part of the ESDP infrastructure “driving, forward an
ambitious agenda of cooperation” on a wide range of issues, including
research and technology, armaments, military capabilities and industry
(Linnenkamp, 2015: xv). As the Treaty of Lisbon envisions the progressive
development of Europe’s military capabilities, as well as taking forward
Europe’s space policy, and nurturing the military-industrial base, it is no
incidence that the EDA plays a key role in fulfilling these agendas
(Oikonomou, 2012). In 2013, Claude-France Arnould, then chief executive
of the EDA, recalled that space “has become a vital element of any security
or military action. […] Space is now embedded in practically everything we
do, in our everyday lives, but also in security operations, from intelligence
gathering to flying a drone” (European Space Agency, 2013).
While the Commission together with the ESA have been leading most of
the security- and military-related space initiatives – notably Galileo and
Copernicus – EDA has taken up initiatives around specific military parts of
space programmes, often together with either or both the ESA and the
Commission. Space is a key priority for the EDA. Already in 2006, it noted:
“the preparation and conduct of future EU led operations will require
continued consideration of space related aspects, such as communication,
and the detection and identification of potential threats in advance of an
appropriate answer” (European Defence Agency, 2006).
In 2011, the EDA and the ESA signed an Administrative Arrangement
for the establishment of cooperation between the two agencies, aiming to
identify capability gaps that could be filled by space assets in support of
relevant EU policies; to investigate whether capability requirement can be
shared/supported by both agencies; to investigate synergies between
existing and future EDA and ESA programmes; to coordinate research,
technology and demonstration activities; to explore synergies and
coordinate activities in support of industrial competitiveness. Other
common areas of work identified included: Intelligence, surveillance,
reconnaissance (ISR); civil-military synergies in earth observation; satellite
communications (SatCom); space situational awareness (SSA); and critical
space technologies for European non-dependence (European Defence
Agency, 2011). At its November 2012 steering board meeting, EU Ministers
of Defence tasked the EDA to “federate defence-related requirements,
identifying civil-military synergies in preparation of demonstrators and by
providing support to critical space technologies for European non-
dependence” (European Defence Agency, 2012).
Putting words into practice has not always been easy. With a sense of
understatement, the directors of the EDA and the ESA released a joint
editorial in the 2017 special edition on space of EDA magazine European
Defence Matters, where they argued:

Europe has been earmarking space and security as priorities for over a
decade. Yet, it still hasn’t fully lived up to its ambitions. There is now
an unprecedented window of opportunity for addressing these
shortcomings: a series of ambitious EU security related initiatives
launched in 2016 can finally make space and security cooperation a
tangible reality with positive effects on Europe’s security, its economy
and, perhaps even more important, on how citizens perceive Europe.
(...) Synergies on dual-use amongst sectors make political,
technological and budgetary sense. Such synergies have been called
upon in most policy documents for over a decade, and again more
recently in the European Commission’s 2016 Space Strategy. But have
we made real and genuine headway in fostering dual-use cooperation?
Or have we perhaps not done enough to bring the two communities
 together and to build the confidence needed? We need ambitious
policy statements, no doubt about that. But above all, we need action.
Europe has never faced greater security challenges than today, be it at
home, at its borders or in neighbouring countries. (...) For space and
security to become a successful combination, ESA and EDA Member
States need to further strengthen in partnerships and cooperation.
(Domecq, 2017)

Their apparent frustration about lack of progress and funding to further

strengthen Europe’s military space ambitions shows how developments in
the area of CSDP often go slowly. Looking back over longer periods of
time, tangible steps have however been taken.
Today, the EDA claims:

By many accounts, there is a silent new Cold War taking place in space
and the upper reaches of Earth’s atmosphere as China, Russia, and the
United States race against each other to enhance the usage of space for
military tasks, while developing hypersonic weapon systems.
(European Defence Agency, 2021b: 9)

The EDA also considers:

Neither national nor multinational military operations are conceivable

without the support of space-based systems. Space-based assets and
applications are essential to navigation, communication,
meteorological, geospatial and imagery services, early warning and
ballistic missile interception. […] Space is not only acknowledged as a
potential theatre of operations, but also seen as an important strategic
enabler in support of all other defence domains.
(European Defence Agency, 2022)

The EDA’s current space-related capability activities focus on SatCom,

Space-Based Earth Observation (SBEO), Positioning, Navigation and
Timing (PNT) and SSA. The EDA is also working closely with its Member
States and partner organisations to coordinate the development of platforms
and ground-space links in areas of “defensive planning and C2” [command
and control] (European Defence Agency, 2021b: 9). In 2021, the EDA and
the ESA completed the two-year study “Cyber Defence for Space”
analysing cyber threats to ground and space infrastructure, recommending
the creation of “cyber-operational centres services for cyber threat
intelligence for space, utilising AI Technologies” (European Defence
Agency, 2021a: 7).
A new area of work covered by the EDA is hypersonics, where research
started in 2020 with a workshop on hypervelocity systems with experts
from 12 Member States, plus Norway and Switzerland. The group
concluded that countering hypersonic threats raises serious technical issues
and that space-based tracking systems are probably the most suitable option
for detecting hypersonic threats. Besides identifying a number of key
research areas, the experts also noted that Europe needs new specialised
facilities to test hypersonic technologies.

While the USA and China each have three wind tunnel sites for Mach
6 velocity testing, Europe has none. Thus, a priority goal should be
joint European test facilities among EDA countries. […] The EDA is
now preparing a study to investigate Europe’s technological gaps, and
will draw up technology roadmaps in 2022, with follow-up research
projects focused on missiles and munitions, electro-optical sensors,
radar technologies, new materials, and guidance, navigation and
control.
(European Defence Agency, 2021b: 9)

The Industry
Traditionally, there has been much emphasis on the need to foster Europe’s
space-industrial capabilities through EU space policy. As Margrethe
Vestager, European Commissioner for digital policy, put it:

There are many more ways to get value for money [regarding the EU’s
space budget] by linking space to defence for dual-use purposes. […]
By that I do not mean militarising space but recognising that the civil
space sector and defence share similar needs such as cyber defence or
artificial intelligence. We should support those synergies.
(quoted in Tigner, 2020)
These interests are well-embodied in the European Commission’s recently
set up defence, industry and space policy department, DG DEFIS. “We
cannot ignore the defence nature of what we do in space and we should not
be naïve”, according to Pierre Delsaux, its second in charge and veteran
Commission official working in the area of military industry and space
policy. “We need to defend our space assets to ensure that we are protected
in space. And we need to be independent; we cannot remain dependent on
the United States” (quoted in Tigner, 2020). Along such lines, the EU has
stepped up its funding of space-related research and development projects,
including in areas with security and defence purposes. These take currently
place under the Horizon Europe (2021–2027) research framework
programme, as well as through the European Defence Fund (EDF) and
PESCO (Permanent Structured Cooperation) initiatives.
Until less than ten years ago, EU funding was off-limits for purely
military purposes, while allowing for example research funding for “dual-
use” security areas, covering both military and non-military applications.
For example, research funding has been allocated under both the area of
“space” and “security” under the 2007–2013 Seventh Framework
Programme (FP7). Already as part of FP8, or Horizon 2020, it was slowly
opened up for military research under the Preparatory Action on Defence
Research (PADR), a precursor programme of the EDF, funding military
research projects between 2017 and 2019 through EDA for a total of EUR
90 million. The European Industrial Development Programme (EDIDP)
was another EDF precursor programme with a financial envelope of EUR
500 million for 2019–2020, the first ever EU grant programme co-financing
the joint development of military products and technologies. From 2021,
military technology funding has become fully part of the EU budget, with
the EDF receiving close to EUR 8 billion for the 2021–2027 budget cycle.
One example of space-related research involving the EDA, research
institutes and industry is called MIRACLE II (Micro-Satellite Clusters II),
pointing to the “defensive potential of clustered imaging radar satellites”
(European Defence Agency, 2021b: 9). The project was following up on
work already initiated from 2004 by Kongsberg, Ericsson, Thales and then-
Finmeccanica (now Leonardo) to “work on a system of micro-satellites that
could achieve similar resolution and/or accuracy as larger satellites, but at
lower cost” (MIRACLE, 2007). MIRACLE II, with Kongsberg and
scientific institutes from Italy and Norway, funded by the EDA which with
EUR 2.9 million, developed new concepts and technologies for clusters of
imaging radar satellites. “MIRACLE II’s architectural concepts for the
satellites demonstrated how to maximise operational performance for
spatial/temporal coverage and resolution, low vulnerability, and timeliness
– all with direct application for Europe’s militaries” (European Defence
Agency, 2021b: 9).

Capabilities: Galileo, GOVSATCOM and

Copernicus
The EU’s largest military- and security-related space programmes are the
Galileo satellite navigation system and Copernicus, the European earth
observation programme.
In May 2021, the European Union Agency for the Space Programme
(EUSPA), headquartered in Prague, was formed as EU agency managing
the EU Space Programme and:

To provide reliable, safe and secure space-related services, maximising

their socio-economic benefits for European society and business. […]
EUSPA is driving innovation-based growth in the European economy
and contributing to the safety of EU citizens and the security of the
Union and its Member States, while at the same time reinforcing the
EU’s strategic autonomy.
(EUSPA, 2022)

EUSPA is responsible for operational management of the Galileo and

Geostationary Navigation Overlay Service (EGNOS) satellite navigation
programmes and for ensuring the continuous provision of their services.
EUSPA also coordinates the EU’s governmental satellite communications
programme (GOVSATCOM).
A core task for EUSPA is the security of the EU Space Programme. This
includes security accreditation of all components of the space programme,
through the Security Accreditation Board. EUSPA is also responsible for
the operational security of Galileo and EGNOS, which is provided through
the Galileo Security Monitoring Centre, and for the provision and delivery
of the Galileo Public Regulated Service (PRS) for governmental users
(EUSPA, 2022).
While Galileo’s first test satellite was already launched in 2005, it went
live only in 2016 (early operational capability). Fully operational capability
will consist of 24 active satellites and is now only expected in 2022. Galileo
is operated by EUSPA, with two ground operations centres in Fucino, Italy
and Oberpfaffenhofen, Germany.
The Galileo PRS is an encrypted navigation service for governmental
authorised users and sensitive applications that require high continuity.
Already at its inception, the desire for European military autonomy was an
important reason for the EU to proceed with Galileo and thus it is clearly
set to become a key asset for its military operations. An unnamed diplomat
cited in 2008 on an EU news portal said, “everybody knows that there is no
business case for Galileo. We only need a European system of our own,
because at a militarily very critical moment we can’t trust the GPS to be
available” (Euractiv, 2008). With precision-guided missiles increasingly
being guided by navigation satellites, Galileo could thus be set to become
Europe’s preferred system to guide bombs and missiles against any target
perceived as a threat.
The GOVSATCOM programme aims at providing secure and cost-
efficient communications capabilities for the EU and its Member States,
including national security actors with a strong security dimension. Three
main uses have been identified as crisis management; (border and maritime)
surveillance; and key infrastructures, including EU space infrastructures
such as Galileo and EGNOS. Similarly to Galileo’s PRS, the
GOVSATCOM users have to be authorised users to get access to services.
The implementation of the GOVSATCOM component of the EU Space
Programme started in 2021, under the new Space Programme Regulation,
while the GOVSATCOM Preparatory Action, initiated by the European
Parliament, started already in 2019.
In 2001, the European Council decided to establish what first became
known as the Global Monitoring for Environment and Security (GMES)
initiative, set up in 2005 by the European Commission and the ESA. It
changed its name into Copernicus in 2012. According to the ESA:

Copernicus is the most ambitious Earth observation programme to

date. It provides accurate, timely and easily accessible information to
 improve the management of the environment, understand and mitigate
the effects of climate change and ensure civil security. […] ESA
coordinates the delivery of data from upwards of 30 satellites. The EC,
acting on behalf of the European Union, is responsible for the overall
initiative, setting requirements and managing the services.
(European Space Agency, 2022)

Logically, they could include the provision of satellite imagery for military
and border control operations. “The EDA has gathered the satellite
communication needs for European military actors involved in the conduct
of common security and defence policy operations as well as for national
military use”, said an EDA spokesman in 2016 (Banks, 2016). Already in
2010, it was acknowledged that:

Reflecting on current political dynamics, GMES stakeholders are now

taking initiatives to strengthen the “S” in GMES by creating synergies
between civilian and military actors. The 2008 EU Council
Conclusions on GMES call on the Commission to foster the
implementation of GMES security related services to support the
related European Union policies. Border surveillance, maritime
surveillance and support to EU External Action have been identified as
priority areas for action.
(EC/ESA, 2010)

Copernicus’ costs between 1998 and 2020 are estimated at 6.7 billion euros
with around 4.3 billion euros spent in the period 2014–2020 and shared
between the EU (67%) and the ESA (33%). The 2016 Space Strategy
highlights, “additional services will be considered to meet emerging needs
in specific priority areas, including […] security and defence to improve the
EU’s capacity to respond to evolving challenges related to border controls
and maritime surveillance with Copernicus and Galileo/EGNOS”(European
Commission, 2016).
Professor Anne Glover, the EU’s former chief scientific adviser, believes
that space systems, such as Galileo and Copernicus are increasingly
becoming vital intelligence resources that will be used in planning and
carrying out military missions. “It’s already abundantly clear that the
system will also be used for military operations and surveillance purposes”,
she said about Copernicus (Banks, 2016).

Beyond the Horizon: An EU Space Command?

Clearly, the past less than two decades have shown major developments in
the security and defence thinking of the EU, and not less so in the area of
space policy. The latest development has been the establishment of the
Union Space Programme and the EUSPA, further expanding policy areas
and activities outlined earlier in this chapter. If one thing is clear: the
militarisation of space is no longer a taboo for the EU.
In his opening speech at the 14th EU Space Conference in January 2022,
EU Commissioner Thierry Breton was especially bold in his statement
regarding the EU’s military ambitions in space, aiming at no less than a
European Space Command. Besides referring to an upcoming Space &
Defence Strategy, as part of the Strategic Compass, he elaborated
extensively on how

Beyond the traditional defence domains, we collectively face new

threats in new strategic and contested areas. It is the case with cyber, it
is also the case with space as space is crucial for our security. We
should first expand the defence dimension in existing and upcoming
EU infrastructures. Galileo is a clear demonstration that a common
infrastructure under civilian control can meet defence and security
needs, and that we can set up the right governance, based on trust. We
should replicate this approach for the evolution of Copernicus, in the
new secured connectivity initiative and of course in the STM [Space
Traffic Management – FS]. Second, we should develop new
infrastructures as dual-use by design, integrating the defence needs
from the outset. […] Finally, we should set up a new governance for
our space programme to best reply to the threats. In addition to the
established crisis management protocol, we could better organise joint
situational awareness with the participation of all the actors. Our aim
on the mid- to long-run could be to establish a true European Space
Command.
(Breton, 2022)
Conclusion
Space has become more accessible, including to smaller or technologically
less advanced countries, making space more congested and increasing the
risk of collision. It also increases strategic risk, with more states relying on
space for their security interests and thus space assets becoming potential
targets, invoking additional measures to secure these assets. Also, space has
gradually become a key enabler in warfare. Positioning, navigation and
timing have become core functions for weapon targeting and delivery and
will continue to be further developed. Advances in observation capabilities,
including through increased uses of rapidly developing sensor and artificial
intelligence applications, will enable an ever-growing information potential
that can be relayed by more powerful communication satellites. The
classical function of space to support warfare is set to expand. Thus, the
space domain has both become indispensable in supporting military
operations and is itself developing into a theatre for military operations.
In less than 20 years time, space has become a cornerstone of the
European Union’s security and defence policies. With that it has become
clearer what role space plays in that area, though many questions about its
ambiguity have remained: when does defensive militarisation become
offensive, and when is peaceful military use contributing to warfare? The
ambiguity towards the militarisation of space is clearly reflected by the
support of EU nations of UN initiatives to prevent an arms race in space,
while at the same time their militaries have become increasingly reliant on
space infrastructure to support military missions. It seems logical that no
state would want military escalation in space, and yet we witness states that
have demonstrated anti-satellite capabilities using ground-based weapons
systems. We also see that jamming of SatCom traffic is on the rise. Further
escalation can be expected without common efforts by the international
community to prevent that.
While it is logical for the EU to plan and prepare against attacks – which
the EU calls “defensive militarisation of space” – it is also clear that it will
not stop an arms race in space. For that, Europe should use its diplomatic
clout more and step up its role in multilateral initiatives, preferably under
UN banner. As set out during the 2020 UN General Assembly First
Committee sessions by civil society:
 support for the Prevention of an Arms Race in Outer Space – PAROS
– remains strong. But the divides over how to implement this objective
– whether through legal restrictions, political commitments or
normative understandings of responsible behaviour – remain equally
strong. These are not mutually exclusive options. None can progress
without efforts to enhance trust and transparency.
(West, 2020b)

So, rather than focusing on military responses which may lead to counter-
responses and a further build-up of tensions, such practical and feasible
steps in the area of diplomacy are:

Rooted in existing norms of behaviour that could be taken in the short

term to enhance security in outer space. Such steps would increase the
transparency of military space activities and help to build the trust
needed to support long-term arms control measures.
(West, 2020a)

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3 The Militarisation of Outer Space
A European Perspective

Pascal Legai

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-5

On 7 September 2018, Madame Florence Parly, French Minister for the

Armed Forces, announced the creation of the French Space Command
under military governance (JORF, 2019), similar to the US model, in order
to implement the national space strategy. Likewise, North Atlantic Treaty
Organization (NATO) decided to declare space as a full-fledged operational
domain at the same level with land, sea, air and cyberspace.1 These
essential orientations from European nations (the UK and Germany also
created a national military space command) and NATO are the result of the
growing dominance from the major space powers, mainly Russia and
China, particularly in spy acts in space and anti-satellites (ASAT)
capabilities. The militarisation of space is underway. The European Union
(EU) anticipated this worrying evolution. In 2016, the EU started fostering
space developments to significantly contribute to the effectiveness of the
EU external action, including security and defence purposes. The
increasing, multifaceted, transnational threats described in the EU Global
Strategy for Foreign and Security policy of June 2016 (EUGS, 2016, 19–
28) raise the question of the policies to be implemented to tackle them,
including space-related activities. This orientation opened an active debate
among the European space actors identified in article 189 of the Lisbon
Treaty: the EU, Member States and European Space Agency (ESA) within
their respective remits, highlighting in particular the growing role of the
European Commission with the Space Strategy for Europe in October 2016
(European Commission, 2016a) and the European Defence Action Plan in
November 2016 (European Commission, 2016b), and the Regulation
establishing the space programme of the Union adopted by the European
Parliament and the Council in early 2021 (European Parliament & Council,
2021). The current evolution of a stronger Union in Europe questions the
historic national prerogatives of sovereign responsibility in the security and
defence fields that the governmental space policies underpin (Gnesotto,
2009, 29–30).
Thus, the European space policy, based on the idea that “Security from
space” requires first Security in Space”,2 sets up a unique space programme
in its Space Regulation encompassing a comprehensive set of dual-use
components: Galileo, Copernicus, SSA/SST, Govsatcom and launchers
(European Parliament, Council, 2021, preliminary part). It implies the
preservation of a world-class research and innovation level, a state-of-the-
art industrial and technological base as part of the crucial strategic
autonomy (Crespi, Caravella, Menghini, Salvatori, 2021, 348–354). In this
regard, the space budget for the period 2021–2027 also remains at a
credible level (14.9 billion euros) (Council, 2021, 1). We can also add that
the recovery fund (Next Generation EU, NGEU) of 750 billion euros
(General Secretariat of the Council, 2020, 1–6) adopted by the European
Council on 21 July 2020 will be partially used at national level for space
activities. Furthermore, the EU has not managed until now to promote a
peaceful use of outer space through an internationally recognised legal
framework. Within this context, ESA adds its fundamental longstanding
experience, despite its Convention excluding defence and military
activities, in the design, development and procurement of space systems.
This comes in addition to its innovation know-how for downstream
applications dealing with huge amounts of space and non-space data. The
new ESA Director General, Josef Aschbacher, in office since 1st March
2021, gave a strong orientation towards “Safety & Security” in the ESA
Agenda 2025 (ESA, 2021, 9–10).
The circumterrestrial space beyond the aerobic layer has become a new
place of confrontation, of power, of hostile or aggressive action. This is a
potential battle field which can directly affect the daily life of the citizens of
the world, the planetary economic development whose dependence on
space is considered vital today, as well as science and exploration activities.
The concept of the militarisation of space therefore takes on its full
meaning when the confrontation that takes place affects the means
dedicated to the defence of certain states. Control of the space environment
therefore constitutes, in a way that is perfectly accepted by all, an issue of
power, sovereignty and strategic autonomy. The EU is well aware of this
(European Parliament, 2020, 31–34).
This chapter means to elaborate on these different intertwined and
sometimes contradictory issues to define a European future between
submission and independence. It considers first the current European legal
debate on the issue of militarisation evolving towards weaponisation of
Space, then the EU initiative to promote a non-binding international code of
conduct in outer space and, finally, the current political position of Europe
towards these issues will be considered in turn.

A Legal Approach in Europe to Militarisation and

Weaponisation of Space
In Europe, that is the EU and its Member States, an active debate started
around a decade ago as regards the progressive issue of militarisation of
outer Space (Duffort, 2020) leading to the potential placement of weapons
in space and a potential new arms race. First and foremost, this debate
focused on the key element of the distinction between the militarisation and
weaponisation of outer space, like in other major space-faring nations.
Then, the debate moved to the related European political, R&D, innovation,
industrial and operational orientations.
On the one hand, it is generally admitted, in particular in Europe, that the
militarisation of outer space is the placement of satellites in orbit to support
military activities on the ground (Tripathi, 2013, 193–194). Today,
militaries all over the world rely on satellites for command and control,
communication, intelligence, early warning, weather forecast and
navigation/positioning/timing (PNT) from the Global Navigation Satellite
Systems (GNSS). Therefore, “peaceful uses” of outer space include military
uses, even those which are not at all peaceful—such as using satellites for
direct bombing raids or to orchestrate a “prompt global strike” capability
(Reaching Critical Will, 2014), which is “the ability to control any situation
or defeat any adversary across the range of military actions” (US
Department of Defense, 2004). On the other hand, the notion of space
weaponisation refers to weapons being placed in space (Tripathi, 2013,
193–194) that have a destructive capacity to target locations or objects on
Earth and in space, and those on Earth capable of targeting space assets,
weapons that transit in outer space in order to reach their targets, such as
hypersonic technology vehicles or ballistic missiles, can also be considered
to be part of the weaponisation of space.3
Based on these general definitions, an important question is then a more
precise characterisation, or typology, of a weapon in space (Perez, 2019, 6–
7). The problem with the latter is that there is no globally agreed definition
of what space weapons are. One of the dangers in outer Space is that almost
anything can be used as a weapon. It includes weapons that can attack space
systems in orbit (i.e. ASAT weapons),4 attack targets on Earth from space
or missiles travelling through space. We can add conventional kinetic,
nuclear or bacteriological weapons and the control of a satellite by its
motors or of debris deviated with laser techniques against another space
object. Cyberattacks also make it possible to jam, alter and listen to
communications. Blinding lasers can also put space assets permanently out
of use. We can add airborne lasers (e.g. attached to Boeing 747-400 aircraft)
or the Tactical High Energy Laser (THEL), which projects enough energy at
flying rocket warheads to cause them to detonate.5 The wilful generation of
a debris wall can also be a type of weapon by modifying the environment,
leading to avoidance manoeuvres.6 Hence, the inability to define space
weapons other than a list of possibilities is the main barrier to a treaty that
prevents them.
Furthermore, space weaponisation is not a new phenomenon (Rodhan,
2018). However, a large number of technological developments over the
past few decades have led to a drastic acceleration in the destructive
potential of space warfare. The Prompt Global Strike program is a project
within which the United States started developing hypersonic glide vehicles
in secret in the mid-2000s. Such hypersonic glide vehicles are different
from conventional ballistic missiles in three ways. First, they have a longer
range and can travel over half of the Earth’s circumference. Second, they
can approach their target from a direction opposite to the expected
trajectory of a typical ballistic missile and do so on a low-altitude gliding
trajectory within the atmosphere. Third, they can be extremely precise, with
terminal guidance systems enabling them to strike with an accuracy of a
few meters. These characteristics make such vehicles nearly impossible to
detect. Such missiles could effectively decimate a country’s nuclear and
military arsenals in a few tens of minutes, using low-yield nuclear weapons
or even conventional explosives. Thus, the precision of hypersonic weapons
eradicates the nuclear deterrent (Aarten, 2020).
Beyond the difficult definition of a space weapon, the question arises of
the characterisation of an act of aggression. It is by definition the use of a
weapon with the difficulty of demonstrating intentionality (Legai, 2021,
194). One must distinguish attacks from the ground to space (Anti-
Satellites, ASAT),7 or from an aircraft, from attacks only in space, or on
Earth against the ground segments of space systems. Is scattered debris the
result of an intentional act or simply the consequences of an accident? Is the
collision between two objects in orbit accidental or intentional? What about
an act of bringing together satellites (“browsing”)? Do these acts amount to
an act of war? The definition of an act of aggression is also not clear. The
whole difficulty therefore lies in the definition of “spatial conflictuality”
(Legai, 2021, 194).
Furthermore, the notion of territory does not exist in space, because the
1967 Treaty establishes the principle of non-appropriation of outer space.
Thus, no state has the right to act to protect its spacecraft in outer space by
means of military space operations of active defence, in contradiction with
the orientations of certain states such as the United States or France in
particular (Parly, 2019, 27–29).
The uncertainties of this legal debate have an impact on the related
European political, R&D, innovation, industrial and operational orientations
to anticipate tensions or crises in space. The most significant example is
that of the development of Space Surveillance and Tracking (SST)
capabilities which give a major strategic advantage to powers capable of
precisely knowing the spatial situation of objects and debris in orbit and the
effects of space weather in particular. This ability allows you not only to
protect your own systems on which so many downstream applications
depend but also to know the adverse capabilities present in outer space.
Some EU Member States with space observation capabilities have
committed to providing SST services8 to authorised EU users. These
services cover the provision of anti-collision information between space
objects, fragmentation information following a collision in space and
warning of re-entry of space objects into the atmosphere. This support is
based on the existing capacities of certain Member States. A first
consortium of five contributing nations has thus been set up (France,
Germany, Italy, Spain, UK), supplemented since by three other nations
(Poland, Portugal, Romania).
However, this approach shows its limits. The surveillance of space is a
subject considered to be very strategic by the Member States that have
devoted significant resources to this area. It gives them credibility vis-à-vis
other major space nations. The pooling of these capacities for the benefit of
the EU and its Member States is therefore done in a measured and prudent
manner without having shown, for the moment, any real added value
(Legai, 2020). To strengthen national autonomy in space surveillance, some
European states have decided to create a space command, under military
governance, such as France (JORF, 2019), the United Kingdom (RAF,
2021) or Germany (German MoD, 2021), whose main vocation is to
implement a space strategy of protection of in-orbit capabilities.
In summary, if there is no territoriality within the meaning of the 1967
Outer Space Treaty (Legai, 2020), nor a perfectly clear concept of a weapon
and a characterisation of an act of aggression in outer space, it is difficult
for states to justify defending themselves in this context. Indeed, the
concepts of weapon, aggression and territory are the constituents of the
invocation of international self-defence within the meaning of the Charter
of the United Nations (art. 51). In theory, if we prohibit acts of aggression,
we de facto prohibit the use of preventive self-defence, and therefore, we
prevent any risk of security escalation. If outer Space is a priori exempt
from any sovereignty, international law still has a vocation to regulate it. In
the absence of a treaty on armed conflict in space, it would seem that
International Humanitarian Law (IHL), or the law of war, customary law
resulting from the observation of practice, would be the most suitable to
frame conflicts in space or of space origin with consequences on Earth. The
need for international space regulation is intrinsically linked to the
apprehension of an armed conflict in space. For the time being, a use of
armed force or an armed aggression in outer states has not been observed,
within the meaning of jus ad bellum, that is referring to the conditions
under which states may resort to war or to the use of armed force in general.
In this uncertain legal context, some European Member States (France,
Germany, UK) have decided to acquire national space surveillance means
mainly relying on their own R&D considered critical knowledge in order to
put in place sovereign operational capabilities for enhanced space defence
ensuring their strategic spatial autonomy.

A Major Initiative of the EU

Therefore, not only to avoid a militarisation of space and its drift towards
weaponisation but also to manage the ever-increasing space traffic (Space
Traffic Management, STM), space law has endeavoured to evolve since the
1967 Treaty and the Space Conventions9 under the umbrella of Committee
on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS).10 However, space law is
struggling to make progress in the face of the reluctance of certain states,
which see it as a limitation of their freedom of action, or even of their
strategy of domination. Thus, in 2014, the initiative of the EU to establish
an international code of conduct for outer space activities was unsuccessful
(EU, 2014).
Indeed, the EU and its Member States have submitted to the international
community a proposal for an international code of conduct for human
activities in space (EU, 2013; EU, 2014) in order to adapt the legal
framework to the new challenges of space but fundamentally to preserve
this environment by limiting any use detrimental to the well-being of
humanity. This proposed text, without much effect to date, adds three
principles to space law existing since the 1967 Outer Space Treaty
regulating human activities in outer space for peaceful purposes:

– improving the security of space operations and reducing space

debris,
– creating the right to individual and collective self-defence,
– establishing a climate of trust and cooperation through the
transparency of the respective activities of all actors. The legal path
can also be a means of regulation and influence, if it is accepted by all.

Thus, in 2008, the EU initiated a procedure to develop an International

Code of Conduct for Outer Space Activities (ICoC). The code was not
intended to function as a legally binding treaty but is meant to consist of a
set of principles and guidelines agreed to on a voluntary basis amongst
states. It is not intended to have any formal enforcement mechanisms. Once
agreed upon, the EU has stated (Johnson, 2014) that it expects the ICoC to
be applicable to all outer space activities conducted by states, corporations,
universities etc. and present the basic rules for both civil and security space
activities. The code is intended to address both safety and sustainability of
space environment and the stability and security in outer space,
safeguarding all countries’ inalienable right to use space for peaceful
purposes.
Since it is aimed at both safety and security of outer space activities, the
EU stated that existing internationals such as the Conference on
Disarmament (CD) and the United Nations COPUOS are not appropriate
for the ICoC. By discussing the ICoC outside the CD and COPUOS, it also
includes UN Member States which are not members of these bodies. The
EU has stated that it believes the non-legally binding and overarching
nature of the ICoC means it does not contradict any on-going discussions
on for example Prevention of an Arms Race in Outer Space (PAROS).
The main goal of this European initiative is to “find an agreement on a
text that is acceptable to all interested States and that thus could produce
effective security benefits in a relatively short term” (Johnson, 2014). The
support from the international community is the following: Australia,
Canada and Japan have already endorsed the ICoC, while others have been
less positive. Countries such as Brazil, Russia, India and China have
expressed disappointment about not having been sufficiently consulted in
its development. Together with other space emerging countries, they also
raised concerns that the ICoC could be a way to limit their future capacities
for further outer space activities. India’s main issue with the code is that it is
not legally binding, with enforcement, verification and a penalty
mechanism (Listner, 2012). The United States, the leading country in space
development, endorsed the ICoC after having had a national debate where
some concerns were raised that the ICoC could lead to the mistaken belief
that it could constrain missile defences or ASAT weapons (Reaching
Critical Will, 2014). Other criticisms raised have been that it replicated
already existing domestic policies from some of the EU Member States or
in bilateral and multilateral transparency and confidence-building measures
(TCBMs) (Reaching Critical Will, 2014). This criticism is based on the fact
that the joint ICoC can be seen as interference in the domestic policy-
making of nations that are already developing outer space policies on their
own initiative.
However, the Code has been praised since it can be applied to all types
of outer space activities as mentioned in Section 1.2 and, therefore, not only
is a tool for environmental protection but also includes arms control
aspects. Secondly, the ICoC also addresses military activities in outer space
directly through Section 4.2, where the subscribing states commit to
refraining from any action:

Intends to bring about, directly or indirectly, damage, or destruction, of

outer space objects unless such action is conducted to reduce the
creation of outer space debris and/or is justified by the inherent right of
individual or collective self-defense in accordance with the United
Nations Charter or imperative safety considerations.
(EEAS, 2014)

This means that the Code limits the testing and use of space-based and
ground-based ASAT Weapons. The open-ended consultations in Kiev in
May 2013 were the first multilateral meeting held on the draft ICoC. The
meeting aimed at getting different states on the same level of information
and knowledge. At the end of the two-day consultation, the EU announced
that the next step would be to review all the participants’ concerns and
opinions in order to incorporate as many views as possible into the Code.
The second open-ended consultations took place in Bangkok in November
2013. The Bangkok meeting focused on the actual content and wording of
the proposed text, including the Preamble, Purposes, Scope and General
Principles. A new revision of the draft based on the Bangkok consultations
was realised on 31 March, 2014. This draft was the basis for the third
consultations that took place in Luxembourg on 27–28 May, 2014.
In terms of international recognition, the Group of Governmental
Experts (GGE),11 whose final goal is to deliver a consensus report12 that
outlines conclusions and recommendations on TCBMs (Robinson, 2010,
10–11) for space security and sustainability, built its work on previous and
on-going space security initiatives, in particular the EU’s International Code
of Conduct initiative. The GGE also based its work on the previous GGE
from 1991 to 1993, the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, the UN COPUOS’s Long-
term sustainability of outer space activities (LTSSA) Working Group and
already established bilateral TCBMs.
Despite a widespread international recognition that the existing
regulatory framework is insufficient to meet current and future challenges
facing the outer space domain, the development of an overarching
normative regime comes up against strong resistance from a number of
states that see it as a potential limitation of their activities as shown by the
failure in 2014 of the EU initiative on a code of conduct in outer space
(Beard, 2016). Progress has been made for sustainability and safety.
Measures of transparency and confidence-building constitute a
complementary approach, mainly based on a voluntary basis, thanks to
technology transfer, capacity building and growing cooperation.
International governance is essential, requiring a real will of the
international community. An international space agreement, within the
spirit of the Paris Conference in 2015 on Climate Change, is likely to
support the long-term sustainability of outer Space as a secure and peaceful
space environment. As an example, the COPUOS released guidelines for
the long-term sustainability of outer space activities on 22 June, 2019
(UNOOSA, 2019). In September 2018, Stéphane Israël, Arianespace CEO,
stated: “space should not be a new Wild West. This conquest imposes rules
for sustainable Space”.13 To set an appropriate global context to
progressively move towards comprehensive control to prevent a stronger
militarisation and weaponisation of space, an internationally recognised
regulatory legal framework turns out to be a decisive step. This necessary
evolution would ensure the proper governance and equitable access to and
sustainability of this environment. Debris removal and the obligation to
provide for the return to Earth of any object before it is launched are current
orientations. In this regard, ESA signed a contract in November 2020 with
the Swiss start-up ClearSpace to start cleaning space from ESA Low Earth
Orbit debris (ESA, 2021), the first such initiative in the world. Furthermore,
to manage the fast-growing space traffic, space law has been evolving since
the UN Treaty of 1967. As such, we can cite the space Agreements under
the aegis of the COPUOS, including the Agreement on the Rescue of
Astronauts and the Return of Objects Launched of 1969 (UNOOSA,
resolution 2345 (XXII), 1967) and the Convention on the Registration of
Objects Launched into Outer Space of 1975 (UNOOSA, resolution 3235
(XXIX), 1975) to establish a common space picture, that is to share the
same knowledge on all objects in space.

European Strategic and Political Strand

The EU is not building its space policy on specific military or defence
capacities. Its approach is resolutely civil for the benefit of the greatest
number, for economic development, for growth, for employment and for the
internal market as clearly expressed in the Space Strategy for Europe
(European Commission, 2016a). Furthermore, in terms of security and
defence, the Union shows a high level of ambition in order to implement
the associated policies according to its Global Strategy which cannot be
realised without essential mastery of the space environment (EUGS, 2016).
Space in Europe is now seen as an essential means of implementing the
EU Global Strategy. This strategy became quickly the subject of an
implementation plan in order to materialise the announced ambition
(Council, 2016). This plan defines three strategic priorities to face threats
and risks with the appropriate capacities and structures: reactivity to crises
and external conflicts, contribution to the development of the capacities of
partners and protection of the Union and its citizens. The Common Security
and Defence Policy (CSDP) is taken into account in its civilian and military
aspects. Within the framework of the European Defense Agency (EDA), a
capacity development plan aims to fill the gaps through increased
cooperation of the Member States, in particular the structures of EU
intelligence, planning and conduct of operations (EDA, 2018). The
capability priorities identified include Intelligence, Surveillance and
Reconnaissance (ISR), drones, satellite communications, autonomous
access to space and permanent observation of the Earth. The major powers
like the United States, Russia, China and India have decided to equip
themselves with the complete panoply of the immense capacities that the
space domain offers. Europe, that is to say the EU and its Member States,
with the significant contribution of ESA through its Agenda 2025 including
a Safety and Security priority (ESA, 2021, 9–10), has also defined a
coherent and comprehensive space policy to acquire the space resources
necessary to cover its security and defence needs in its space Regulation
(European Parliament & Council, 2021). Indeed, a Member State alone
could not today acquire all necessary capacities and, above all, keep them at
the state-of-the-art, unless it defined space as a major priority to the
detriment of other sectors.
Furthermore, this space policy covers all stages from design,
development, deployment and procurement to an innovative and
competitive European industry supported by the Union. It defined the vision
of the strategic issues for Europe to which space can contribute, compared
its approach with its Member States as to the idea of a space that would
serve dual needs, civil and military, without ever evoking a space which
would be specifically military as we can see in the Defence Action Plan
(European Commission, 2016b). Through the European space policy linked
to the Common Security and Defense Policy (CSDP), it is also the means
for the Union to assess the solidarity and the will of its Member States. In
addition, it is a way to validate models of sharing activities and capacities
between community and national actors, between the public and private
sectors, and ultimately to assert its credibility on the international scene, as
space today makes a decisive contribution to meeting security and defence
needs.
In this context, the European Commission, whose fundamental vocation
is to develop capacities and free services for the general public, is now
becoming an actor in the areas of security and defence by having created a
General Directorate for “Defense Industry and Space” (European
Commission, 2021a). An essential step will be to consider setting up
procedures and systems capable of handling and managing sensitive or
classified data, products and services, and integrating the notion of
confidentiality for authorised users. This is a major but inevitable
development that undoubtedly constitutes a decisive step regarding a
military and defence vocation for the EU. Indeed, the European space
policy led by the European Commission aims at putting in place a complete
range of space assets. The European approach is above all civilian, but each
of the components has dual capabilities, civil and military, such as access to
space (launchers), Galileo, Copernicus, SST and Govsatcom. Moreover, the
Commission plays a general role of coordinator and federator as defined in
the space Regulation (European Parliament & Council, 2021), seeking to
avoid duplication by encouraging synergies, with the support of the
European Defence Agency (EDA) for defence aspects. This approach can
only succeed through the real will of the Member States to contribute to it.
The strategic issues structuring this space policy are above all the autonomy
of situation assessment and action contributing to the credibility, reliability,
responsiveness and relevance of the EU on the international scene. This
essential European autonomy is based upstream on maintaining a world-
class level in R&D, advanced technologies and innovation, supported by a
solid defence industrial base, the essential fabric of Small and Medium
Enterprises (SMEs) and start-ups, business incubators and accelerators
which are so fundamental to creating the added-value derived from space
technologies. Autonomy also means controlling the entire chain from the
sensor in orbit, transmission to the ground, processing and development of
products and services, from secure and protected dissemination to the end
user. In addition, the real political will is reflected in the allocated
resources. In its budget for the period 2021–2027 (Multi-annual Financial
Framework, 2021–2027) (European Commission, 2021b), the EU gives
prominence to space with a budget of over 14.9 billion euros with a clear
priority for Galileo (9.1 billion euros) and Copernicus (5.42 billion euros),
to the detriment of GovSatcom and SSA/SST (442 million euros for both)
(EARSC, 2020).

Conclusion
In conclusion, the EU’s spatial vision, supported by its Member States and
ESA, is therefore not approached through the prism of a “military” space
and related strategic issues, and not at all with an idea of arsenalisation of
space, but as the establishment of structures and a range of complementary
instruments, through increased cooperation between nations to meet
collectively identified security needs. Obviously, mastery of the space
environment appears crucial in order to cover the various needs in support
of the Union’s global vocation but still requires a stronger will on the part
of its Member States (Legai, 2020, 840–843). A certain consensus is
required in Europe among its Member States to face the major space-faring
nations acting as a single entity. The concept of the militarisation of space
therefore takes on its full meaning when the confrontation that takes place
there affects the means dedicated to the defence of certain states. Control of
the space environment therefore constitutes, in a way that is perfectly
accepted by all, an issue of power, sovereignty and strategic autonomy of
the EU or individual Member States. The EU has recognised this with the
second-largest public sector space budget in the world after the United
States. Europe, at large, strives to promote the establishment and
maintenance of space as a global commons for peace and security. A legal
approach such as a code of good conduct in outer space promoted by
Europe could limit the risks of a militarisation of space, with its possible
drifts towards weaponisation, on condition of acceptance and the
application by all of such a code.

Notes
1. At the December 2019 Leaders’ Meeting in London, Allies declared
space a fifth operational domain, alongside air, land, sea and
cyberspace. In their declaration, NATO Leaders stated: “We have
declared space an operational domain for NATO, recognising its
importance in keeping us safe and tackling security challenges, while
upholding international law”
https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/topics_175419.htm.
2. Speech by High Representative/Vice President, Josep Borrell at the
14th European Space Conference, Brussels, 25 January 2022.
3. As of 2019 known deployments of weapons stationed in space include
only the Almaz space-station armament (Russian space station
program in the early sixties that carried a cannon) and pistols such as
the TP-82 Cosmonaut survival pistol (for post-landing, pre-recovery
use).
4. The United States, China, Russia, Japan, India and Israel are all
investing in hit-to-kill systems to be used for anti-satellite (ASAT) or
missile defence. The ASAT capacities of major space powers are
already known. China was involved in the most high-profile incident
of ASAT testing in 2007, when it used a missile to blow up one of its
own defunct weather satellites in LEO. China has also made
significant progress in developing anti-ballistic missiles (ABMs)
which like ASATs can also be used to target other state’s intelligence,
surveillance and reconnaissance satellites. Both the US and Russia
have also successfully tested ASAT weaponry – the US took down a
low-orbit defunct satellite in 2008 and the Russians completing a flight
 test of the A-235 Nudol direct ascent ABM. North Korea recently
joined the race, launching its own satellite into space. Iran will also be
on the way to improving its ASAT capabilities, if it follows through on
the 2013 announcement that it is setting up a facility to track orbiting
objects.
5. There are currently several types of known space weapons and others
are being invented all the time, often secretly. Scientists have already
developed directed-energy weapons, such as laser and particle beams
to project energy at targets and make them inoperable. Lasers are a
cost-effective method for addressing smaller threats, such as shooting
down drones or stopping small ships. Lasers also decrease collateral
damage, as they are very precise. On-going projects include that of the
Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency, which is working on a
weapon which will shoot molten metal, with the help of
electromagnets – known as Magneto Hydrodynamic Explosive
Munition (MAHEM).
6. Manoeuver by the International Space Station to avoid the remains of a
Japanese rocket on September 22, 2020.
7. Any progressions made into launching rockets into space are directly
relevant to increasing a nation’s capability of firing ballistic and
intercontinental missiles, or to reach a satellite in Low Earth Orbit
(LEO).
8. In accordance with article 7.4 of the Decision No 541/2014/EU of the
European Parliament and of the Council of 16 April 2014 establishing
a Framework for Space Surveillance and Tracking Support (SST). The
top Member States contributing to European SST services are France,
Germany, Italy, Spain and UK. Since then, three EU countries joined
the SST consortium: Poland, Portugal and Romania. The UK left
following the Brexit.
9. Astronaut Rescue and Return of Launched Objects from 1969,
Registration of Objects Launched into Outer Space from 1975, State
Activities on the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies from 1984.
10. United Nations Committee for the Peaceful Use of Outer Space
(COPUOS).
11. The Group of Governmental Experts (GGE) consists of a small group
of international space experts from a selection of space faring
countries with the main objective to improve international cooperation
 and reduce the risks of misunderstanding and miscommunication in
outer space activities. The GGE meet for the first time in New York,
July 23–25, 2012, a second time in Geneva, April 1–5, 2013 and for
the last time in New York, July 8–12, 2013.
12. The outcome consensus report was submitted to the 68th Session of
the UN General Assembly in 2013 and consists of a set of voluntary
TCBMs for outer space activities and recommended for states. In
particularly activities on exchange of information between countries
space policy and activities, risk reduction notifications and visits by
experts to national space facilities. Furthermore, it recommended
establishing increased coordination between the Office for
Disarmament Affairs, the Office for Outer Space Affairs and other
appropriate UN entities.
13. Capital, Le Président d’Arianespace plaide pour “une grande
ambition pour l’Europe dans l’espace”, 10 September 2018.

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4 From Fragmented Space to the Space
University Institute1
Thomas Hoerber

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-6

The beginnings of European space policy were not easy and certainly
conflicted with missiles being used as weapons of terror by the Nazis in the
Blitz (Reinke, 2004: 21–35). Delayed by these belligerent origins and a lack
of funding in the immediate post-war period, European space policy was
founded on exclusively peaceful purposes in the 1960s and in the European
Space Research Organisation (ESRO) and the European Launcher
Development Organisation (ELDO) which, in the 1970s, merged into the
European Space Agency (ESA Convention, 1980, Preamble, p.1). These
peaceful purposes have been a vitally uniting factor in the supranational
integration process of the European Union and its previous organisations,
despite the fact that the EU has been a late-comer in European space policy.
As outlined in the Convention of the ESA, these peaceful purposes also
form the foundations of the intergovernmental European integration of the
ESA (Hoerber, 2009a, 2009b). When ESA was founded, the Cold War cast
its shadow over the world but allowed Europe to unite to an extent never
previously seen in the history of the continent. All major space-faring
nations in Europe followed distinct space policies, particularly with regard
to accepting US dominance in the field as Germany and Britain did, or by
seeking independence, as seen in the French development of Ariane
launchers (Hoerber, 2016). However, these different national space agendas
materialised within the loose framework of ESA and with the purpose of
driving forward European integration (Gibson, 7/5/2014, Paris).
Since WWII, three structures of space technology can be identified
which are all classic Cold War space objectives. Some of these are
resurfacing in the wake of the COVID19 crisis, which has generally
reinforced nationalist and isolationist tendencies.
Firstly, applications, such as satellites and rockets, at which, today the
EU excels with Ariane, Copernicus and Galileo, but in which China, for
example, also has recently developed major ambitions, such as the use of
independent access to space through Chinese-built launchers, a full
spectrum of satellite technology, and the beginnings of a Chinese space
station (Thomas, 2019). These current applications often originate from
military use during the Cold War, such as intercontinental missiles and spy
satellites. In Europe, applications were more frequently used for civilian
purposes than in the United States, such as for weather forecasting and
telecommunications. In most of the rest of the world, however, applications
have never lost their military roots and, even in the EU, the dual-purpose
nature of space technology has led to more military applications in
European space technology, for example within the framework of NATO
and more recently the military arm of the Common Foreign and Security
Policy in the European Satellite Centre, formerly, the Western European
Union and potentially in the future in the EU Permanent Structured
Cooperation (PESCO).
Secondly, space has always held this element of human curiosity about
what lies beyond Earth. Stepping on the Moon had the objective of Cold
War dominance but also fostered exploration to enhance human
understanding. This idealist motive must not be underestimated as a driver
of European space policy - for example, fundamental research of the sun -
and also seems to be one of the underlying motives for China to go to the
dark side of the Moon. Recent objectives of going to Mars have, to some
extent, not only revived the Cold War objective of demonstrating
excellence, domination and hegemony but also shown a fundamental
human drive to go further and to discover what currently lies beyond our
comprehension. ESA has become one of the leading institutions in
developing our understanding of what we cannot yet comprehend, of
fundamental research in this direction and of curiosity which is engrained in
human nature.
 Thirdly, during the Cold War, space clearly served the purpose of
domination and hegemony as captured in the realist theory of international
relations (Waltz, 1979; Morgenthau, 1985). More recently, the testing of
anti-satellite weapons by a number of nations still shows space as a political
tool of domination, threat and posturing. The example most often used in
the West is China’s anti-satellite weapons test in 2007 (Kan, 2007).
However, such sabre-rattling clearly takes us into an area where power
politics blur objectivity. Even the European flagship programmes Galileo
and Copernicus can be seen as tools of domination; both are clearly capable
of fulfilling military functions and are finding more and more interest from
the European military-industrial complex (Oikonomou, 2019, 2021),
despite the fact that they were conceived exclusively for peaceful purposes
(Feyerer, 2016). What can reasonably be said is that both Galileo and
Copernicus are not under military command, in contrast to similar services
in the United States, for example, the Global Positioning System (GPS).
Galileo, in particular, was conceived in a spirit of anti-domination to create
European independence after the daunting experience of the Balkan wars in
the 1990s during which the United States degraded GPS services, even for
its European allies, which posed major problems, particularly for European
civil aviation. From this purely realist perspective, space technology is just
another tool to increase the power of its owners. With the COVID-19 crisis,
such realist arguments have been strengthened. Space does not have to go
down that road. Dual-use potential can also mean that space technology is
used principally for peaceful purposes, for cooperation and even for
understanding among countries that might experience tensions in their
relations on Earth. In the past, the International Space Station (ISS) is a
good example whereby Russia and the United States worked together, even
during times of major friction. Collaboration between China and Europe in
space may become another example in the future, if the realist temptation is
kept in check in the domain of space.
This spirit of cooperation has been prevalent in Europe from the
beginning of its space activities. They were exclusively civilian, of which
the two aforementioned European space flagship programmes are good
examples, i.e. civilian aspiration and principally civilian use of these
satellite constellations. However, space activities, even in Europe, are
experiencing an influx of more and more military funding. In most states,
this would not be problematic. Particularly during the Cold War, civilian
space activities often went hand in hand with military applications. A good
example is the development of launchers, which were used not only for
space exploration but also as intercontinental missiles that could trigger a
nuclear apocalypse. In Europe, this separation of military and civilian use of
space technology has been more strongly pronounced, because of the
military origins of space technology in WWII, as outlined above. What
ESA and the EU have experienced, however, is that in recent years, public
funding for space is limited, difficult to maintain, and even more difficult to
increase. Therefore, compromises always have to be found. The oldest
compromise, which is not limited to Europe, is to interpret “peaceful
purposes”, as in Art IV of the Outer Space Treaty (1967), as the “non-
offensive use of space technology”. This is an interpretation which one
could widely find outside Europe and which in recent years has also found
more friends in ESA and the EU. Reasons for turning “peaceful” into “non-
aggressive” can easily be found. In Europe, they range from Russian
intransigence with cyberattacks through satellites, to economic competition
with China, leading to the more and more popular policy line of hardening
up the European space infrastructure for greater resilience against attacks or
environmental phenomena (Weiterring, 2019). Finally, everyone who
knows a bit about space technology has understood that an object that
travels at tens of thousands of kilometres per hour can be peacefully sitting
on its orbit or can become a bullet when used in an aggressive way. Galileo
satellites can be used not only for geo-localisation signal in a car, but also as
positioning signals for military use. Copernicus Earth observation pictures
can measure pollution in the atmosphere. They can also be used for military
intelligence purposes. This is what is generally accepted as the dual-use
nature of space technology.
In Europe, this leads to the question of whether space policy will remain
peaceful – a truly European debate which in most other states would be
considered purely academic, precisely because of that dual-use nature of
space technology. The reason why this debate is so important in Europe
comes from the nature of the European integration process, which finds its
roots in the experience of WWII and the resulting commitment to peace in
Europe (Telò, 2006), both in the EU and ESA. European space assets have
dual-use potential, but European space policy has remained civilian,
keeping military use at bay, because this tendency of militarisation
(Oikonomou, Hoerber, forthcoming; Oikonomou, 2021) seems to contradict
Europe’s commitment to peace, but it may be seen as another example of
the European Union growing up to its responsibilities as a federation and
stately actor on the international stage where it may have to defend its
assets and interests.
What is important is not to forget the civilian roots of European space
policy. There we find the potential for the EU to become something new,
instead of most states vying for power in a realist zero-sum game. This
potential of breaking new ground should not be underestimated by the EU
and ESA. This is even more important, because security arguments have
become more prevalent for space use, and this may eventually lead to the
weaponisation or even to conflict in space (Leisske, 2017). The founding of
space forces is one worrying sign in this direction (Pawlyk, 2018).
Currently there are no rules, should this happen. Existing international
space law dates from the middle of the Cold War (Outer Space Treaty,
1967). A new treaty seems necessary to better reflect contemporary
international politics. In a realist scenario, which we are currently seeing in
space, the weaker actors usually have an interest in setting up rules
(Leisske, 2017). This may explain why the EU tried some time ago with its
Code of Conduct but failed (Mutschler, Venet, 2012). Other medium space
actors, such as Japan, India and China, may have similar interests. Building
a consensus among them around their interests and sensitivities may
become the basis for new space diplomacy.
However, space can provide more. It has always been at the forefront of
technological development and innovation which has led to one beacon of
hope for humankind, the ISS. It has been a haven of peace. In recent years,
ESA has proposed a Moon village in the same spirit (Wörner, 2016). China,
which is currently excluded from the ISS, might be able to participate in
such an open concept of a Moon village. This collaboration is the source of
hope that space can bring to this planet, rather than the militarisation of the
space domain which holds the danger of rehashed old power politics which
have led to substantial tragedy in the past, not least in Europe. Europe may
have a role to play in avoiding such calamities for humankind in the future
by developing an inclusive space policy. This may counter the increasingly
realist policies resulting from the COVID19 crisis with an idealistic manner
of cooperation and effective institutions.
Institutional Setting
In Europe, the debate about bringing together the ESA and EU space policy
has been raging for more than a decade (Creola, 2001; von der Dunk, 2003;
Hobe, 2004; Verheugen, 2005; Gaubert, Lebeau, 2009; Hoerber, 2009a,
2009b; Peter, Stoffl, 2009). This debate has not really led to a coherent and
more effective European space policy, mainly because of the fundamentally
different nature of both institutions – in a nutshell, the intergovernmental
ESA versus the supranational EU. There are many more facets and details
to this description, but it is still the best description of the fundamental
difference that exists between these two European space institutions. For
that reason, ESA has not become the EU space agency and, since the ESA
Ministerial Council Resolution 3 of 2014, reconfirmed in 2016, it has
become clear that the Member States of ESA have no intention of bringing
ESA into the fold of the EU (ESA, 2014). As a consequence, the EU space
agency was founded as a potential competitor to ESA, but more
importantly, it was also founded as the agency that exploits and that will
potentially implement EU space programmes, most importantly the flagship
programmes, particularly Galileo. The result is, however, that the European
space institutional landscape has become even more fragmented. Therefore,
it seems that there is no satisfactory conclusion to the debate about the
institutional setting of a European space policy in an exclusively European
context. The EU will want to decide where European taxpayers’ money
goes in the space sector. With increasing amounts, as has been the case over
the past decades, this demand will become more and more important. And
ESA will insist on its technical expertise, its longer history and simply its
independence from the EU.
What has been misleading in this debate is that in European space policy
and the ESA, the common denominator has been seen in the term
“European”, when what we might actually want to work towards is
“Space”. Taking “European” out of the institutional equation may actually
help to take Europe and the world towards more space policy. The idea that
this chapter would like to propose, therefore, is to turn ESA into the Space
University Institute (SUI) fostering research, training and innovation, as
ESA has always done. Leaving the utilitarian side of downstream usage of
space applications to the EU and focusing ESA on what it does best, i.e.
fundamental research, training of personnel and space innovation. The EU
is better than ESA to reap the benefits of Galileo and Copernicus and to
provide them as raw data suppliers or applications to European
entrepreneurs. The EU has the legitimate mandate to provide and demand
maximum benefit from these technologies for European citizens. ESA,
however, is better than the EU in what it has always done, fundamental
research, training and innovation in space. If this analysis is correct, the
most constructive way forward may be to further open up ESA
internationally, as is already the case with Canada which is an associated
Member State. This holds the potential of inviting all space-faring nations
to a common space policy. In such a setting, ESA would inevitably retain its
intergovernmental nature, because other states would only join on that
basis. Supranationalism could remain an EU phenomenon. A blueprint for
such intergovernmental collaboration may be the positive experience
Europe has had with the European University Institute (EUI), which has
fostered excellence in research, training some of the brightest minds in
Europe, and in innovation in the widest sense. All that has happened on the
basis of an intergovernmental agreement founding the EUI. The EUI has
nevertheless had a certain federating effect for participating Member States,
clearly adding to European integration, just like ESA has done. Taking ESA
international on the same basis may be an interesting way forward for
bringing together capable and willing partners around space projects which
may add up to a more ambitious space policy for humankind. Europe might
be seen as the honest broker who can host such world space policy. A recent
proposal by the Green party EFA (2021) in the European Parliament
suggested a “European Space Academy”. Take this idea of a training and
research institution to an international level and one may find that space can
be a uniting bond for humankind, as the ISS has been, for example.
Evidently, this would avoid the danger of renationalisation and further
isolation, for example of China, as a consequence of the COVID19 crisis.
At the very least, it will be a gesture towards those who want to progress
towards a common endeavour into space. Such a SUI would allow the
federation of world competences in space technologies. It would also allow
the EU to develop a truly European space policy serving its citizens. And it
would allow ESA to progress and fulfil its purpose of fostering space
policy. Putting the nominal headquarters of the EUI on the Moon, with an
aspiration to go there and stay there, would give it a real objective. The SUI
would be situated in a neutral setting and show ambition which may
hopefully draw in other space enthusiasts, may they be nations, companies
or individuals. The Moon village concept of Jan Wörner may serve as a
preliminary vision for what we cannot yet imagine (Wörner, 2016; Wörner,
Foing, 2016; Köpping Athanopoulos, 2019).

Note
1. This chapter was first published as Hoerber, T. ‘From fragmented
space to the Space University Institute’, in: Journal of Chinese
Economic and Business Studies, DOI:
10.1080/14765284.2022.2081486, May, 2022.

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Part II
Actors, Issues & Interests
5 Outer Space, Debris and the
Militarisation of Space
Isabelle Sourbès-Verger

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-8

The issue of space debris has to be considered at the global level, as it is a

growing challenge for the international community. Only in the last 20
years, Europe has become aware of the necessity to deal with the subject,
primarily with the goal of protecting its satellites. The accumulation of
launches since the beginning of the space era – as many as 7,500 objects by
January 2017 (UN Office for Outer Space Affairs, undated) – has resulted
in the multiplication of uncontrolled objects in orbit: launcher stages,
defunct satellites, small fragments due to the opening of the launcher’s nose
cone, and various materials due to processes of deterioration.1 Even if
technical measures were adopted by space agencies to limit its increase, the
number of debris keeps rising, albeit at a moderate speed. The concerns
related to space debris and the risks of collision with operational spacecraft
are thus increasingly pressing in light of the intensification of space
activities, including the expected multiplication of small satellites.
Another security challenge, though of a different nature, is that European
governments and their armed forces have to consider the potential
weaponisation of outer space (Pellegrino & Stang, 2016: 23–29). The risk
of war in outer space would further fuel the proliferation of space debris. In
this context, the possibility of anti-satellite (ASAT) weapons testing and,
more specifically, of ground-based missile launches targeting satellites is
particularly worrying, as these generate thousands of debris (Lele et al.,
2012: 35). After years of an American and Russian moratorium on ASAT
physical tests, the 2007 ASAT test made by China coupled with the
systematic US rejection of a United Nations ban on space-based weapons
(Joseph, 2006) has made the discussion around the security of space assets
an increasingly sensitive and debated subject at the international level.
Europe takes part in these discussions on several accounts, depending on
the nature of the actor involved, i.e. the Member States (MS), the European
Space Agency (ESA) or the European Union (EU) Council and
Commission. With regard to the debris issue, national space agencies and
ESA have played a significant role since 1993 in the Inter-Agency Space
Debris Coordination Committee (IADC), an international forum for
coordination on policies, guidelines and standards relating to space debris
mitigation. More recently involved in this field, the EU proposed a
diplomatic initiative in 2008: the International Code of Conduct for Outer
Space Activities (ICoC). It aims at enhancing the safety, security and
sustainability of space activities by promoting transparency and confidence-
building measures. It is important to take into account that contrary to their
American counterparts, European national armed forces have a more
limited number of military satellites dedicated to operational purposes.
Indeed, these questions have become of military concern quite recently and
only for some MS.
This chapter first examines how the improvement in European space
capabilities has led a growing number of actors within Europe to develop a
stake in the debris issues. It then describes the pro-active approach
developed by ESA and the EU in the field of space surveillance since the
2000s. It concludes with an analysis of the current status of the Space
Situational Awareness programme, setting it in the European and
international context. The topic of space debris demonstrates the
complexity of Europe’s situation when dealing with new security challenges
at the levels of MS, ESA and the EU. It highlights not only the limits of the
European tools compared to these of the other members of the Space club
but also the growing awareness of the necessity to develop a common
policy and to set up the means for an independent expertise on an
increasingly sensitive issue.
Europe's Growing Engagement in Satellite
Tracking Issues
In the context of the Cold War, the building of space capabilities of
European states benefited from a strong cooperation with the United States.
European states relied specifically on the American technical means for
specific and complex tasks such as the tracking of satellites. Due to this
support, it took time for Europe to realise that the issue of space
surveillance could be a crucial element for its position on the international
scene. This section will detail chronologically the development of Europe’s
capacities and their limitations compared to those of the US and of the
Soviet Union.

Tracking: A Strategic Competence for the Two Superpowers

During the Cold War
At the beginning of the Space Age, being able to monitor their own
satellites was a significant and unresolved technical challenge for the
United States and the Soviet Union. The original US system, established in
the context of the International Geophysical Year in 1957–1958, consisted
of a Navy radar network made up of low-cost antennas and based on the
interferometric measurement of the radio emissions of satellites. The
unnoticed launch of Sputnik in 1957 was a shock. It showed that the first
American facilities were inadequate to detect and identify space objects
whose orbital parameters were unknown. As Soviet satellites were seen as
potential threats by the United States, the priority was to follow them and
acquire a trajectography allowing the interception of enemy satellites. This
was done by combining the data acquired by the Navy, the US Air Force
(USAF) and the Army (Shepherd project) (Arpa, 1959: 27). By 1961, the
North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) Combat
Operations Centre was made responsible for controlling a large Space
Detection and Tracking System (SPADATS). While it would later become
the US Space Surveillance Network (SSN), it showed unparalleled
performances from the start (Stares, 1985: 131–133).
The Soviet Union followed a similar approach, though slightly later. The
monitoring of the first satellites also relied on fairly basic cameras. The
foundations of space-based monitoring were laid in 1962 as part of the
space surveillance and ASAT programmes. The global tracking project for
objects in orbit began in 1963 and was approved in 1965, giving birth to the
Tsentr Kontrolya Kosmicheskogo Prostranstva (TsKKP),2 which consisted
of radar and optical means controlled by the Tsentr Upravlyeniya Polyotom
(TsUP), located near Moscow. The system was considered operational in
the mid-1970s, even though it was less effective than its American system
with respect to the precise identification of the type of satellite being
tracked and the detection of geostationary satellites.
Accordingly, during the Cold War, the initial concerns of the two
superpowers in the field of space activity monitoring were part of security
issues typical of the era and especially of nuclear deterrence approaches.
The beep of Sputnik was considered by the United States as a true threat to
their national security, not only because of the ideological impact of a
“Soviet first” but also because of the anxiety around a potential bomb on
board of the satellite that was seen as a sword of Damocles able to reach
any place of the territory without notice. On the Soviet side, the tracking of
the US satellite orbitography was also of the utmost interest in order to
avoid US reconnaissance satellites to acquire information on strategic and
potentially vulnerable ground targets. To a larger extent, both superpowers
sought to acquire the capability of tracking down a greater deal of objects
because of the increasing number of satellite launches. This effort aimed
also at developing a first step of space traffic management practices. Given
that Europe was under American nuclear protection, this issue was not of
urgent concern.

Europe in Space: A Civilian Field of Activity

In the 1960s, mastering launcher technology in parallel to nuclear capability
was perceived as a symbol of sovereignty that helped also improving
international standing. On this matter, France and the United Kingdom
(UK) were the first European states to nurture space ambitions and develop
their own satellites in parallel to a programme of small launchers3 that
stemmed directly from their missile programmes. However, their space
programmes were limited by the scarcity of their financial and technical
means. The importance of the technical support provided by the United
States to implement them is undeniable. In fact, all the national capabilities
of European states had been developed thanks to cooperation with the
NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration). None of them had
neither the ambition nor the motive to acquire their own space surveillance
means excepted for their own satellites, contrary to the United States and
the USSR, for whom space was de facto part of the national interest. This
can be illustrated by the UK government’s disinterest in the outstanding
results of a radio-amateur team of the Kettering College that had been
tracking Soviet satellites since the mid-1960s (see Davis, 2016). Yet, while
this was ignored at home, the head of the team, Geoffrey Perry, soon gained
recognition in the United States, where he was employed as an expert in
charge of the orbit determination of Soviet satellites.4 In the same vein,
most of the expertise developed in Europe during the 1960s and 1970s in
terms of tracking of foreign satellites was due to the personal involvement
of amateurs participating in an international network of volunteers receiving
signals and observing satellites.
In parallel with the first and limited programmes of France, the UK and,
to a lesser extent, Germany and Italy, it was early recognised that the
scientific, technological and financial challenges of space access and the
development of operational satellites could only be addressed through intra-
European cooperation (Krige & Russo, 2000: 263–271). Indeed, the
scientists committed themselves to creating the European Science Research
Organisation (ESRO) in 1962. In this context, the first European Space
Data Centre was created as early as 1963, using the American data to
conduct the orbit calculations of first European satellites.
Three main arguments were at the core of the European approach to
space issues: the political significance and strategic advantage of
competences in an advanced technological field, the direct and indirect
economic benefits related to the mastery of space activities, and the
importance of Earth monitoring programmes. But the issue of space
surveillance was not even mentioned, except for the monitoring of the
orbits of the national and European space assets. The ESA, a new research
and development agency, was set up in the mid-1970s for peaceful
purposes. Cooperation was based on an intergovernmental model and
primarily driven by scientific interest.5 The founding convention of the
ESA, signed in 1975 by all the members of the organisation, rules out
military programmes from the Agency’s activities. To that extent, the
security issues for the ESA are limited to a technical approach to the threats
associated with debris. The European Space Operations Centre (ESOC)
took the succession of the former European Space Data Centre with
gradually improved technical capabilities. Located in Darmstadt, the Centre
has been in charge of controlling ESA spacecraft in orbit and managing the
ESTRACK stations, which comprise nine stations in seven countries. This
network’s essential task is to communicate with satellites in orbit and ESOC
is able to support at least 20 missions operates in close collaboration with
the US SSN.
In essence, ESA’s involvement in research, technology and operational
aspects related to space debris has been developing since the mid-1980s. Its
first report on debris dates back to 1988 (European Space Agency, 1988)
and resulted in a Council Resolution in 1989 on the risks faced by satellites,
particularly manned flights conducted in the framework of European
participation in the International Space Station program. The
recommendations it gave called for an effort to minimise the creation of
space debris, as well as acquire the data necessary to assess the problem and
its consequences through civilian national facilities. Following the same
logic of this wake-up call, ESA became one of the founding members of the
IADC in 1993. In 1998, it was joined by the British National Space Centre
(BNSC), the French National Space Center (CNES), the German Aerospace
Centre (DLR) and the Italian Space Agency (ASI). In this context, it
developed competences that would later contribute to the elaboration of the
1998 Space Situational Awareness proposal (discussed below).

A Very Limited Interest from a Few States

The political dimension of security in space is mainly related to the
sovereignty of each state and their respective national space policies. A
growing interest in the latter has been gaining momentum in the 2000s,
although at different levels and according to the MS’ own priorities. For
instance, the historical proximity between nuclear and space cultures and
especially the concept of strategic independence played a significant role in
France’s decision to develop its own military space capabilities, particularly
in the field of Earth observation. Helios was initially intended to provide
independent information at a political strategic level (Verger et al., 2003:
341–343). Yet this ambition remains rather limited and does not include
space-monitoring capabilities in spite of the lack of autonomy that this
implies. Hence, when the first satellite of optical reconnaissance of the
Helios family was launched in 1995, the CNES team unsuccessfully tried to
establish contact with the small Cerise satellite launched at the same time.
They had to wait for the US to inform France of the loss of their satellite
due to a collision with a rocket stage. The financing of new generation
Helios-2 and the development of a dedicated telecom satellite made space a
significant element of French national military capabilities leading to a
gradual awareness of the challenges of satellite security in space.
The existence of growing national competences contributes to a more
acute perception of potential risks run by satellites in orbit and to the
development of some national facilities in the 2000s. This is emphasised by
the diversification of the missions operated by these satellites. These
include not only Earth observation but also telecommunications and other
specifically military missions, such as early warning and Signal Intelligence
(SIGINT). In that context, it becomes urgent for European states to consider
the risks and threats to the space environment and thus to their military
space means. This awareness has been accelerated by the US National
Space Policy of 2006, released on August 31, 2006 by President George W.
Bush, which reinforces the need to protect space assets against what they
see as growing threats from foreign countries, including rogue nations.

The Withdrawal of the European Community

It took some time until the European Community began to play a role in the
field of space activity. As far as the debris and safety issues are concerned,
the debate on space security (Pasco, 2009: 6) did not take place before the
2000s. It would take an additional ten years before the first commitment
took place in matters of space security, with the draft proposal of the Code
of Conduct for Outer Space. This delay is due to the fact that at the
community level, the priority given to economic development and
integration at the beginning of the European construction process proved
utterly unsuited to the integration of space ambitions and the beginning of
the European Commission’s interest in space programmes was mainly
driven by a customer approach.
The interest in space security matters was later constructed within
another context. The European Single Act established in 1988 conferred a
broader mission upon the European Community with regard to political and
economic aspects of security. In that context, the need for a collective
legislation on space debris was mentioned as a matter of general interest in
the 1988 paper “The Community and Space, a coherent approach”, drawn
up at the time at the request of the European Parliament (European
Commission, 1988: 24). In addition, the existence of the second mainstay of
European policy, the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), which
came into being with the Maastricht Treaty in 1993, meant that the whole
range of possibilities offered by space could be taken into consideration. At
last, the European Security and Defence Policy became part of the CFSP
with the signing of the Treaty of Amsterdam in 1999. In this framework,
space assets could be taken into consideration to support security issues
such as crisis management, conflict prevention and humanitarian
intervention, known as the Petersberg tasks, which are at the heart of the
security challenges as identified by Europeans after the Cold War.
Similarly, in 1999, European ministers called upon the European
Commission and the ESA executive to set up a “Coherent European
Strategy for Space”, an initiative also supported by the European Parliament
(European Commission, 2000). In that framework, the decision to develop
dual systems, such as the Galileo navigation programme and the Earth
monitoring programme GMES (Global Monitoring on Environment and
Security), marks a turning point for the EU awareness of the hazards due to
natural and man-made debris. This is the outcome of a joint effort deriving
from the synergy among the historical actor of European Space Policy, ESA
and the European Commission.

New Approach to Security Challenges in Europe

in the Mid-2000s
Different reasons can be put forward to explain the new approach of Europe
concerning space security issues. Ambitious new programmes were put in
place and the attitude of the ESA evolved to give more attention than before
to dual-use issues. In parallel, space issues found a new place in the
political agenda of the EU taking into account security concerns in the
framework of the new treaties (Treaty of Nice, 2001; Treaty of Lisbon,
2007).

ESA and Space Surveillance

It is through the question of debris, which is at the core of its competence,
that the ESA Council adopted in December 2000 a resolution for a
European Policy on the protection of the space environment. The work was
coordinated by the ESOC and focused on the definition of a standard for the
safety of orbiting satellites. A workgroup made up of members of the ESA
and the national space agencies of Italy, the UK, France and Germany
elaborated and presented a project for a European standard in 2004. This
standard comprised preventive measures and introduced the principle of
orbit protection. It pertained to the conception and production of satellites
and launchers, to the operations phase and to the solving of problems posed
by these ageing satellites (United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs,
2004: 2–10).
In parallel to these concerns, and in light of the increasing interest of
MS, ESA is eager to develop its own competences and stated new
ambitions for space surveillance according to its R&D mission (while the
EU is responsible for diplomatic and political initiatives). According to the
study on the “Feasibility of performing space surveillance tasks”, a space-
based optical architecture was proposed in 2005 (Flohrer, 2011: 1029–
1042). The main work at that time, however, was that of the European
Coordination Group on Space Debris. Its members coming from the BNSC,
Centre National d’Etudes Spatiales, Deutsches Zentrum für Luft- und
Raumfahrt and ESA carried out a report entitled “Europe’s eyes on the sky”
(Klinkrad, 2008: 42–48) using studies already issued by the Space
Surveillance Task Force such as “Space surveillance for Europe – a
Technical Assessment” released in 2006 (del Monte, 2015: 1–6). In the
preface, it defined space surveillance as the detection, correlation,
characterisation and orbit determination of objects in space. The
introduction made it clear that Europe had no systematic operational
capability for space surveillance and was strongly dependent on external
information, mainly for the US SSN. Calling for the development of an
independent system, the report was intended to provide material for an
interagency and intergovernmental discussion in a future European Space
Surveillance System (ESSS) and, eventually, for a Space Situation
Awareness System (SSA).
The results, endorsed by the ESA Cabinet meeting of November 2008,
led to the launch of the SSA, implemented as an optional programme with
14 MS participating financially. It focused on three main areas: space
weather (SWE), near-Earth objects (NEO) and Space Surveillance and
Tracking (SST). Its aim was to give Europe an independent capability to
watch for objects and natural phenomena that could harm satellites in orbit.
During the 2009–2012 Preparatory Phase of the SSA programme,
precursory applications were developed to serve as a test bed for the novel
techniques and algorithms needed for the Space Surveillance Tracking
System. Although ESA is aware of what was politically at stake with the
European SSA due to the sensitive nature of data exchange, the MS with
the most capabilities stayed in the background. At the 2012 ESA ministerial
Council in Naples, France did not confirm its commitment to the project,
while the UK and Germany chose to get involved in the SWE and NEO
segments, both much less sensitive. The second phase (2013–2016) has
been extended to 2019.

Facing a Broadening Range of Security Challenges: The EU's

New Missions on Space Matters
The increasing involvement of the EU in security matters begins in the
2000s. Its role in global security issues increases in parallel to the deep
changes implemented by the European institutions. As far as space is
concerned, the following chronology highlights the main steps of this new
approach. In 2001, the Torrejón Satellite Centre – created in 1991 under the
auspices of the Western EU – became the SatCen (European Union Satellite
Centre), an Agency of the Council of the EU (Council Decision, 2014). It
was considered an essential asset for the strengthening of the CFSP,
especially in crisis monitoring and conflict prevention, as it provided
products and services resulting from the exploitation of data including
satellite imagery. For the first time, the EU was thus directly affected by the
potential vulnerability of a source of information of great importance for the
conduct of its foreign policy, under the political supervision of the Political
and Security Committee.
 In 2003, the European Council laid down the principles of a European
security strategy (Council of the European Union, 2003), while the
European Commission launched a “Preparatory Action for Security
Research” in 2004, with the ambition to later implement a specific
programme for research and development in the field of security (European
Commission, 2004). In the context of that time, the Report of Experts on
Space and Security, also known as the SPASEC report (Space and Security
Panel of Experts, 2005), was published in March 2005. It referred both to
the “ESDP (European Security and Defense Policy) and Space”, a
document approved by the Council in November 2004 and to the future
“European Space Programme” being elaborated. First, the experts
introduced their work with an analysis of European space-based security
needs, stressing the need for an independent information capability and
giving concrete recommendations regarding the future European space
programme so as to effectively contribute to the CFSP’s objectives and the
ESDP’s needs. They also recommend moving closer to the European
Defence Agency and, above all, they promote the establishment of global
action, the “Coherent European framework initiative”. The need for space
surveillance capabilities came in second position among the identified
capability gaps, right after the necessity for the development of a dedicated
architecture taking into account the various national space observation
systems. It was clearly specified that non-security-related communities and
security/defence communities were involved.
During this period, France develops its own space surveillance system in
the framework of an experimental program conducted by the ONERA and
placed under the Air Force’s responsibility (see below). At the European
level, the military community clearly showed its interest in dealing more
specifically with the identification and assessment of attacks in space as
early as 2006. Yet, two reports, “Outline of Generic Space Systems Needs
for Civilian Crisis Management Operations” issued by the Committee for
Civilian Crisis Management (2006) and “Weapons in Space”, by the WEU’s
Technological and Aerospace Committee (2007) were not considered by the
EU to justify its role in this new field of activity.
China’s ASAT test in January 2007 followed by the US one in February
2008 warned the world that voluntary destruction of assets might become a
real possibility. The vulnerability of space assets then extended beyond the
debris issue. In this respect, the Parliament explicitly criticised the fact that
the weaponisation of space was not taken into account among the topics of
interest in the 2007 European Space Policy. The Resolution on Space and
Security adopted by the European Parliament in 2008 stressed the fact that
space assets were necessary for Europe to fulfil its security missions in
terms of assessment, ensuring independence in its decision-making process.
The Parliament notably advocated the promotion of binding international
agreements in order to guarantee security in space (European Parliament,
2008). Therefore, the Commission supported the acquisition of space
surveillance skills through the funding of projects more specifically related
to services as part of its R&D programme (FP7, 2007–2013).
In fact, the risks about security in space were finally taken into account
in a new institutional context – the signing of the Treaty of Lisbon in 2007.
For the EU, it meant a new political legitimacy and an opportunity to deal
with security matters with largely economic aims, while the purely military
aspects remained the responsibility of MS. However, the arguments put
forward were mainly of an economic and industrial nature, emphasising the
need to protect investments in space infrastructures, to ensure the continuity
of services and the viability of space activities and, more broadly, to support
the competitiveness of the European industry. Thus, in 2010, the EC
asserted that implementing a specific programme was necessary (see
EC/ESA, 2010). This policy continued through the framework programme
Horizon 2020. It highlighted the objectives of gaining technological
independence as well as acquiring the necessary data for space monitoring.
So were security arguments in the broadest sense, including the risks and
responsibilities of launches, the uncontrolled re-entry of objects and the
presence of debris in the most used orbits.

The Code of Conduct: An EU Initiative

The elaboration of a diplomatic proposal, the ICoC, reflects the new
European desire to politically contribute to cooperative security in space.
While the United States and Soviet Union had reached a kind of consensus
on a de facto moratorium on ASAT systems linked to the 1972 Anti-
Ballistic Missile Treaty, Russia’s continued decline during the Yeltsin era
and the US crucial reliance on space assets as a part of their national
interest led the USA to give itself the mission to ensure space control by
developing weapons in space if deemed necessary. This attitude leads to a
new way of thinking of space as a future battleground, with a potential arms
race lying ahead as demonstrated by the China ASAT test of 2007. In this
context, the code of conduct promoted by Europe aims to offer both a new
approach and an alternative to Russia’s and China’s proposal. In fact, their
latter joint proposal on Treaty on Prevention of the Placement of Weapons
in Outer Space and of the Threat or Use of Force Against Outer Space
Objects (PPWT) submitted to COPUOS since February 2008 remains
firmly opposed by the United States.
From the European perspective, the ICoC initiative is a turning point as
it expresses a concern that is common to all the players, some of which
have only recently begun to take interest in the topic of security in space.
These “rules of the road in space” promoted a greater transparency and a
more concrete regulation through the COPUOS Technical and Scientific
subcommittee. Its ambition was to set in motion a debate that had been
stuck on the question of armament by considering a broader perspective on
security, one that centred on less controversial topics such as debris
(Brachet, 2016: 2–9). The proposal fell within the tradition established by
the 1967 Outer Space Treaty and displayed an ambition to preserve the
peaceful and sustainable use of space for present and future generations, in
a spirit of greater international cooperation, collaboration, openness and
transparency.
The contents of the Code were unrestrictive as it required respecting
existing treaties and principles, and implementing measures aimed at
minimising the risk of collision and interference with other objects or space
activities as well as the creation of new debris. It also called for refraining
from actions that could endanger or destroy objects in space and accepting
transparency and confidence measures (TCBM) such as launch notifications
and base visits. This proposal raised criticism on several accounts: it did not
clearly forbid space attacks, although the right to self-defence was explicitly
mentioned, it did not express a common approach on the aim of space
activities, and it had no biding dimension (Lele, 2012). A second version
published in March 2014 took this feedback into account. It clarified the
aim of the initiative: to guarantee the “security, safety, and sustainability of
space activities”, making an explicit reference to the prevention of an arms
race. However, the procedure conducted outside the UN framework
remained a problem. The new consultation that opened in 2016 finally
resulted in an admission of failure. Although a European consensus was
reached and interest was expressed by some players, the project failed to
convince. Nevertheless, the process of having European autonomous
monitoring assets had been set in motion.

Towards a New Synergy between MS and the EU?

In Europe, a turning point was reached in 2013 with the Framework for
SST Support proposed by the Commission and adopted by the EP and the
Council on 16 April 2014 (Council of the European Union, 2014). The EU
– through the Commission – would manage the initiative and support it
with funds from the R&D budget Copernicus (formerly known as GMES),
Galileo and internal security budgets. The aim is to be able to provide
European services based on the use of existing data and national sensors
without considering developing new sensors. The end users are the MS, the
Council, the Commission, the European External Action Service, public
and private owners and operators of space vehicles, and the authorities
responsible for civil protection. Military users are not explicitly mentioned
in the document but are not ruled out either. They may benefit from
civil/dual-use services, such as anti-collision, alerts and detection. A
consortium was responsible for the establishment, operation and
improvement of sensors; the processing of the data; the financing of new
sensors if needed; and the implementation of the data policy (Caleb, 2015).
On 17 June 2015, by signing the SST consortium agreement, France, the
UK, Germany, Italy and Spain laid the foundations for a concrete
cooperation system in this field named “EU SST” (see European
Commission, 2021).
In collaboration with the consortium, SatCen, which already participated
in research projects funded by FP7 and H2020, acted as an interface and
service provider for the Commission. It was put in charge of building the
support framework and implementing it; identifying and managing risks;
ensuring the update of the end users’ needs; defining the main guidelines
for the governance of the support framework; facilitating the greatest
possible participation by MS; and passing on any relevant information to
the European Parliament and Council.
The European Space Surveillance Capabilities

Mastering Space Surveillance and its Technical Requirements

Space surveillance is a matter not only of civil but also of military
capabilities. The technology developed to survey activities in space thus
serves both purposes. Yet it is an important challenge, as it requires a large
range of technical means on the ground and potentially in space as well,
like software and space data catalogues. The question of debris embeds
itself in this global context. A comprehensive space surveillance system
must achieve four main missions: monitoring aimed at detecting space
objects without any prior knowledge, the determination of orbit parameters
and their regular updating as precisely as needed, the identification or
characterisation of the object, and targeting if it is intended for an ASAT
capability. There are multiple natural constraints: several objects may move
across the local sky simultaneously, time intervals between two appearances
may vary greatly depending on the satellites, various disturbances can affect
the orbits so that the description and the accurate anticipation of the
trajectography are complex and require considerable analysis and data
processing means. Actually, the system is all the more effective when it can
use information acquired by a network consisting of locations that are
geographically scattered across the globe.
Various systems are used on the ground and in space: radars have wide
fields of view, they are not dependent on weather or lighting conditions, but
they are also generally limited to an altitude that does not allow for the
tracking of objects in geostationary orbit. They are usually complemented
by ground telescopes, which are more effective with perigee altitudes
beyond 5,000 km as they detect the sunlight reflected by objects. Finally,
space assets (radars, telescopes and lasers) can provide a third source of
information that can improve the quality of the data. This quality obviously
depends on data processing, whose role is critical in establishing and
updating catalogues of objects. Lastly, various levels of space surveillance
capabilities may be identified. There are dedicated assets who specifically
monitor, count and identify objects in orbit; collateral assets contributing to
surveillance even though it is not their main mission; and contributor assets,
which may be used occasionally although it is not their usual purpose.
 Only the United States and Russia have an operational system today,
with a routinely updated space objects catalogue, although at different
levels. The American structure is unique in terms of capabilities and in the
way the notion of global space surveillance architecture was formalised.
The first aim was not only to preserve military satellites’ increasingly
crucial contribution to the technological superiority of the U.S. forces, but
also to take into account the concerns of commercial systems (particularly
those dedicated to telecommunications and observation), which are
essential tools for the information society. As from August 30 2016, the
Joint Space Operations Centre (JSpOC) has been tracking more than 17,000
objects orbiting Earth: 4,232 are payloads or satellites (850 active) and
13,583 are rocket bodies and debris.6 Using a worldwide network of 30
space surveillance sensors (radars and optical telescopes, both military and
civilian), the SSN allows to observe the current orbiting objects and to
catalogue and update the position and velocity of each. These update from
the Satellite Catalogue, a comprehensive list of the numbers, types and
orbits of all trackable objects in space.
Although its performances are not as thorough, the Russian space
monitoring system (SKKP)7 under the responsibility of the Aerospace
Defence Troops (EKR in Russian) has been considered a crucial part of
Russia’s security architecture since 2000. It is now able to compile and
update a catalogue of over 5,000 space objects. Over the coming years,
more than ten new generation lasers, optical and radar systems are expected
to dramatically improve the Russian network.

European Capabilities
Compared to the US and Russia, Europe’s own resources for space
surveillance are quite low. They are shared between several players, the
main ones being two MS – France and Germany – and the ESA network.
The process of data exchange is a key issue that remains unsolved due to
the lack of global political leadership.
The GRAVES radar (Grand Réseau Adapté à la Veille Spatiale),
specifically designed for space surveillance, is a special division of the
Commandement de la Défense Aérienne et des Opérations Aériennes
(CDAOA). It is a bistatic radar, i.e., with a transmitter and a receiver in
different locations. It performs electronic scanning and continuous
transmission in VHF band by using the 400-km distance between the
transmission location in Broyes-lès-Pesnes, near Dijon, and the receiver
system in Apt, on the Albion plateau. The system uses Doppler detection
and advanced signal processing as a special effort was made to develop
software converting raw measures coming from a single sensor (rather than
a geographically distributed network) into a database of orbital parameters.
The radar was considered operational in 2005 and now has an updated
database of over 2,000 objects.8 A development of GRAVES 2, envisioning
its use until 2025–2030, is planned in accordance with the plans of the
military program law of 2014–2019.
The German radar TIRA (Tracking and Imaging Radar) has very
different characteristics. It is a civilian facility operated by the Research
Establishment for Applied Science (FHR in German), in Wachtberg, near
Bonn. It is able to track objects in the L Band and has a Ku-band imaging
capability that complements the data provided by the US catalogue. It is
also used to help identify the objects spotted by GRAVES.
Additional capabilities can also be obtained through collateral assets and
contributor assets. In France, the Monge ship, which has five radars
including ARMOR, not only is intended to collect information on missiles
in flight but also can occasionally provide very precise monitoring of orbital
elements in LEO. In the UK, the Chilbolton Facility for Atmospheric and
Radio Research is under the authority of the Rutherford Appleton
Laboratory. Although mainly dedicated to atmospheric and ionospheric
research, due to a recent update, the CAMRa9 may contribute to the
characterisation of objects in orbit. The Starbrook and Starbrook north
wide-field telescope located at RAF Troodos in Cyprus and funded by the
BNSC can be used to classify objects in GEO.
Similarly, the Scandinavian system EISCAT (European Incoherent
Scatter Scientific Association) is intended to study the ionosphere and
comprises a monostatic VHF radar in Tromsø, with two reception sites in
Sweden (Kiruna) and Finland (Sodankylä). It can be partially used for
purposes of monitoring in LEO, especially for polar orbits (EISCAT, 2022).
Optical means can also be used; for instance, the French systems SPOC
(Système Probatoire d’Observation du Ciel), ROSETTE and TAROT
(Télescope à Action Rapide pour les Objets Transitoires) as well as
Britain’s PIMS (Passive Imaging Metric Sensor) using a telescope at
Herstmonceux in the UK, another in Gibraltar and a third one in Cyprus.
Other examples include the astrometric telescope Zimlat in Switzerland,
whose main mission is laser telemetry and which can be used to watch
objects in GEO and produce accurate trajectography, and the ZIM SMART
telescope at the University of Bern, which is used to establish a catalogue of
orbital elements in GEO, GTO and MEO and allows to identify small
objects. Finally, the Italian systems, Croce del North and the ASI’s
multistatic radar system, were designed mainly for the observation and
detection of debris and NEOs, as well as the TFRM telescopes at the
Montsec Astronomical Observatory and the Sagra Sky of the Observatory
of Mallorca whose main missions are the same. Among these building
blocks, Norwegian radar Globus II and British radar BMEWS have a
specific status as they are part of the American SSN monitoring system and
data are not available on an open basis.
As far as the SST segment is concerned, ESA relies on these national
capabilities with a special focus on building up a coherent model, one
taking into account the very sensitive issue of information quality and data
policy.

Conclusion: What Is at Stake for Europe?

Today, Europe faces a number of necessary decisions. Space surveillance is
now one of the concerns of all space actors. Questions of security and
safety have become unavoidable. China is gradually forming a ground
network and establishing its catalogue. Japan relies on its cooperation with
the United States in attempting to enhance the American facilities settled on
its territory by establishing its own sensors. India is also in the process of
acquiring autonomous means in relation to its priorities and its technical
and financial resources. At the end of the day, alongside public parties,
private parties are also emerging mainly in the field of traffic
management.10
Europe has significant capabilities, which it has to enhance in order to
improve its competences and better address its own needs, as well as to
reinforce its international position. The sharing of national capabilities still
needs to overcome obstacles related to the specific aspect of intelligence
data and more broadly to security concerns in bilateral and multilateral
exchanges. These obstacles go beyond the question of space surveillance.
As long as these needs do not seem to be a priority, they hinder the
allocation of a significant budget because of a lack of a clear policy about
data transparency. However, it can be noted that the space industry is
increasingly keen to promote technical solutions for surveillance and
cleaning up debris regardless of their origin, including those caused by
ASAT tests.
The question of space surveillance has also reached a new diplomatic
dimension. Since 2014, the United States has implemented a Stratcom SSA
Sharing Strategy aiming to better disseminate and therefore better handle
the data coming from the American network. In parallel, at the Vienna
meeting in June 2016, Russia suggested to the UN Committee on the
Peaceful Uses of Outer Space to create a UN-run database “collecting,
systemising, sharing and analysing information on objects and events in
outer space”. This written proposal marks a turning point in the Russian
attitude as it offers to make public its own catalogue on near-Earth objects,
including military satellites not covered by the open catalogue of the North-
American warning system NORAD, that the catalogue of the US and their
Allies. The disclosure of this sensitive data raises many questions in terms
of data policy. From the Russian point of view, an international database
would help transparency as the relevant data would be available to any
country possessing space assets. The sharing of government data banks
would contribute to the openness of information and lay the foundations for
true cooperation. At the same time, such a proposal undermines the
monopoly of the US’s unique position in regulating outer space traffic and
represents a potential threat to US military satellites. However, the fact is
that the NORAD system has always included Russian, Chinese and other
space faring military satellites except in when there was a specific bilateral
agreement.
The issue of transparency is not new. This kind of proposal promoting
transparency as a key incentive for better stability has a very long history:
the ISMA (International Space Monitoring Agency) and PAXSAT proposals
date back to 1978 and 1986. Interestingly, they were proposed by France
and Canada at that time but simply ignored by the US and the Soviet Union
which operated their own systems.
Today, the increasing number of catalogues of space objects represents a
new opportunity to balance the balance of power. SSA cooperation has
given Europe a true experience of the challenges related to cooperation
between different kinds of players on a wide range of issues, from debris to
defence-oriented objects and data policy. The fact is that today’s tense
international situation no longer allows us to hope for increased
transparency on a basis of mutual trust.
The fact is that the international situation is now so tense that there is no
longer any hope of increased transparency on a basis of mutual trust. The
Russian proposal has not been implemented and is unlikely to be
implemented in the near future. Moreover, space surveillance is an
increasingly sensitive issue with tens of thousands of satellites in
constellations occupying low orbits, thus increasing the risk of collisions.
Europe’s efforts are now part of a broader perspective, that of Space Traffic
Management, which must take into account the initiatives of private players
in parallel with those of government entities to ensure the safety of its
resources in orbit (European Commission, undated). At this stage, there is a
true opportunity for Europe to play a more prominent role at the
international level (Sourbès-Verger, 2016: 3–19). The ability to master
situational awareness, from debris tracking to monitor hybrid threats to
space infrastructures, is surely a strategic concern in terms of technological
and political non-dependence.

Notes
1. The altitude at which these debris orbit as well as their size have a
major impact on their lifespan. The larger ones, and those whose
perigee is the lowest, re-enter the atmosphere under the gradual effect
of gravity and naturally burn during the process. According to experts,
700,000 objects larger than 1 cm and 170 million objects larger than
1mm are expected to reside in Earth orbits.
2. Center of Control of Outer Space.
3. Diamant in the case of France and Black Arrow in the case of the
United Kingdom.
4. In the 70s, his findings are quoted as open source by Charles S.
Sheldon II, chief of the Science Policy Research Division of the
Library of Congress, author of a very well-known annual publication
 on Soviet Space Program, published by the Congressional Research
Service, Library of Congress, USA.
5. See the 32 papers published in the framework of the History Study
Reports covering the period 1959–2003 (Noordwijk: ESA Publications
Division ESTEC).
https://www.esa.int/About_Us/Corporate_news/History_Study_Report
s.
6. See http://www.orbitaldebris.jsc.nasa.gov and
http://www.celestrak.com/satcat/boxscore.asp. Detected debris are
larger, from 10 cm in LEO to 1 metre in geostationary orbit.
7. Kontrolya Kosmicheskogo Prostranstva in Russian, formely known as
TsKKP.
8. Limited to detection at a local level (azimuth 180°).
9. A 25-metre steerable parabolic dish, for a meteorological S-band radar.
10. The Space Data Association (SDA), for example, tracks objects in
GEO orbit in order to prevent collisions, avoid interference and
geolocate the sources of harmful interference. Members of the SDA
are satellite operators – both public and private – including
EUMETSAT and Eutelsat at the European level.

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6 The European Space Industry as a
Driving Force for Militarization
Iraklis Oikonomou

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-9

Introduction
With the adoption of the 2021–2027 EU Space Programme, it is now safe to
admit that there has been an irreversible drive towards the inclusion of
security and defence into EU space policy, i.e. the opening up of that policy
to military applications, needs, and uses. New flagship projects, like
Governmental Satellite Communications (GOVSATCOM), the Secure
Connectivity Initiative, and Space Traffic Management, constitute the
second wave of militarization of EU space, expanding and deepening an
already existing phenomenon that started with the security and defence
applications of Copernicus and the Public Regulated Service (PRS) of
Galileo. Satellite navigation, earth observation, satellite communications,
and space situational awareness – the Union seems to have at last managed
to establish the foundations for a full merging of civilian and military
applications into the portfolio of programmes that comprise its space
programme.
When dissecting the emergence of this defence dimension of space
policy, industrial actors are usually depicted as merely those who are
supposed to produce what states and European institutions ask for in terms
of capabilities. In other words, their political role as drivers of militarization
is not appreciated fully – crushed among the supranational Commission, the
intergovernmental European Space Agency (ESA) and the myriads of
member-state interests. This chapter will introduce industrial interests as a
key source of policy transformation, examining in particular the discourse
and positions set by the space industry and its Brussels lobbying
organization, ASD-Eurospace, and the extent to which the outcome, i.e. the
emergence and solidification of EU military space, is compatible with
industrial preferences and stems from the industrial vision.
Adopting a historical materialist perspective, the chapter is an attempt to
establish the crucial part played by internationalized space-industrial capital
in promoting military space agenda in the EU. This trend will be
documented via material deriving from official discourse and publications
by the industry. Also, it will be interpreted by examining key aspects of the
global political economy of space production that fuel the industry’s quest
for more security and defence space programmes at the Brussels level.
Overall, it will be argued that the European space manufacturers facilitated
the emergence of a non-civilian dimension in European space activity,
seeing in it a huge opportunity for market expansion and competitive
survival.

Theoretical and Empirical Aspects of EU Space-

Industrial Actorness
The starting point of the present analysis is the definition of the process of
European integration as ‘very much the process by which European society
has been transformed to allow the imposition of the discipline of capital on
a scale beyond the national state’ (Holman & van der Pijl, 2003: 79).
However, certain modifications are necessary: First, we are not dealing with
European integration in general, but rather with European space policy
integration, and thus, the emphasis is on the discipline of a specific fraction
of capital, hereby termed space-industrial capital. Second, the
transformation does not concern primarily the social (European society) but
rather the politico-institutional realm, given that the object of analysis is
programmes established by EU institutions. Third, the idea of militarization
denotes a specific kind of integration, based on the promotion of a non-
civilian dimension of space policy. Therefore, what needs to be explored is
not simply the integrative process generated by the imposition of the
discipline of capital versus the lack of integration; it is the production of a
specific essence of integration (promotion of a militarized policy) versus
another (promotion of a civilian policy).
From this general framework stems a crucial theoretical principle: the
idea of space-industrial capital as a social force (Cox, 1996: 100–101;
Holman & van der Pijl, 2003: 72–73). In other words, the companies
involved in space production are not seen here as just economic units of
analysis; they share particular visions of the world and of what the EU
should be and should do and proceed with the shaping of relevant policies
at the Brussels level via their own political representation organizations.
Historical materialist thinking pays particular attention to this political
actorness of capital, with Gill and Law (1993: 95) noting business’
‘privileged ability to influence governments’ by mobilizing direct and
structural forms of power. The former involve a wealth of resources,
contacts within the government, control of the media establishment, expert
knowledge, etc. The latter implies a deeper dimension of power that stems
from the position of capital within the production system, dominating the
market, employment, investment, innovation and growth (Gill & Law,
1993: 99–100), as well as what constitutes the discursive articulation of the
general interest of the society as a whole. With this theoretical
predisposition in mind, the space industry is expected to have set the
conceptual, discursive, ideational terms of the debate on the need to
militarize EU space policy – which is the main hypothesis of this chapter.
The primary fraction of European space-industrial capital comprises the
two large system integrators: Airbus Defence and Space, and Thales Alenia
Space. The two have been the outcome of a long process of consolidation,
whereby smaller-scale national champions internationalized, establishing a
long web of international business interconnections through a wave of
domestic and cross-border mergers and acquisitions. But not all system
integrators maintain an internationalized structure – OHB, for instance, has
had a primarily German origin and national champion status, ever since its
establishment as a space company in the 1980s. Next to system integrators,
there are sub-system suppliers and equipment suppliers, comprising the
landscape of European space companies characterized by varying portfolios
and sizes.
 Thales Alenia Space is essentially a French-Italian entity, jointly owned
by Italian defence firm Leonardo (formerly Finmeccanica) and the French
defence firm Thales Group. Its roots are to be found in the acquisition, by
Thales Group, of Alcatel’s share in Alcatel Alenia Space and Telespazio,
two joint ventures between the French telecommunication and electronics
firm and Finmeccanica. Alcatel Alenia Space was established in 2005
through the merger of Alcatel Space and Alenia Spazio and was co-owned
by Alcatel and Finmeccanica. Approximately a year later, in April 2006,
Alcatel sold its participation in Alcatel Alenia Space and Telespazio to
Thales Group.
Airbus Defence and Space is the outcome of a similar consolidation
path, involving first and foremost the creation of EADS through the
merging of German DASA, French Aerospatiale-Matra and Spanish CASA
in 1999. In parallel, the merger of the space divisions of the three
companies led to the formation of Astrium in 2000. In 2003, EADS became
the sole owner of Astrium through the acquisition of BAE Systems’ 25%
participation in it. Ten years later, Airbus Defence and Space incorporated
Astrium and became one of the three constituent entities of Airbus Group,
together with Airbus and Airbus Helicopters, in the context of the broader
reorganization of EADS into the Airbus Group.
The main space contractors have established their own interest
representation group, ASD-Eurospace. The organization was established in
1961 as Eurospace; in 2004, it became the dedicated space group of the
Aerospace and Defence Industries Association of Europe. The members of
ASD-Eurospace are European companies active in the production of space
systems and the main aim of the organization is the promotion of space
activities in the interest of its members and the definition and expression of
common views on behalf of European space manufacturers (ASD-
Eurospace, 2022: slides 3, 7). Thus, it is critical to point out the dual
function of the organization: on the one hand, the advocacy of industrial
viewpoints at ESA and EU institutions and, on the other hand, the
elaboration and consolidation of these viewpoints among the industrial
community members. In other words, ASD-Eurospace mediates not only on
behalf of the industry (vis-à-vis ESA, the Commission, the Parliament, etc.)
but also within the industry, bridging gaps and conflicts that may arise
based on sectoral divisions, geographical divisions, size of companies, etc.
 Neither ASD-Eurospace nor individual space-industrial entities can be
seen in isolation from their main structural feature: the merging of space-
industrial and military-industrial capital under the same roof. To be more
precise, this is not a merging on equal terms; space-industrial capital
essentially falls under the broader umbrella of defence-industrial capital in
at least two ways. At the industrial-economic level, the primary space
contractors have been acquired by chiefly military conglomerates (Thales,
Leonardo, Airbus). At the institutional level, the representation of space-
industrial interests is connected to the representation of military-industrial
ones, with the incorporation of Eurospace by ASD. The two levels are
dialectically unified: no institutional merging in terms of lobbying would
have been possible without the prior absorption of space companies by arms
manufacturers through a set of international mergers and acquisitions.
Interaction between the European Commission and industrial lobbyists is
profoundly dense through a number of formal and informal links.
Indicatively, ASD-Eurospace is involved in the preparation of a European
Co-programmed Partnership titled ‘Global competitive space systems’, to
be included in the Horizon Europe framework. This preparatory process,
stemming from the effort to set a strategic research and innovation agenda
for EU-funded space research, involved a series of regular meetings and the
exchange of input and information for a period of three years between the
Commission and ASD-Eurospace. Apart from the latter, the consortium
comprises the European research and technology infrastructure (European
Association of Research and Technology Organisations), the European
academic active in space research (European Aeronautics Science
Network), the national space research centres (Association of European
Space Research Establishments), and the representative organization of the
SMEs of the European space industry (SME4SPACE) (Naujokaityte, 2021;
ASD-Eurospace, 2022: slide 30). As for the rationale of such a
collaboration? The summary of what the partnership is and does copy-
pastes Europe’s Space Strategy: ‘Fostering a globally competitive and
innovative European space sector’ and ‘Reinforcing Europe’s autonomy in
accessing and using space in a secure and safe environment’ (DG DEFIS,
2020: 5).
But it is not sufficient to point out the deep and mutual interconnection
between the Commission and ASD-Eurospace; the structural involvement
in defence-related programmes also needs to be established. An indication
of how involved industrial lobbyists are in the authoring of EU space
militarization is the structure of ad hoc task forces within ASD-Eurospace.
These task forces are mandated to tackle, in a coordinated manner, matters
that arise in connection to European institutions and have a short-to-
medium term horizon. If we exclude the long-standing REACH-related task
forces, four out of seven existing task forces have a clear defence
dimension. Specifically, these four deal with Space Traffic Management,
Secure Connectivity, Copernicus NExtGen, and the European Defence
Fund, with the three ‘civilian’ task forces being the ones on Horizon
Europe, ESA Industrial Policy, and the European Launcher Alliance (ASD-
Eurospace, 2022: slide 26).

The Phenomenon: Recent Militarizing Trends in European

Space Policy
Until very recently, space was seen by the EU as an area where only civilian
applications were allowed. True, the two existing flagship programmes,
Galileo and Copernicus, contained security and defence-related segments,
as has been shown elsewhere (Oikonomou, 2013, 2017). However, they
were not purely military space applications, respecting – at least on the
surface – the commitment of the ESA and the Union to civilian-only
activities. Three new programmes, Government Satellite Communications
(GOVSATCOM), Union Secure Connectivity Programme, and Space
Traffic Management, have altered this condition irrevocably; the EU now
has ambitious military-space applications under way. Space manufacturers
have been to a great extent part of the European arms industry, through a
wave of mergers and acquisitions in the 1990s and the early 2000s. The
availability of two additional military projects adds new opportunities for
pan-European procurement, i.e. extra sales and profit for the industry.
As far as GOVSATCOM is concerned, the primary objective of the
programme is the provision of secure satellite services for EU and member-
state authorities. A 10 million-euro Preparatory Action is already up and
running, paving the way for a full-fledged programme for the 2021–2027
period, through a range of projects involving satellite producers, end users,
and satellite communication providers. Potential users include a variety of
security and defence actors, such as the armed forces, border security
forces, civil protection forces, and diplomatic services. As for the Union
Secure Connectivity Programme, it lies conceptually and practically close
to GOVSATCOM but is in fact a distinct programme, providing secure and
reliable space-based broadband connectivity via multi-orbit satellite
constellations. The programme is, indirectly, of a security and defence-
related orientation too, expected to optimize ‘effectiveness of surveillance,
EU external action and crisis management activities’ (Whittle et al., 2021:
53). Border surveillance, maritime surveillance and control, maritime
emergencies and CSDP missions are all expected to benefit
The EU has engaged in the development of yet another military space
programme for the establishment of a Space Traffic Management capability,
with Space Surveillance and Tracking (SST) at its core. Following a
Council Decision in 2014, an EU SST Support Framework was established
and a consortium of eight states was set up (with the five founding states
being also the primary space manufacturing ones – France, Germany, Italy,
Spain, and the UK). The consortium eventually formed a cooperative
scheme, called SST Cooperation, with the EU Satellite Centre. Three core
actions fall under the scope of the Framework: establishment and operation
of existing sensors to track space objects; processing of data; and service
provision (Council of the EU, 2014: Art.4). In theory, SST is articulated as
a programme with a purely civilian orientation – a response to the fact that
‘due to the growing complexity of the orbital environment, space-based
assets are increasingly at risk from collision with other operational
spacecraft or debris’ (EUSST, 2020: 4). However, there is also a military
dimension to SST, no matter how hard the EU institutions have tried to
conceal it. True, SST concerns the defence of space and, thus, deviates from
all other EU space projects that seek to utilize space for defence
(Polkowska, 2020: 128). But this does not make it less military-oriented or
more civilian. The detection and identification of man-made objects include
objects used by other states for military purposes. In other words, if space is
a potential battleground, its monitoring is evidently a military mission and
purpose.
Until now, no direct benefit for the space industry can be traced to the
efforts of SST Cooperation, mainly because the initiative involves the
coordination of existing resources rather than the generation of new ones.
Nevertheless, if considered in a dynamic context, the EU has opened the
door to an immense set of opportunities for space manufacturers, given that
the option of developing additional capabilities in the future cannot be
excluded. Under the coordination of Italy, and with the participation of
France, Germany and the Netherlands, the European Military Space
Surveillance Awareness Network is now a Permanent Structured
Cooperation project. Its goal is to develop an autonomous EU military
capability for space situational awareness, to be integrated with the EU SST
Framework. Thus, the addition of new capabilities is a real possibility,
translating into new investment, sales, and profits for the industry.
In February 2022, the European Commission together with the High
Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy released a joint
communication proposing the main elements of an EU approach to space
traffic management. From the outset, space traffic management is placed in
a defence context, as it is expected to ‘contribute to the security and defence
dimensions of the EU in space’ with space assets ‘becoming targets of
various kinds of threats’ (European Commission & High Representative,
2022: 1). Initially, the façade of the Commission’s logic appears
technocratic, with references to the increase in the number of satellites and
the consequent risk of collisions. However, soon this is replaced by a much
grander perspective that, as we shall see, reflects the industry’s positioning
on the matter, with a call to ‘increase EU resilience by avoiding
technological dependencies’ and ‘ensure strategic autonomy through the
development of EU capacities’ (European Commission & High
Representative, 2022: 6). As for the ‘stakeholders’, it is easy to guess the
one that is explicitly mentioned following this excerpt: the EU space
industry, whose competitiveness the programme is expected to support with
additional funds and the creation of a relevant European ecosystem around
SST technologies and capabilities (European Commission & High
Representative, 2022: 8).
In addition, the Commission has declared its intention to have the
defence dimension of EU space policy further strengthened. With its
February 2022 Communication on the Commission’s contribution to
European defence, it opened up space as a field of military applications to
an extent that just some years ago would have been unthinkable. The list of
actions is endless, starting from the further protection of EU space assets
through SST, Space Situational Awareness, and early warning capabilities
for defence. A second pillar involves the upgrading of defence features in
existing EU space infrastructure, moving beyond the PRS of Galileo, with
the inclusion of defence requirements in Copernicus and the establishment
of the Union Secure Connectivity Programme based on GOVSATCOM. In
this context, the EDF is expected to fund military space programmes, like
the Galileo for EU Defence, space-based navigation warfare, and military
space surveillance awareness. Third, the Commission has committed to
working towards the reduction of space-related EU strategic dependencies
on critical technologies by mobilizing the full range of its space-related
initiatives, from EDF to the Space Programme. And, finally, as far as
governance is concerned, the Commission plans to introduce a Galileo
PRS-like model in the all elements of EU space infrastructure and in
Copernicus in particular, with a dedicated governmental service that will be
taking into account defence requirements (European Commission, 2022:
10–13).
Next to the Commission, the European Defence Agency (EDA) has been
equally active in promoting the military dimension of EU space with a
range of activities and initiatives. For instance, on earth observation, the
EDA has been compiling a collection of high-level user requirements for
future military satellite constellations, while also investigating how
Copernicus could be modified in order to better support military operations.
As far as satellite navigation is concerned, the Agency has provided support
towards the development of a European military satellite navigation policy,
with the endorsement of a Common Staff Target, which should lead to an
improved usability of Galileo for defence users (EDA, 2018b). Above all,
one cannot ignore the key role that EDA has played in GOVSATCOM.
Specifically, the Agency initiated the process of the programme’s
development, with the identification of military user needs and
requirements and proceeded with the setting up of an EDA GOVSATCOM
demonstration project. The goal of the project has been to prove the concept
and demonstrate the benefits of pooling the satellite communication
capabilities of contributing member states (EDA, 2019). Last but not least,
the EDA has established the EU Satellite Communications Market, pooling
the demand for commercial satellite communication and wider
communication and information services, with military SatCom being part
of the offered range of services (EDA, 2018a).
The Discourse: Strategic Autonomy – From the Industry, for the
Industry
The discursive call for more defence in EU space has consistently and
constantly originated from the industry. Of course, for this call to succeed, it
has to appear in isolation from the interests of the industry for more sales
and profits, serving instead a much broader goal. Sometimes, this goal is
economic growth or the improvement of public policies; take, for instance,
industry executive Jean-Loic Galle’s (in ASD, 2016: 1) address to the EU to
promote ‘a better and increased use of the – insufficiently tapped –
capacities of space to create growth and to support and improve public
policies (in particular in the areas where space can contribute to achieving
the sectoral objectives set out by the EU in the fields of environment,
transport, security & defence or digital economy)’.
But most often, the conceptual tool utilized by the industry in its effort
for a more military-oriented EU space policy is strategic autonomy. In fact,
this well-known and widely advertised notion has been inspired intensely
by industrial vision and discourse. In 2007, several years before its
appearance in Brussels’ narrative, ASD’s Director of Space at the time
welcomed the Commission’s decision to finance Galileo, claiming that it
paved ‘the way for the autonomy of Europe, regarding positioning and
navigation by satellite’ (Jean-Jacques Tortora, quoted in ASD, 2007).
Autonomy was a recurring theme in industrial discourse prior to its
emergence as the core and overarching concept of EU security and defence
policy: ‘To reap all benefits of space activity, Europe must ensure that it
maintains alive the industrial capabilities to undertake space programmes
with the appropriate level of autonomy’ (ASD, 2009: 2). The conceptual
chain follows a specific pattern: autonomy → capabilities → investment.
Such a pattern can be traced, indicatively, in the following recommendation
addressed from industry’s lobbyists to the Commission:

A priority for the next European Commission should be to decline [sic]

operationally, in due cooperation with the Member States, the
ambitions expressed in the pillar of the Space strategy calling to
“reinforce Europe’s autonomy in accessing and using space in a secure
and safe environment”. This would require to address the missing
capabilities Europe needs to be equipped with to ensure its awareness,
 autonomy and freedom of action (i.e. security of EU-owned
infrastructures in space and security from space).
(ASD-Eurospace, 2019: 2)

The same notion appears through the term ‘independence’; as early as 2009,
the lobbyists of space manufacturers in Brussels reminded the European
public of the fact that ‘space has become critical for the independence that
Europe should aim at’ (ASD, 2009: 1), while a decade later, the then
president of ASD-Eurospace stressed that ‘space systems and related
European access to space represent crucial elements for the independence
and sovereignty of our continent’ (Galle, 2018). Independence is also
closely associated with non-dependence. In the technological domain,
independence implies the development of all required space technologies in
Europe, while non-dependence involves Europe’s ability to secure
unrestricted access to any space technology it may require (European
Commission, 2021b: 4–5). In practice, the two terms are used
interchangeably and have been adopted with equal fervour by the space
manufacturers: ‘Europe’s non-dependence in space needs to be guaranteed;
this implies the capacity to conceive, develop, launch, operate and exploit
cost-effectively space systems, but also the necessity to rely on an
unrestricted access to state-of-the-art technology’ (Jean-Loic Galle in ASD,
2016: 1). It should be noted that such a vocal reiteration of the need for
non-dependence came not from a European policy official or
parliamentarian, but rather from the then president of ASD-Eurospace and
former CEO of Thales Alenia Space. And certainly this is not a one-off
case; ‘enhancing European technological non-dependence in the space
sector’ is one of the key pillars of the argumentation by the lobbyists of
space companies in support of a European industrial policy for space (ASD-
Eurospace, 2017: 1).
Why should the industry be so vehement in its pursuit of European
autonomy? Because beyond its strategic essence, autonomy constitutes a
technological and industrial context that is greatly favourable to space
manufacturers: put simply, ‘ensuring autonomy is crucial …for future
industrial competitiveness’ (Whittle et al., 2021: 13). Full-scale
protectionism is the logical outcome of technological non-dependence. In
fact, the latter has become the starting point of an entire list of industrial
demands that would have been unthinkable without the security and
defence umbrella. Their common feature is the elimination of non-
European competition. The industry has, among others, requested the
restriction of competition when essential EU interests are at stake, the
granting to the industry of the right of first refusal concerning non-
European competitors, the inclusion of reciprocity in internationally open
procurements, and the assessment of the exposure of European institutions
to ‘unplanned investment in order to secure industrial capacities and/or to
restore hampered industrial competitive standing originally built up over
decades of public investment’, when a contract is awarded to a non-
European competitor (ASD-Eurospace, 2017: 2).
Yet another concept put forward by the industry is ‘technological
sovereignty’, which ‘should be considered as an objective for those
technologies that make a decisive contribution to a capability that is key for
a critical function of a strategic sector’ (ASD, 2020: 5). For the industry,
technological sovereignty involves a degree of self-sufficiency, which is
achievable through the existence of EU-based suppliers that command the
relevant technology and the capacity to turn it into applications – a process
that must be under European control for sovereignty to exist. Essentially,
technological sovereignty is a synonym for technological independence, i.e.
the avoidance of ‘dependencies that would enable a non-European actor to
unilaterally impose constraints on European technologies’ (ASD, 2020: 5).
Under conditions of technological sovereignty, EU-based producers are
expected to face no obstacles from foreign industrial actors in completing
successfully all stages of technology and product development.
What about satellite communications? In its ‘full support’ for the
GOVSATCOM initiative, the industry’s lobbying group, ASD, referred to
the EU member-states’ ‘ability to respond autonomously’ as the key
rationale of such a programme. Specifically, ‘a shared European capacity in
satellite communications would significantly contribute to the EU’s
autonomy in decision-making and action at the global level in response to
challenges relating to defence, security, humanitarian crises and
natural/emergency disasters’ (ASD-Eurospace, 2014: 3). Autonomy
becomes an industrial demand, as it is – in the eyes of the industry – the
precondition for safeguarding industrial competitiveness. Or, to be more
precise, the quest for autonomy generates the political context through
which the more industrial and economic demands can be fulfilled. A
sizeable budget, a quick-paced process, and the involvement of the industry
in it can only be demanded because they eventually serve the biggest,
‘objective’ goal of tackling a defence-related critical capability shortfall.
Metaphorically, the industry sells ‘autonomy’ and buys the maintenance of
a ‘leading role on the export market and the competitiveness of European
space industry’ (ASD-Eurospace, 2014: 4).
The picture is not different as far as SST is concerned. In 2016, ASD set
the following goal for the EU: ‘Europe shall establish capabilities for
independent assessment of the orbital environment (debris and objects
tracking, and trajectory prediction) and support technological readiness for
debris mitigation and prevention’ (ASD-Eurospace, 2016: 20). Crucially,
this was not some kind of prediction or empirical guess – it was put forward
as a recommendation. And the proposal by the industry was comprehensive,
detailing the specific needs of the ground and space segments, including
tracking systems and sensors.
Overall, the industry has over and again emphasized how crucial it is for
the competitive health of European space manufacturers to ensure the
merging of space and EU ambitions in security and defence. Take the
European Defence Fund and how warmly it was received by the lobbyists
of the space industry in Brussels: its establishment ‘can therefore offer a
new opportunity to boost institutional investment in strategic and military
applications of space – the central pillar of American, Russian and Chinese
space policies’. Or take the grievances expressed by industrialists over the
‘limited space military programmes in Europe’, a reality that supposedly
distorts competition in favour of non-EU industrial actors and at the
detriment of EU ones. The common denominator: security and defence
‘have a key role to play to foster the competitiveness and innovativeness of
the EU’s space technological and industrial base’ (all excerpts from ASD-
Eurospace, 2019: 2).
CSDP features prominently in the industry’s discursive depiction of the
necessity of space. In its contribution to the EU 2020 Strategy, ASD noted
that ‘space systems are strategic assets, facilitating the development of an
autonomous European decision process for the benefit of all Member States
and contributing to the efficiency of the ESDP operations’ (ASD, 2009: 1).
But gradually CSDP proved too little and too restrictive to support the
grand vision of industrialists: the removal of the civil/military division in
European space policy via the unification of the two realms.
 There is regularly a debate in Europe on the military or civil character
of these policies and of the infrastructures, organizations and industries
which support these policies. Let me point out that, in the USA,
Russia, China and India, this debate would be pointless. The US
NOAA (weather forecasting), NIMA (mapping), NASA (Space), the
GPS program, the space imagery programs, the secure communication
networks between embassies have both civil and military justification
but the public policies they support are civil AND military (Cipriano,
2007: 2).

And this, one might argue, is precisely the direction pursued by the second
wave of the Union’s military space programmes.

The Material Foundation: The Political Economy of European

Space Militarization
The industry itself admits that ‘today, after decades of consistent public
investment, European industry has achieved enviable positions on the
global market. Space is one of the areas of European technological
excellence’ (ASD-Eurospace, 2016: 2). However, past achievements are not
enough as the global space landscape is characterized by profound change
and transformation with the emergence of new competitive actors: ‘The
growing competition from China, and the new space business models
pioneered in the USA require specific attention. The European Space
Industry is competitive, but competitiveness needs to be permanently re-
assessed with respect to the achievements of the competition’ (ASD-
Eurospace, 2016: 2)
To understand the political economy of space militarization, it is first
essential to appreciate the importance of the European institutional markets,
i.e. of public demand, for the European space manufacturers. Public
demand is the cornerstone of predictability and stability of activities of
space industries in general and the European space industry in particular.
And, according to the latter, adding a strong layer of security and defence in
space has the potential of guaranteeing ‘a high and continuous level of
public investment and a secured domestic market essential for …
competiveness’ (Galle, 2018: 1). The admittance by former head of ASD-
Eurospace, Giuseppe Morsillo (2016), is striking in its simplicity and
bluntness: ‘When benchmarking Europe with other main space-faring
nations, clear structural weaknesses can be highlighted on the European
side: indeed, there are limited space military programmes as compared to
all other space powers (USA, Russia, China)’.
Indeed, the comparison with other space powers is a constant feature of
the pro-industrial argumentation favouring the militarization of EU space.
The Commission has been at the forefront of this trend, with the following
statement being its guiding rationale:

The European space industry differs from its main international

competitors to the extent that its budget is smaller, it relies more on
commercial sales, the share of military expenses is smaller and
synergies between civil and defence sectors are far less developed.
(European Commission, 2013: 5)

This Commission observation echoes a constant concern by the industry:

‘In Europe, differently than in the USA, Russia or even China, military
applications of space are rather under-developed’ (ASD-Eurospace, 2020:
31).
The European institutional market can be conceptually split into sales of
civil and military systems. During the period 1997–2006, the value of
European civil programmes dropped considerably from approximately 2.4
billion euros to just above 2 billion euros. On the contrary, the military
segment more or less doubled, from just below 500 million euros to almost
1 billion euros (ASD-EUROSPACE, 2007: 6). The military layer is a
valuable addition to the industry’s business as it translates into more
revenue, and one that is of a more predictable and stable nature as it
concerns public authorities only. Fluctuations in the civil market can be
counter-balanced via orders for military systems, and that’s why the
absence of a generous military dimension has been dubbed a problem by
the manufacturers: ‘Strategic considerations have not been a major driver of
space systems development in the early years of European space
programmes, and today European space military programmes are still
organized at national level rather than at European level’ (ASD-Eurospace,
2020: 31).
This point is the key to grasping the industrial case for space
militarization. The lack of military programmes has been tagged a problem
by the industry itself, independently from the policymakers. In other words,
we can trace a bottom-up process of uploading the industrial message to the
policy elites, which is totally different from the idea that the industry is here
to merely serve the needs and requirements set in a top-down fashion. The
addition of a defence dimension has been expected to boost three
interconnected domains: the European institutional investment in space, the
size of the European domestic market, and the size of the R&D budgets. As
de Concini and Toth (2019: 76) put it, ‘the traditional European upstream
space industry is used to a large institutional market of traditional public
procurement and R&D grant programmes’. Military space is the means to
strengthen what the industry expects and has already been used by the EU
as a parallel form of public sector support.
Earth observation, satellite navigation, satellite communication, and
space situational awareness all have dual-use applications. The military
uses of space are ever-increasing, with the security domain being dubbed
‘one of the most vibrant application domains in space’ (de Concini & Toth,
2019: 31). But the specificity of security and defence as a service where the
state is the sole customer means that the industry is heavily dependent on
sales to public authorities, i.e. there is a very narrow customer base. In
2016, European institutional customers accounted more than half of the
total business of the European space industry, out of which sales to military
institutions were the third biggest category of revenue (573 million euros),
after ESA (3.37 billion euros) and other civil public agencies (774 million
euros) (de Concini & Toth, 2019: 84). This does not even convey the full
significance of defence and security applications, as ESA is involved in
both Copernicus and Galileo.
In fact, the rising trend of European space industry sales from the mid-
2000s onwards seems to coincide with major developments in these two
programmes, Copernicus and Galileo, and could be partly attributed to
them. Specifically, in 2003, the EU took over the financing of Galileo
following the collapse of the Public-Private Partnership, and in 2004, the
Commission introduced the Action Plan that was to eventually lead to the
establishment of Copernicus by 2008 – still called GMES at the time. In
just over a decade, the annual final sales of the European space industry
soared from just over 4 billion euros in 2003 to more than 8 billion euros in
2016 (ASD-Eurospace, 2021: slide 12). As for the contribution of EU
programmes to total industry sales, this has been clearly documented on
both fronts – earth observation and satellite navigation – with Copernicus’
contribution skyrocketing from less than 100 million euros in 2010 to way
over 400 million euros in 2017 and Galileo/EGNOS’ contribution following
a similar yet less impressive pattern, which can be easily explained by the
earlier timing of the programme compared to GMES-Copernicus. The
industry’s own findings confirm the said trend: ‘European Union
programme’s contribution to industry sales is increasing regularly since
2009’ (ASD-Eurospace, 2020: 26).
Another benefit of militarization is the potential for synergies that they
offer. Defence and security-related projects are advertised by the
Commission as an opportunity for the facilitation of interactions between
SMEs and established defence players. In parallel, the EU space-based
global secure communications system is mentioned as a flagship project
that could end up becoming a ‘game-changer’ for cross-fertilization ‘due to
its size or impact as well as its potential benefits for Europe’s technological
sovereignty’ (European Commission, 2021a: 14, 16). In essence, the
expectation here is to use militarization as a tool for boosting the innovation
and competitiveness of the defence and space industry by attracting
research organizations, SMEs, startups and other civilian industrial actors.
Ideally, defence and space companies ‘should be able to draw on EU
civilian industry research achievements to avoid costly duplicated research’
(European Commission, 2021a: 2).
All in all, space militarization is seen by analysts close to the industry as
a tool – a driver, to be more precise – to achieve market development in the
entire spectrum of space business. Due to the dual-use nature of much of
the relevant technology and applications, i.e.:

Due to the strong overlap of military, safety and security user needs,
any system that serves one of these users will likely be able to prevail
in the other sectors as the business conditions will be more favourable
for such undertakings than for a total “outsider/newcomer”, with no or
limited exposure to the safety/ security/military requirements.
(de Concini & Toth, 2019: 13)

This is an important point: with the gradual expansion of security and

defence applications, EU military space becomes a field of business
opportunities – a fertile ground where companies can find incentives to
innovate and secure better conditions of competitive expansion in
commercial markets too.
However, the adjective ‘political’ in political economy should not be
underestimated or overshadowed by economic considerations. The defence
‘turn’ in EU space policy has made things easier for space manufacturers
when it comes to promoting and legitimizing their demands. Space, in this
respect, becomes something that exceeds our way of life and a set of
(welcome) services – it becomes an existential precondition for survival.
This sense of urgency is present in industrial discourse when it comes, for
instance, to its demand for support and protectionism, under the label of
technological autonomy and sovereignty. Defence and security are depicted
as strategic sectors that require special treatment from the EU because they
are essential for ‘continuity of life’ (ASD, 2020: 5); consequently, the
inclusion of a defence dimension in space turns it, too, into such a sector
where extraordinary measures can be applied in support of its competitive
survival and expansion.
Elsewhere (Oikonomou, 2013, 2017), the politico-economic logic of
both Copernicus and Galileo, parallel to their strategic value, has been
detailed. GOVSATCOM confirms this pattern of adding value to the
industry under the veil of a pressing strategic need and requirement. For
instance, even though the Commission identifies the core problem to be the
mismatch between the satellite communication needs of governments and
what the Commission sees as appropriate solutions (European Commission,
2018: 14), the conceptual foundation of the initiative has been founded on
the needs of the European space industry, ‘especially in the context of
strong international competition’. The Commission not only acknowledges
that European space manufacturers are well-positioned globally, as they
control ‘one third of all global satellite sales’, but also refers to the
existence of ‘other spacefaring nations’ that ‘have a much stronger and
more stable domestic customer base, mainly in the form of national
programmes’ (European Commission, 2018: 20). What the Commission
points to is the competitive threat of the US. However, the entire discursive
base of legitimization is highly contradictory; why should Europe bother
with what the US does if European manufacturers are already profitable and
control a big chunk of the global market?
The picture becomes even more complicated the further the official
narrative proceeds: ‘European autonomy also requires a strong, innovative
and globally competitive industrial base to design, build and operate the
secure satcom systems, including space infrastructure, ground segments,
network services, and user equipment’ (European Commission, 2018: 30–
31). Look at the circular argument evident here: Europe requires a strong
space industry to manufacture the systems that are necessary for the space
industry to remain strong! The argument also lacks logical coherence; it
makes sense only as a legitimation effort on behalf of the Commission to
justify the subsidizing of the European space companies. In other words,
there is no objective need to maintain a globally competitive industry if the
mission of that industry is to produce the systems that will safeguard its
competitiveness. The only real need here is to facilitate the provision of
additional EU funding to the hands of the manufacturers.

Conclusion
The main finding of this chapter is that the European space industry has not
been a passive recipient of the Commission’s drive to military space;
instead, it has actively pressed for this process, providing critical input in
the form of conceptual frames and vision. Furthermore, the present note
established that the addition of a military layer in EU space policy contains
a distinct socio-economic essence and function, far beyond the mainstream
understanding of space as a tool for the fulfilment of security and defence
purposes. What is being secured via EU military space is the profitability
and sustainability of European space manufacturers, and what is being
defended is the global competitive status of the industry vis-à-vis non-EU
industrial actors. The mainstream logic of threats that have to be countered
by developing capabilities, currently on the rise due to the Russian invasion
of Ukraine, omits the mere fact that military space in the form of the first
wave of militarization (Galileo PRS, Copernicus) emerged prior to any
threats, and the same goes for the second wave too (GOVSATCOM, Secure
Connectivity, Space Traffic Management, etc.).
True, contradictions persist and have characterized much of the
evolution of EU military space. Not all member-states have a mature space
sector and neither have all of them been equally keen to see the EU budget
turn to defence purposes; or as an ASD-Eurospace lobbyist put it, ‘it is a
mixed bag, where everything is European, but at the same time the national
interests stay strong’ (Jérémy Hallakoun, quoted in Naujokaityte, 2021).
Different state interests, mirroring the interests of the respective industrial
capital fractions, translate into diverging visions, levels of ambition, and
technological abilities. In addition, space is not the only sector in the
European economy that requires state subsidies and support and the space.
The industry has acknowledged this sectoral and national differentiation, as
reflected in, among others, proposals to ‘focus on technologies that are
critical for a broad variety of applications from different strategic sectors
and (potentially) used in many Member States’ (ASD, 2020: 11). And, of
course, bureaucratic divergences have persisted along the intergovernmental
v. supranational spectrum, with the emergence of a new actor, EUSPA.
However, we are not anymore in the 1990s or the 2000s, when the
nascent space identity of the EU was in the process of being established.
Students of the EU have spent too many years lamenting the lack of
initiative and capabilities, and pointing to the added value of a security and
defence dimension of space that was supposedly nowhere to be found.
Following the barrage of new military-related space programmes and the
addition of a defence dimension to existing ones, the real question that the
analysis of the EU must tackle is how and why the process of EU space
policy militarization was successfully initiated, facilitated, and realized at
the EU level. As this chapter highlighted, there can be no answer to this
question without taking seriously into account the role of the European
space-industrial capital as a politically organized and powerful social force.

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7 Italy's Space Policy
Between Domestic Preferences and
European Policies

Antonio Calcara

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-10

Introduction
On December 15, 1964, Italy became the third country – after the Soviet
Union’s Sputnik in 1957 and the American Explorer in 1958 – to launch a
satellite into space. The “San Marco” project symbolises the long Italian
tradition and its competitive scientific, technological and industrial base in
space. Italy currently possesses the third largest European space industry, in
a context where space is now simultaneously a profitable field of economic
investment,1 and also at the centre of international military competition
(Oikonomou and Hoerber, 2023). Where does Italy stand in the debate on
space from an economic and military point of view? What is Italy’s position
in the context of European space cooperation?
Based on these research questions, the chapter has two goals: first, it
aims to understand what role economic and military motives play in the
current Italian space policy, with particular attention to the interactions
between the government and the defence and aerospace industry. Second,
the chapter investigates Italian preferences in the European context. To
achieve these goals, this contribution draws on Liberal
Intergovernmentalism (LI) to shed light on the complex interaction between
domestic preferences and European policies.
The chapter highlights two fundamental aspects of Italy’s space policy
and position in Europe: first, Italian preferences have gradually – yet firmly
– aligned with those of its defence and aerospace industry. This is due to the
concentrated structure of the space market and the powerful incentives of
European space cooperation for technological and industrial
competitiveness. This is also linked with the changes that have gradually
taken place in the EU space policy, where the industrial, economic and
defence dimensions are gradually merging into a single policy-area. The
key role played by the new European Commission’s DG on Defence
Industry and Space, as part of DG Industry portfolio, is a first step to
solidify a unified leadership in European space policy, with structural links
to industrial and defence policies.
Secondly, the Italian position in Europe is characterised by a pragmatic
balance between cooperation and competition, between the quest for
regional efficiency vis-à-vis global actors and the preservation of national
autonomy vis-à-vis European partners. In this context, the United States is
viewed in Rome as a convenient external partner, which can be brought in
to correct intra-European imbalances and prevent the prospect of larger
states and industries dominating the European space market. As such, Italy
is likely to continue sitting on the fence between European efficiency and
domestic autonomy, embracing intergovernmental cooperation while
resisting fully fledged EU space integration.
This chapter provides two main contributions to the scholarly literature:
first, the theoretical framework inspired by LI sheds light simultaneously on
domestic preference formation and European space cooperation. Second,
this chapter fills an empirical gap in the literature since there are no
analyses of the dynamic interaction between Italian preferences in the
European context. In this regard, space represents a unique angle to observe
the evolving posture of Italian security policy in times of international
competition.
This chapter is structured as follows: the next section presents the
theoretical framework and the research hypotheses. The empirical analysis
is structured around three main periods: the 1950s–1970s, the 1980s–1990s
and the 2000s–2010s. The conclusions discuss the research findings and its
theoretical and empirical implications.
LI and European Space Policy
LI aims to explain why and how EU states agree to move integration
forward. This approach is based on three main assumptions: first, national
governments are the most important actors steering the direction of EU
integration. Second, the interactions between political and economic-
industrial groups play a central role in determining national preferences
(Moravcsik, 1997). Third, relative power among governments and the
negotiation tactics of policymakers are key variables to explain integration
outcomes. Following these assumptions, the LI approach proposes a two-
stage research design. At first, researchers need to identify domestic
preference formation that is oriented towards increasing (and possibly
maximising) national welfare in the issue area at hand. In the second stage –
given different cross-national preferences – the LI focuses on bargaining
outcomes as a function of the distribution of interests and capabilities.
Governments bargain with their peers to resolve distributional conflicts
among competing domestic preferences (Moravcsik, 1998: 18–23).
Recent works that draw on LI suggest that domestic preference
formation is a complex political process where different actors compete for
political influence (Csehi and Puetter, 2021: 470). Political influence is, in
turn, linked with power configurations between political and economic-
industrial groups. In the space sector, we can identify two main actors that
collaborate and sometimes compete for political influence in a national
setting: the government and the industry. On the one hand, national
governments need to balance military, industrial and economic
considerations; they are aware that space nowadays not only is an integral
part of military competition but also has important implications for a
country’s scientific, technological and industrial competitiveness (George,
2019). On the other hand, the space industry is concentrated around a few
large players – due to the extremely high financial, technological and
knowledge-based market entry barriers – thus creating a substantially
oligopolistic market. Space companies ideally aim to maximise their profits
and lobby for national space policies that simultaneously protect domestic
markets from foreign competition and enable industry’s internationalisation
and expansion in other markets.
National preferences, then, must find common ground at the European
level, characterised by the simultaneous activity of the European Space
Agency (ESA) and the EU. ESA, founded in 1975, is responsible for
coordinating the collaborative space programmes of 22 European countries.
The governance of the Agency is strictly intergovernmental and ESA
awards contracts on the basis of the juste retour principle, thus allowing
each country to receive a financial and technological return for its
investments. Within the EU framework – and since the 2004 Framework
agreement between ESA and the EU – the European Commission has also
assumed important responsibilities in promoting space activities and
synergy between civil- and military-oriented space programmes
(Oikonomou and Hoerber, 2023). EU institutions directly manage two big
cooperative programmes: Galileo and Copernicus. Recently, the European
Commission has also created a DG on Defence Industry and Space that
specifically implements EU space policy. Unlike ESA, however, EU space
activities are an integral part of European industrial policy and the single
market and, therefore, not subject to the juste retour principle.
The European space policy is driven by simultaneous incentives towards
cooperation and competition. Since the 1960s, regional cooperation has
been framed as the only way for Europeans to close the “technological gap”
with the United States and other global powers. Suzuki listed five of the
main reasons underlying European cooperation: (1) to gain economies of
scale; (2) to share research and development risks; (3) to increase financial
support from partner governments; (4) to increase the market size for the
product; and (5) to strengthen European industry in the international
competition with much larger American counterparts (Suzuki, 2004: 3).
However, the incentives for European cooperation are mitigated by two
important factors: first, not every European country possesses a space
industry; hence, “have-not” countries may have less interest in cooperating
or, in any case, in investing economic and political capital to champion this
sector in Europe (Lembke, 2001: 18).2 Second, European cooperation may
lead to distributional conflicts within Europe itself. Different space
programmes and industries are also competitors both within and outside the
European market and may have the incentive to hamper cooperation if they
perceive to be disadvantaged by the terms of cooperation or to protect
domestic markets from foreign competition. Balancing cooperative and
competitive pressures is key to contextualise member states’ preferences
towards European policies in sectors that have both economic and security
implications (Calcara and Simòn, 2021).
Italy's Domestic Preferences in the European
Context
Given these general considerations on domestic preference formation and
the European space policy, we can now zoom in on the Italian case. The
governmental institutions responsible for space policy are the Ministry of
Economic Development for the economic aspects and the Ministry of
Defence for the defence-industrial and strategic issues. In this context, the
Italian Space Agency (ASI) acts as an intermediary between governmental
institutions and industry. Recently, Law No. 7/2018 established the
“Comitato Interministeriale per le politiche relative allo spazio e
all’Aerospazio”, an inter-ministerial collegial body that includes all relevant
public and institutional stakeholders (Senato, 2018).
The Italian industry has a total turnover of almost €2 billion and more
than 200 companies (Ministero dello Sviluppo Economico, 2020). Yet, the
market is mainly structured around four leading companies – Thales Alenia
Space, Telespazio, Leonardo and Avio – which account for about 80% of
the entire space industry. Thales Alenia Space and Telespazio are both
subsidiaries of the semi-state-owned Leonardo group and part of a broader
Franco-Italian joint venture. Thales Alenia Space is leader in the European
upstream space sector, dealing with the construction of satellites and
technologies for earth observation, security and exploration of the solar
system. Telespazio and Leonardo are specialised in the downstream sector,
i.e., the management of satellites and ground services. Avio, a company
listed on the stock exchange in 2017, is active in the development of small-
medium launchers (the Vega programme). The structure of the Italian space
industry is then based on a vast network of SMEs, which has recently
organised itself into the National Aerospace Technology Cluster (CTNA).
In order to grasp the Italian preferences in the European context, we rely
on the analytical lens of the LI to build two main hypotheses: first, given
the importance of the Italian space industry, the concentrated structure of
the market and the close relationships between semi-state-owned firms (e.g.
Leonardo) and governmental institutions, we hypothesise that industrial
interests will be prevalent in shaping domestic preferences. The conjecture
here is that the Italian space policy follows similar dynamics of the adjacent
defence-industrial sector, where industries have been able to decisively
influence the government on the way it approaches interactions with
partners and competitors in the global marketplace (Calcara, 2017). We thus
expect the space industry to be able to “capture” the government’s decision-
making process to its own advantages and its proximity to decision-makers
offers corporate elites greater chances to influence government preferences.
Regarding Italy’s position on European cooperation, several studies have
noted how Rome is continuously sitting on the fence between Europeanism
and Atlanticism in its foreign and security policy (Cladi and Locatelli,
2021). However, these works struggle to explain when Italy opts for a more
Europeanist or Atlanticist stance. Following other works on the political
economy of EU defence (Calcara and Simon, 2021), European cooperation
can instead be conceptualised as a delicate balance between European
efficiency and domestic autonomy. European states are incentivised to
cooperate, because they expect to be strengthened vis-à-vis larger global
players. At the same time, they also aim to protect their autonomy from
their European fellows. In the Italian case, therefore, we hypothesise not
only a simultaneous push towards greater European cooperation to
strengthen its industrial competitiveness at the global level but also a
resistance towards market integration, which could benefit more efficient
players with a more integrated industry (e.g. France and Germany). We
expect Italy to prefer intergovernmental governance of space, because of
the possibility to influence the terms of cooperation, to benefit from juste
retour and to keep possible derogations and exemptions from common rules
to avoid possible Franco-German dominance. For the same reasons, we also
expect Italy to try to ensure collaborative agreements with the United States
and to oppose attempts to full-fledged integration of the space sector at the
EU level.

Research Design and Methodology

To test the research hypotheses, this chapter relies on historical process-
tracing. This method aims to trace causal process between an independent
variable and the outcome of the dependent variable (Beach and Pedersen,
2019). Process-tracing also allows to investigate the alternative causal
pathways through which the outcome of interest might have occurred. In
this case, the two expectations on domestic preference formation and Italy’s
preferences in Europe will be tested along two alternative hypotheses. First,
the argument on industry capture will be set against the prevalence of Italy’s
strategic-military interests in shaping domestic preference formation.
Second, as regard the Italian position in Europe, our hypothesis will be
set against the Atlanticist vs. Europeanist divide in European security.
Scholars have argued that the variation between Europeanism and
Americanism in Italy’s foreign policy can be traced back to the colour of
the ruling coalition – with centre-right governments willing to side with the
United States, and centre-left governments being pro-European (Cladi and
Webber, 2011; Brighi, 2013). We should therefore find that centre-left
governments will favour European cooperation, while centre-right
governments will prefer to align with the United States. To be sure, the
research hypotheses flagged here do not claim to be mutually exclusive or
exhaustive and more nuanced explanations may come to light during the
analysis (Table 7.1).

Table 7.1 Research Hypotheses

Main Hypothesis Alternative Hypothesis

Domestic Industrial interests Strategic-military
preferences interests
Italy’s Balancing efficiency and Europeanism or
position in autonomy/cooperation over Atlanticism/domestic
Europe integration political coalition

The empirical analysis will be structured around three main periods: 1950s–
1970s; 1980s–1990s; and 2000s–2010s. At this point, two additional
caveats are in place: LI has been originally designed to explain the major
turning points in the EU integration history, especially treaties’
negotiations. In this case, I will focus on the longue durée3 of European
space cooperation. This choice negatively impacts on the analytical depth of
specific moments of space integration, while allowing for a broader
investigation of possible elements of continuity and change in the medium-
long term. Secondly – contrary to conventional LI two-stage design – the
analysis will not be presented separately for the domestic and European
contexts. Besides space constraints, this is a useful analytical choice to
grasp possible interconnections between the two stages. As argued by Csehi
and Puetter (2021: 466), the notion of the two-stage design – while
analytically useful – becomes increasingly blurred as domestic and EU-
level politics are deeply interwoven.

1950s–1970s: From Science to Business

Space entered Italian policy in the late 1950s through the activities of two
main actors: the military and scientists.
The first steps were taken by the Italian Air Force through a programme
for upper atmosphere research and the creation of a launching range in 1956
at Salto di Quirra, Sardinia (Krige and Russo, 1995: 10). The Air Force
Engineer Corps specialised in liquid-propelled rockets and the Italian navy
– in collaboration with German scientists – designed a rocket development
programme (De Maria and Orlando, 2008: 42). The main leader of the Air
Force in space was Colonel Luigi Broglio, who then became one of the
main protagonists of Italian space policy.
In the same period, scientists were also showing a growing interest in
space research. Edoardo Amaldi, the Italian representative at CERN, aimed
to replicate the Geneva organisation and create a European body for space
research. Amaldi’s idea was to conduct peaceful scientific research, keeping
out any military appetites. He underlined that it was “absolutely essential”
that the future organisation “has no military connotation and no connection
with whatsoever military agency” (quoted in Krige and Russo, 1995: 15).
Amaldi then, encouraged by the support of his French counterpart Pierre
Auger, addressed a letter titled “Space Research in Europe” to fellow
scientists to propose an organisation similar to CERN to be set up for space
(CERN, 2012).
European space policy was from the outset characterised by two
different and progressively irreconcilable views: on the one hand, a strongly
pan-European scientific component; on the other, the awareness that space
would also trigger competing military and industrial attitudes. This tension
was immediately visible in the 1960s during the development of two
European initiatives: the European Space Research Organisation (ESRO)
and the European Launcher Development Organisation (ELDO).
On ESRO, Rome clashed with its European counterparts to establish
laboratories in Italy (against the view of France and the Benelux countries)
and only agreed to join the organisation in exchange for leadership in
satellite test vehicles (STV), a project that was very important to Broglio
(Caprara, 2012: 177). The debate on the institutionalisation of ELDO was
instead characterised by the Anglo-French proposal to co-develop with
European partners a joint launcher based on the British military rocket Blue
Streak. The project was driven by clear British and French industrial
interests and by competitive pressures vis-à-vis more sophisticated US
products (Sheehan, 2021: 102). The Italian reaction to this proposal was
particularly cold for two interrelated reasons: first, Blue Streak had already
been developed by British military companies and went against the
principle that guided organisations as CERN, where researchers and
technicians from all countries collaborated from the outset to develop the
scientific programme. Secondly, Italian industry would have been
disadvantaged by Anglo-French cooperation. In this regard, Amaldi argued
that Italian industries would be “excluded from the most important and
essential part of the project” (quoted in Mariani, 2015: 195). Italy’s non-
participation was, however, a problem for the Anglo-French leadership,
which aimed to build a multilateral support for their project. The ELDO
convention was then signed, after considerable British pressure on Italy, on
30 April 1962, among seven participating states: Australia, Belgium,
France, Germany, the Netherlands and the UK. Italy, led by Broglio, entered
with a 10% share and several reservations, which would become visible in
the following years.
In the 1960s, Italy was consolidating important relations with the United
States. On 12 April 1961 – the same day that Gagarin became the first
human in space – Broglio presented the San Marco project to the
Americans in Florence. This coincidence helped convince the United States
– worried about Soviet competition – to support one of their allies in an
ambitious space project (Caprara, 2012: 143–144). In 1962, Italy and the
United States signed an agreement for the “San Marco” project, and two
years later, on 15 December 1964, the first Italian satellite, San Marco-1,
was launched by an American Scout rocket. US President Johnson
complimented the Italians for the successful launch and for being the first
nationality after the Americans or the Soviets to put a satellite into orbit.
In the meantime, European space organisations were revealing some first
cracks, which proved to be long-standing obstacles to regional cooperation.
On the one hand, Italy constantly complained that industrial return was
insufficient and was frustrated that its contribution to ESRO/ELDO went to
the benefit of more competitive companies in Britain and France (Bondi,
1993). Between 1968 and 1969, Italy blocked the TD programme and
withdrew from Ariane and from ELDO. Italy also opposed the Franco-
German telecommunication project Symphonie and launched the first major
domestic commercial satellite: the SIRIO project. The newly formed
consortium Compagnia Industriale Italiana (CIA) won the bid for the
procurement. On the other hand, European partners were irritated by close
Italo-American cooperation and by Broglio’s proposals to use American
launchers in Europe (McDougall, 1985). Bondi, the British chairman of
ESRO, took on board the demands of medium and small countries by
introducing the principle of “juste retour”, i.e., fair industrial return, which
would become a permanent feature of space cooperation thereafter. Shortly
afterwards, the creation of ESA in 1975 marked the prevalence of industrial
interests over purely scientific ones, as the new agency was from the outset
focused on fostering European industrial projects and industrial return for
the main contributors (Suzuki, 2004: 89–93).
In the context of Italian domestic preferences, two themes should be
highlighted: first, Italian space policy was characterised by a progressive
clash between Amaldi’s idealistic vision and Broglio’s pragmatism. While
Amaldi was against any involvement of the military or NATO, Broglio
emphasised that “military interest in space was so logical and inevitable that
there was little realistic prospect of creating an organization without a
military dimension” (quoted in Sheehan, 2021: 106). Tensions between the
scientific community led by Amaldi and Broglio’s San Marco team have
probably reduced the possibility of creating a national space agency in the
wake of the American NASA or the French CNES.4
Second, Italy did not have a consolidated space industry in the 1950s–
1970s. The above-mentioned CIA consortium was weakened by the internal
rivalry between Aeritalia and Selenia, as both were competing to become
the main leader in the Italian space market. This rivalry was, in turn,
undermining Italian lobbying to grab European projects. The smaller weight
of Italian industries compared to their European competitors, the tension
between the scientific and industrial component, combined with European
scepticism about Italy’s privileged relationship with the United States, led
the Italian delegate Carlo Buongiorno to declare during the Blue Streak
meeting that he “felt like an ant among elephants” (quoted in Ferrone, 2011:
56–57).

1980s–1990s: Consolidation of the Italian Space

Ecosystem
The 1980s and the 1990s brought a decisive consolidation of the Italian
space ecosystem and a strong – and from that moment on permanent –
alignment between Italian state preferences and the defence and aerospace
industry.
In October 1979, the Comitato Interministeriale per la Programmazione
Economica (CIPE) approved the first national space plan (Piano Spaziale
Nazionale - PSN) for 1979–1983, which allocated 200 billion lire (roughly
100 billion euros) for basic space research and space telecommunications
(De Maria, Orlando, and Pigliacelli, 2003: 28). The plan had, as observed
by the head of PSN Luciano Guerrero, the dual objective of coordinating a
more consolidated industrial base and improving Italy’s lobbying within
ESA. First, Selenia Spazio was created in 1983, with shareholdings by
Selenia, Aeritalia and Italtel (Felice, 2010: 619). In 1990, the constant
collaboration in national and European projects led to the merger of
Aeritalia and Selenia, and the birth of Alenia Spazio, the first Italian
national champion in the field of space industrial production. The company
– controlled by the state-owned Finmeccanica (now Leonardo) – brought
together the best of the country’s existing space capabilities, apart from
propulsion (which remained with Fiat-Avio). As noted by De Maria, the
creation of Alenia Spazio “resulted in a more balanced Italian participation
in the successive European programmes, notwithstanding the fact that
Alenia Spazio’s size always remained inferior to those of its French and
German counterparts” (quoted in De Maria, Orlando, and Pigliacelli, 2003:
27). The PSN also envisaged the launch of two large domestic programmes:
the IRIS launcher (later replaced by the Vega), which would make Italy a
competitor for medium-small launchers to the larger French (Ariane) and
US (Scout) programmes. The second project was ITALSAT, which served
as a continuation of the SIRIO programme, and was developed domestically
after the rejection in the negotiation phase of the Italian proposal to develop
SIRIO-2 with ESA partners.
Secondly, political and industrial representatives were planning the
creation of the ASI, with the aim of coordinating a strategic vision of space
programmes and guaranteeing greater industrial returns within the ESA.
The management of the ASI was characterised by intense inter-institutional
rivalry. The Italian space policy was in fact originally structured along two
lines, with the Ministry of Research controlling the ESA part and CERN
coordinating the national part (including the PSN) (Reibaldi, 1996). As
noted by Landoni, however, both the Ministry of Research and the
Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche (CNR) were deemed to be too centralist
and bureaucratic, and a new public agency was needed to ensure not only
technical and scientific expertise but also a managerial approach of liason
with the industry (Landoni, 2015: 35). In 1988, after a long negotiation,
ASI was established with the objective of maintaining the competitiveness
of the Italian industrial sector. Given ASI’s pre-eminence in managing
Italian space policy, the Office of Space activities within the Ministry of
Research was closed in 1992.
The consolidation of the Italian industrial and institutional ecosystem
took place in a period of intense relaunch of European cooperation. The
1986 ESA ministerial conference in The Hague announced the Ariane 5
launcher, the Hermes spaceplane, the Columbus research module and the
DRS72 global data collection and transmission satellite. Italy had important
industrial stakes in these projects, especially for the development of
aeronautical technologies (for Alenia Spazio) and propulsion (for Fiat Avio)
in the Ariane and Hermes projects. For the DRS data transmission satellite
system, the Italians acted as the prime contractor (Landoni, 2015: 39). The
report drawn up by the Italian Research Minister on his return from the
Hague conference stressed the need to prevent Italian industry from finding
itself in a “subordinate position to France and Germany, thus lacking real
competitiveness in strategic sectors”.5 Italian space policy in the 1980s also
maintained the privileged relationship with NASA, consolidated through
the fruitful collaboration on the San Marco satellite. Luciano Guerrero and
Carlo Buongiorno, respectively President and general director of ASI,
travelled extensively to the United States to consolidate the bilateral
relationship (Ferrone, 2011). In that period, Italy developed in collaboration
with NASA the Tethered project, a satellite for research on ionosphere,
which was later included in the STS-75 Space Shuttle mission (De Maria,
Orlando, and Pigliacelli, 2003: 28).
The consolidation of the Italian ecosystem was starting to bear fruit. The
coefficient of geographical return remained below the level of 1 (equality)
up to 1988, with a minimum of 0.80 in 1980–1981, but began to climb in
the 90s (De Maria, Orlando, and Pigliacelli, 2003: 27). At the 1995 ESA
meeting in Toulouse, the Italian and French ministries reached a bilateral
agreement to overcome juste retour problems in some important projects,
including Italy’s holding 15% in Ariane, 25% of Columbus and 15% of
Hermes (Suzuki, 2004: 127). By the mid-1990s, the Italian space industry
had caught up with and surpassed the UK industry in terms of number of
employees and turnover and was progressively approaching German levels
(Landoni, 2015: 149). In 1997, ASI developed its first national space
strategic plan and aimed to play a more decisive role in Europe. At that
time, Italy also engaged in lengthy and successful negotiations with
Germany to elect Antonio Rodotà, a Finmeccanica executive, as head of the
ESA.
The relaunch of space in Europe through major investments did not,
however, eliminate the structural tension between European efficiency and
domestic autonomy that characterise European space cooperation. In the
late 1990s, ESA, ASI and CNES issued a position paper to reform the
governance of ESA, denouncing the inefficiencies of juste retour and the
veto power of smaller countries (Cheli and Schrogl, 1999). The problems in
European space cooperation were also linked to the different European
positions’ vis-à-vis the United States. The NASA had in fact proposed to
the Europeans to participate in the International Space Station, provoking a
favourable reaction from Rome and Berlin and a cold reaction from Paris.
The French were particularly concerned that the privileged relationship
between Italy and the United States could damage European cooperation.
As expressed explicitly by ESA Director General Jean Marie Luton, there
was “a political problem that Italy has to solve between the United States
and Europe” (quoted in Caprara, 2012: 594; author’s translation).

2000s–2010s: Opportunities and Challenges of

European Space Autonomy
The early 2000s were characterised by a growing military focus on space.
The transformation of European armed forces from the protection of
national territories to expeditionary out-of-area operations required greater
integration of force structures through satellite communications (Borrini,
2006). In 2001, Italy launched its first military telecommunications satellite
(SICRAL I), built by the SiTAB consortium: Alenia Spazio (70%) was
responsible for the satellite and systems integration, Avio (20%) for
propulsion, and Telespazio (10%) for management and control. In the
2000s, the COSMO SKY-MED (Constellation of Small Satellites for the
Mediterranean basin Observation) project was the first satellite
constellation devoted to the earth’s observation for both civil and military
purposes (Borrini, 2006). The project consists of four Italian X-band radar
satellites and two French optical satellites (PLEAIDES).6
The most important project of European cooperation in space is Galileo,
a civil satellite navigation and positioning system. The project stemmed
from the willingness to find an alternative to the US Global Positioning
System (GPS), whose integration into European armed forces had created
problems during operations in the Balkans (Salomon, 1999). The project
was also strongly supported by European companies, which feared
increased competition in this area, since the European market share in
satellite navigation in the late 1990s was only around 15% of the European
market and 5% of the global market (Lembke, 2003: 262). Italy was a
staunch supporter of Galileo, initiated during the Italian presidency of the
European Council. Italian policymakers also shared with France the idea
that Galileo was strategically important for peacekeeping and peace
enforcement operations in the Mediterranean (CEMISS, 2005). However,
the Italian position collided with Germany over project leadership. Rome
based its claim to the leadership by pointing out that it had never received a
leading role in past prestigious ESA programs (Lindstrom and Gasparini,
2003: 17). Germany based its claim on the fact that Berlin contributed the
most to ESA. After multiple high-level negotiations between Berlusconi
and Schröder, the dispute was finally resolved in May 2003 when it was
agreed that Germany, Italy, the UK, and France would each receive a 17.3%
and Spain would get 10.3% of Galileo work-share (Lembke, 2003: 260–
262).
The Italian industry was, in that period, preparing the ground for further
market consolidation. The European aerospace industry had to cope with
greater technological complexity and higher costs, a globalised market and
competition from US giants. It was therefore imperative for the leadership
of Finmeccanica, which had also taken over Telespazio, to look for a
partner for Alenia Spazio. There were three alternatives: first, a proposal by
the pan-European group EADS (now Airbus Group) to merge Alenia
Spazio with Astrium; second, there was the possibility of merging Alenia
Spazio with the smaller French group Alcatel; finally, there were bids from
American companies, especially from Boeing. The latter option was
rejected because it would have created discontent within ESA, as a major
European company would have ended up in American hands. The first
option was also abandoned for fear of being marginalised with a minority
share in the pan-European group (Felice, 2010: 617). In the end,
Finmeccanica’s management opted for Alcatel, through two different joint
ventures: Alcatel Alenia Space, in which Alcatel had 67% and
Finmeccanica 33%; and Telespazio with reversed shareholding. In 2007,
since Alcatel made over the space portfolio to Thales, the joint venture was
renamed Thales Alenia Space. The agreement with Alcatel allowed
Finmeccanica to retain veto rights and to maintain an ownership structure
with state participation (an option possible with the French, but considered
more difficult with Anglo-American groups) (Landoni, 2015: 155).
The period between 2000 and 2020 was also characterised by a gradual
EU intervention in space policy. The European Commission issued the
“White Paper on Space Policy” in 2003 and the communication on the
“European Space Policy” in 2007, which focused on the importance of a
competitive space industry and laid the foundations for EU-ESA future
agreements. Since 2006, there has been a wide-ranging debate among the
European Commission, ESA and the European Defence Agency,
culminating in 2011 with the results of a Joint Task Force that identified
critical space capabilities that are strategic to the EU’s technology supply. In
this context, the management of Galileo was a real watershed, given the
need for collaborative arrangements between ESA and the European
Commission. As noted by Jean-Jacques Dordain, ESA’s Director General
from 2003 to 2015, harmonising with European standards represented a
“headache for the ESA member states accustomed to receive industrial
activities proportional to their contributions” (quoted in Lambright, 2016:
509).
 European space policy represents both an opportunity and a challenge
for Italy. Greater coordination between the state and industry has definitely
benefited Italian industry. As noted by former ASI President Roberto
Battiston, Italy has registered a 4% positive return from its contribution to
the EU space budget and a 1.2% positive return from ESA programmes.
Recently, after the ESA ministerial council in Sevilla (November 2019),
Italy received projects worth around 800 million euros with two major
missions, Rose-L and Cimr (Copernicus Imaging Microwave Radiometer),
both with Thales Alenia Space as prime contractor. ESA has also endorsed
the project for an Italian small-to-medium size launcher. The VEGA project
foresees Italian leadership with Avio (65%), and a participation of other
European countries, including France at 12.43% (ESA, 2021).
However, the opportunities are combined with the inevitable challenges
of European space cooperation. First, Italy still has some difficulties in
coordinating its own domestic preferences in Europe, as witnessed by
Italy’s double candidacy for the ESA leadership in 2020, which then went
to an Austrian candidate, Josef Aschbacher (Pioppi, 2020). Second, there is
the ever-present question of Italy’s position in the European context
dominated by French (and to a lesser extent German) industry. Italy has, for
instance, an interest in preserving European attention to the VEGA project,
despite acknowledging that European leadership is particularly focused on
the French-led ARIANE launcher. The search for greater integration of
space industrial policy, around the new DG Defence Industry and Space,
could therefore lead to an increasingly concentrated European market and
less margin for manoeuvres for Italian industry’s niche capabilities.

Conclusions
This chapter employed the LI framework to investigate Italian space policy
and its preferences in the European context. The analysis showed that both
Italian and European space policies have been characterised by an initial
leading role played by scientists which, however, has gradually been
replaced by industrial rivalry, both between Europe vis-à-vis global players
and within Europe itself. As regards the process of domestic preference
formation, the empirical analysis observed a gradual consolidation of the
Italian space ecosystem, both from an institutional (through the
establishment of ASI) and an industrial (through Thales Alenia Space and
Telespazio) point of view. Furthermore, in recent decades, it shows a greater
involvement of EU institutions and the co-existence of intergovernmental
agreements typical of ESA with EU supranational market and industrial
integration.
This chapter highlights two main findings: first, Italian preferences are
subject to a strong influence of industrial motives. This is due both to the
concentrated nature of a technology-intensive market substantially
dependent on public demand and to European cooperation which, since the
creation of the ESA, has rewarded industrial consortia with extensive state
support. Although the military aspect is clearly present in European
cooperation, the empirical analysis does not support the alternative
hypothesis that evokes strategic-military interests as decisive in shaping
domestic preference formation.
Secondly, the Italian position in Europe is characterised by a pragmatic
balance between Europeanism and Atlanticism, between the search for
efficiency through European cooperation and the will to preserve national
autonomy vis-à-vis European partners. In this regard, the relations between
Rome and Washington have served as a useful counterbalance to periods in
which Italy felt disadvantaged vis-à-vis larger and more competitive
European space programmes. The link between space and European market
integration may render this delicate balance increasingly difficult, as Italy
and other medium and small countries are likely to find themselves
constrained by common European rules. The empirical analysis showed
great elements of continuity in the Italian position in Europe, largely
independent from the political colour of the ruling coalition.
The turn towards a more militarised space policy in Europe represents
both an opportunity and a challenge for the Italian political, military and
industrial establishment. On the one hand, Italy considers space a
fundamental strategic field in a rapidly changing regional and international
system (Presidency of the Council of Ministers, 2021). Unlike other
countries (such as the United States or France), Italy has not yet established
a military space command, although close formal arrangements among ASI,
the Ministry of Defence and the Army are currently being strengthened
(ASI, 2021). From an industrial point of view, Italian big players are also
well positioned to take advantage of new space-related military contracts at
the national level7 or cooperative and funding European opportunities.8 On
the other hand, this analysis has clearly shown that national objectives do
not always align with those of European partners, in terms of strategic
priorities and resulting military and industry-related implications for the
space sector.
Italian and European activism in space should be also contextualised in a
broader geopolitical scenario. The United States and China have now
identified space as a critical domain for economic, technological and
military purposes. This has created cascading effects that have led European
policymakers to pay greater attention to space. As noted by the ESA
director Josef Aschbacher, “Europe has to realize that if we are not
investing, we will be left out of this race” (quoted in Posaner, 2021). In
addition, the entry of new private actors into the space industry, including
the famous examples of Elon Musk’s Space X, Jeff Bezos’ Blue Origin and
Richard Branson’s Virgin Galactic, could put further pressure on European
investments. European states and institutions are now in a delicate phase of
regulating the legal and political framework through which the EU and ESA
will co-finance future programmes. Drawing on this work, we can
reasonably expect that future European space ambitions will depend on the
complex equilibrium between the quest for efficiency to compete with
global economic and military actors and the will to preserve some sort of
national autonomy in the unbalanced European context.

Notes
1. The global space economy grew by 6.7 % on average per year between
2005 and 2017, almost twice the 3.5 % average yearly growth of the
global economy (EIB, 2018). According to recent forecasts, the
economic volume of the global space economy could exceed $1
trillion by 2040. See OECD (2020).
2. France, Germany, Italy, UK, Spain and Belgium provide about 90% of
European space industry employment (EIB, 2019).
3. I borrowed this term from the French Annales School of historical
writing, to refer to long-term historical structures. See Holmes (2003).
4. Centre national d’études spatiales/National Centre for Space Studies.
5. Relazione Conferenza Ministeriale dell’ESA (Aja 9–10 November,
1986). Author’s translation.
 6. I taly-France cooperation has not been problems free. During the 2011
intervention in Libya, Italian armed forces struggled to receive satellite
photos from their French counterparts due to different operational
priorities. Italy then decided to buy a spy satellite, Optsat-3000, from
Israel. See Spagnulo (2020: 218).
7. Thales Alenia Space and Telespazio recently won the contract to build
the Sicral 3 secure satellite telecommunications system. See
https://www.telespazio.com/en/press-release-detail/-/detail/sicral-3-pr.
8. For instance, the recently approved PESCO project on “Defence of
Space Assets”. See https://eda.europa.eu/news-and-
events/news/2021/11/16/14-new-pesco-projects-launched-in-boost-for-
european-defence-cooperation.

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8 The Case of Luxembourg
A New Role for the Melians?

Helen Kavvadia

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-11

Thirty years after the end of the Cold War, an observation made in 1945 by
journalist Theodore H. White remains as true as it is timely, that the world is
always “fluid and about to be remade” (White, 1978, p. 224). At present,
numerous important developments are occurring in the EU and the larger
international system in the security context, with new threats, capabilities,
“battlefields,” and players (Kagan, 2008). Against this intricate backdrop, and
amid the reshuffling of the world order, which is mainly being driven by
incumbent actors, including the United States, Russia, and emerging powerful
players, such as China and India, the EU and its member states have been
proactive in securing favorable positions. The EU, although an important political
and economic “pole,” has only recently, since the late 2010s, sought to raise its
security profile, in response to calls for increased “strategic autonomy” and
“European sovereignty” (Billon-Galland & Thomson, 2018; Lippert et al., 2019;
Palacio, 2020). These calls, specifically for strengthening European
independence, self-reliance, and resilience, led to the launch of the Conference on
the Future of Europe (CoFoE) (EU, 2021) in May 2021, which is expected to last
until Spring 2022. The purpose of the conference is to formulate reforms to be
introduced to EU policies and institutions in the medium and long term. The
inter-institutionally shaped priorities for a strategic agenda include, among other
goals, the digital transformation and security of Europe, given that the EU “has
citizens to protect, interests to defend, and values and a rules-based international
order to promote” (CEU, 2021, p. 1). In the wake of the Afghan crisis in 2021,
and following a series of events in recent years that have exposed Europe’s
vulnerability to external shocks, the EU “must reflect, openly and clear-eyed, on a
new stage in collective security and defence capabilities” (CEU, 2021, p. 1).
With security being traditionally determined to a large extent by technological
capabilities, and with space playing currently an increasingly important role
(Haas, 2015) in two key future priority domains—digitalization and defense—the
EU is actively seeking to raise its profile as a space-faring actor, in order to reap
dual-use opportunities. In parallel to concerted endeavors being made at the EU
level, some of its large member states are also implementing national policies for
increasing the dual-use spill-overs of space technology. Some states, such as
Germany, are actively pursuing space militarization in the sense of employing
space-based capabilities for terrestrial military purposes, while others, such as
France, appear willing to prepare for space weaponization involving the
projection of destructive mass or energy forces from, into, or through space by
creating the French Space Command in 2019 (Pasco, 2019).
As the vast majority of EU member states are small, it is interesting to
examine whether “the strong do what they have the power to do and the weak
accept what they have to accept” (Thucydides, 1972, p. 89). Are small EU states
content to act as security consumers (Archer, 2016; Schweller, 1994), following
larger powers, or do they develop their own space-related ambitions for becoming
security contributors (Huntley, 2007)? Academic interest in both space
militarization and the role of small states at the global level has been increasing.
The nexus of these two research areas remains, however, under-researched and is
as such addressed in the present chapter. The chapter focuses on the European
context by examining the role of small EU states in the militarization of space,
focusing specifically on the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg as a case study. Given
the divergent definitions of small states and the lack of a widely accepted set of
criteria to demarcate them (Enrikson, 2001), this chapter adopts geographical size
as the essential parameter for defining small states (Baker Fox, 1969).
Luxembourg is an interesting case study because, notwithstanding its small
size, it has been at the forefront of space development (Nikam, 2019). This is
because of the country’s efforts to diversify its quasi-mono-sectoral economic
model, which is predominantly reliant on the finance sector. Consequently,
Luxembourg has strategically “embraced” space as an overarching sector, leading
to comprehensive, state-of-the-art technological developments in digitalization
and industry 4.0 (LG, 2020a; Rifkin, 2011). In this vein, Luxembourg was the
first EU country, and the second worldwide after the United States, to elaborate a
lex specialis governing the use of outer space resources (LSA, 2017) while
working in parallel to systematically create an environment conducive to the
cultivation and development of vibrant technological, financial, and academic
space-related ecosystems. Additionally, as explained in a following section, the
Grand Duchy has been exploiting dual-use space capabilities to expand into space
militarization applications, mainly in the reconnaissance, Earth observation, and
communications fields. What rational interests have motivated a small country
like Luxembourg, which enjoys a “pampered” security environment—namely,
being located in central western Europe and being a member of Euro-Atlantic
institutions—to make overtures toward space militarization? This question is
particularly compelling as Luxembourg’s development of defense capabilities
seems prima facie unattainable or even futile due to the country’s inability to
achieve security autonomy given its size. Furthermore, Luxembourg does not
need such autonomy thanks to its many alliances with larger powers. That said,
through space militarization, Luxembourg can compensate for its finite
conventional capabilities, which are obviously restricted by its small geographic
size. Indeed, space militarization would enable Luxembourg to transcend its size
limitations by flexing its economic and technological potential, allowing the
nation to effectively punch above its weight (Frentz, 2010; Harmsen &
Högenauer, 2021; Huberty, 2011; Nikam, 2019; Stiles, 2018). In this line of
argumentation, this chapter focuses on the hypothesis that Luxembourg employs
its hard-power space capabilities as a strategic asset to maximize its soft power.
Testing this hypothesis with Luxembourg as a case study can be of interest to
academics and practitioners alike, including decision-makers in the political and
private sector spheres, by providing insights into the nature, impact, and interplay
of different powers and actors. This approach therefore contributes to deciphering
the emerging competitive multi-polar system in the militarized space domain. In
contrast to the main body of research, which primarily focuses on space
militarization by larger actors (Burger & Bordacchini, 2019; Haas, 2015; Huntley,
2007; Papadimitriou et al., 2019; Peter, 2009), this chapter concentrates on small
states. This emphasis is important, namely because, in periods of reconfiguration
and fluidity at the global level, with disruptive technological advancements
occurring in the space security domain, smaller countries must frame their
environment and seek to adjust and reposition themselves within the international
arena. Furthermore, the study of small states offers comprehensive insights “into
the nature of political power in space lacking in the outlooks of larger states, and
useful to both the development of an adequate theory of space power and to the
satisfaction of individual countries’ security needs” (Huntley, 2007, p. 239).
To extend the currently limited scholarly work on space policies followed by
small countries, of which small European states have received a mere fraction of
research interest (Al Rashedi et al., 2020; Huntley, 2007; Jermalavičius &
Lellsaar, 2013; Johnson & Levite, 2003; Paikowsky & Ben Israel, 2009; Sagath et
al., 2018; Saperstein, 2021; Tziortzis, 2020), this chapter addresses the research
question from a structural realist perspective. Additionally, this chapter responds
to calls to better understand “smaller states’ outlooks [as they can] be helpful in
building a more general space power theory” (Huntley, 2007, pp. 252–253), this
chapter addresses the research question from a structural realist perspective.
Complementing the literature on the legal and commercialization aspects of
Luxembourg’s space development, the chapter seeks to reveal the nation’s
rational interests by analyzing, through a light discourse analysis, primary official
documentation of Luxembourg and of European institutions, as well as secondary
sources, including scholarly works on space-related topics. In addition, given the
absence of scholarly literature on Luxembourg’s space militarization endeavors,
press articles are employed as a stocktaking method.
This chapter claims that to advance into space militarization, Luxembourg has
used the dual-use features of space technology to gain dual-power benefits. While
certainly serving its military aims, Luxembourg has relied more on expanding its
soft-power gains. Although the strengthening of hard power for the purpose of
enhancing soft power appears antithetical, it is refuted by the analytical finding
that hard and soft powers are not incompatible at all as they benefit and reinforce
each other. Luxembourg has skillfully converted its militarization from a hard-
power, material-related, and cost-implying activity to one that is revenue-
generating, intangible, and soft-power engendering (Gray, 2011; Hrozensky,
2016; Lambakis, 2001; Pollpeter, 2008). This is because Luxembourg acts as an
anchor customer and a moderator for the development of both military and
civilian capabilities (Chong & Maass, 2010), building on the political, regulatory,
and financial environment of its space sector. The perpetual interactive feedback
between the activities of both sides of the space sector, i.e., its dual nature, creates
hard power through military prowess and assets, as well as soft power by
furthering economic and technological growth (Nye, 2004; Telò, 2006). As a
supplement, through its economic achievements, Luxembourg has strengthened
its prestige in techno-nationalistic terms (Carr, 1939; Johnson-Freese, 2007; de
Montluc, 2009; Morgenthau, 1960) and influence (Boulding, 1989; Gray, 2011;
Kelin, 2006; Long, 2017; Saperstein & Cera, 2021; Sheehan, 2007). In a period of
intensive fermentation concerning space-related issues and major changes in the
international order, and as a member of the space-farers’ “club,” Luxembourg has
gained an elevated position and enhanced clout.
The rest of this chapter is organized as follows: The next section outlines the
theoretical framework after which, in the subsequent section, Luxembourg’s
space militarization activities and capabilities are described. Next, the research
question is addressed, followed, in the last section, by a presentation of the major
findings and conclusions.
Scaling Up Soft Power through the Strengthening of
Hard Power. An Oxymoron?
The currently observed militarization of space can be ascribed to an emerging
multi-polarity, one which is provoking a series of structural changes in the world
order. Within the anarchic structure of the international order, multiple players are
being confronted with new security dilemmas (Booth & Wheeler, 2007) and the
imperative to adjust their capabilities for the purpose of strengthening their
offensive and defensive power. This transformative process primarily concerns
large and middle-sized powers, but not solely. Arguably, smaller countries cannot
aspire to self-sufficiency and well-rounded security. In the spirit of self-
preservation, they tend to become security consumers beholden to more powerful
countries and preoccupied with the formation and consolidation of alliances with
these nations (Baker Fox, 1969; Mastanduno, 1998), mainly as shelter-seekers
(Bailes et al., 2016; Thorhallsson, 2011). Their “bandwagoning” implies their
“rent-paying” contribution to common security in terms of both material and
intangible, as well as financial, means. In this sense, a small country, such as
Luxembourg, has the obligation to meet international commitments resulting
from its participation in the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and
membership in the EU. In this vein, Luxembourg has developed security
initiatives that, instead of enhancing conventional capabilities, privilege space
militarization. The central question in this regard is why Luxembourg has opted
for space militarization.
To answer this question, structural realism (Waltz, 1979) can be deployed as a
useful lens for explaining state and interstate behaviors across different countries
of variable sizes. States are typically viewed as “like units,” irrespective of their
size and domestic regime, within an anarchical international order, within which
they function similarly, despite their differentiated capabilities. Particularly
concerning space issues, the interests of all states are driven by the “unity of the
domain,” which creates an equivalence, despite the “stark asymmetries [and
capabilities grounded in] the magnified importance of scientific and technological
prowess” (Huntley, 2007, p. 255). In these terms, “from a political perspective, it
is this narrowing gap between aspiration and what is feasible in space which
makes space policies so intriguing” (Hoerber, 2009, p. 412). Additionally, the
analytical approach of structural realism purports to explaining national and
international behaviors in a “realistic” way, avoiding the subjection of research
results to normative standards. This renders the results of case studies replicable
and generalizable to other entities, independently of political regime types, levels
of interdependencies, and the reliance of multilateral institutions on “hard law.”
The core insight of structural realism is that states develop their foreign policies
in the interest of self-preservation and power, which, collectively, shape the
international order, consequently associating structural realism with rational
theory (Glaser, 2010). Despite acrimonious disputes over its definition, “power”
is widely considered the ability to direct the decisions and actions of others in the
interest of one’s own interests and intentions (Georgiou, 2008; Nye, 2002; Riker,
1964; Weber, 2012; Wrong, 2017). Although structural realism does not consider
states to be rational decision-makers stricto sensu, it does claim that states that do
not respond rationally to systemic imperatives suffer adverse consequences.
Whether rational or reasonable (Brown, 2012), states always act in their own self-
interest (Kahler, 1998; Shadunts, 2016), an assertion that can be viewed as the
underlying principle of the rational actor model (RAM), one of Allison’s three
frameworks of foreign policy analysis (Allison & Zelikow, 1999). Whether
through domination or moderate activism, both of which are concepts integral to
structural realism, both offensive (Brown et al., 2004; Elman, 2004; Gilpin, 1981;
Mearsheimer, 1990) and defensive (Grieco, 1990; Jervis, 1978; Van Evera, 1998;
Walt, 1987; Waltz, 1979) realism regard power and interest as the most important
determinants of state behavior, shaping, among other phenomena, security issues.
However, “one distinction between these two versions of realism is … whether
[the anarchic ordering system] encourages states to maximize their security or to
maximize their power and influence” (Lobell, 2017, p. 1). Grounded in one of the
generic definitions of power, as “the production, in and through social relations,
of effects that shape the capacities of actors to determine their circumstances and
fate” (Barnett & Duvall, 2005, p. 39), the notion of influence is incorporated into
the concept of power. In this sense, it broadens the ways in which power has been
traditionally understood beyond its association with a hard, coercive, and material
nature, principally emphasizing military power (Mearsheimer, 1990; Waltz,
1979).
Consequently, the concept of power has evolved to encompass a social,
cooptive, and intangible dimension (Boulding, 1989; Cohen, 2008; Finnemore &
Goldstein, 2013), which Joseph Nye crystallized in 1990 into what later became
known as “soft power” (Nye, 1990a). Initially, Nye repudiated realists’ views
(Nye, 1990b), despite having drawn upon their understanding of power (Digester,
1992). Nye rejected realism notwithstanding the acknowledgment by Kenneth
Waltz, the originator of structuralist realist theory, that states actors should not
rely solely on material power (Waltz, 1979) and despite the neorealist concept of
latent power, which recognizes the socio-economic ingredients of hard power
(Mearsheimer, 2016). For several scholars, therefore, “the traditional distinction
between hard power and soft power is not entirely persuasive” (Treverton &
Jones, 2005, p. xi). While remaining loyal to the cooptive principle of soft power,
as a means of “getting others to want what you want… [which is associated] with
intangible power resources such as culture, ideology, and institutions” (Nye,
1990b, p. 167), Nye ultimately recognized that soft power is one of the three
sources of power—military, economic, and soft—that actors employ to different
degrees, and in different proportions, to accomplish their goals (Nye, 2004),
ultimately culminating in Nye’s self-characterization as a “liberal realist” (Dario,
2020). Nye’s notion of soft power was further concretized under mounting
criticism concerning the lack of a theoretical framework (Bakalov, 2019; De
Martino, 2020; Lee, 2009) and the absence of adequate analytical tools and
operationalization mechanisms. Thereafter, the concept evolved beyond “the
attractiveness of a country’s culture, political ideals, and policies” (Nye, 2004, p.
x) to progressively encompass additional dimensions, such as influence and the
projection of national power (Harris, 2018), standing, reputation, prestige, and
national pride (Krige, 2007; Lee, 2011; Luzin, 2013), influence (De Martino,
2020; Harris, 2018; Lee, 2011; McClory, 2010), leadership (Lee, 2009; Nye,
2017), and information and technology (Lee, 2009; Nye, 2014). Whereas
economic strength is not necessarily paired with soft power, as it can be
converted into hard or soft power (Nye, 2006), it can be seen as a dimension of
soft power, inasmuch as it relies on economic resources, while also being
instrumental for economic gains (Carminati, 2021), as actors can “woo [other
actors] with wealth” (Nye, 2006). Although “the critical distinguishing factor [of
soft power and hard power is] coercion versus attraction … it is appropriate to
regard the two kinds of power as mutual enablers” (Gray, 2011, p. ix) and as
complementary (Al-Rodhan, 2019; Nye, 2004) types of power involving “broad
national interests that include political, strategic and economic dimensions”
(Melissen et al., 2011, p. 4). This is because soft power “can be as important as
the exercise of hard power to achieve a nation’s desired objectives” (Lee, 2011, p.
11).
With the potential for the dual use of military and civilian applications, space
exemplifies the complementarity of the two types of power and, thereby,
constitutes an arena at their nexus (Huntington, 1996; Luzin, 2013; Peter, 2009).
Employed by “different actors at different degrees [and] in different
relationships” (Nye, 2004, p. 30), the two types of power leave unique and
individual footprints in space policies. In this manner, states can be viewed as
occupying any place along a continuum from pure soft power at one end to pure
hard power on the other (Bakalov, 2019; Fan, 2008; Gallarotti, 2011; Rothman,
2011). Ultimately, where a state is positioned on this continuum, as well as the
footprint it leaves with its space policy, depends to a large extent on its size, with
smaller states tending to opt for soft power methods to achieve their general
strategic imperatives (Gray, 2011; Lee, 2011; Treverton & Jones, 2005), as well
as those more concretely related to space issues. Approaching the militarization
of space through a lens that includes considerations of both hard and soft powers
extends the scope of research in this domain to embrace the totality of the concept
of power, while concentrating the research focus on a small country broadens the
analysis to incorporate both small and middle powers, which constitute the
majority of nations not just in the EU but worldwide (Bilgin & Elis, 2008).

Toward a Space Odyssey or a Space Iliad?

Luxembourg joined the space-faring nations in 1985 through the establishment of
the Société Européenne des Satellites (SES), a satellite and terrestrial
telecommunications network provider, during the third space development cycle,
characterized globally by, among other elements, an increased focus on
commercial telecommunications (OECD, 2019). Luxembourg’s space endeavors
have been characterized as an “odyssey” (PWC, 2017). Through brief and
targeted stocktaking, and via an analysis of space development in Luxembourg,
this section seeks to determine whether the country’s space endeavors can be best
characterized as an Odyssey or an Iliad, in the sense that, while the Odyssey is the
story of a journey and a discovery, the Iliad is an epic tale of achievements on the
battlefield. The first concerns the civial use, while the second the militarization of
space.
Established by the initiative and support of the Luxembourg government
(Higgins, 2007, p. 468), the SES has developed into a major telecommunications
satellite network operator, with the state remaining a primary shareholder, making
a direct capital injection of 11.6% and a supplementary injection of 21.73%
through two public lenders, giving the state a total share of 33.33%. In 2016, in
an effort to replicate the success of the SES, Luxembourg launched a fresh
impetus, NewSpace, through the SpaceResources.lu initiative, positioning the
country as the European hub of space resource utilization (Brennan, 2019;
Machuron, 2022). To regulate this new space-related realm, Luxembourg adopted
a legal framework for the exploration and use of space resources, safeguarding
the rights of private operators and thereby gaining international attention (LSA,
2017). Through concerted efforts, Luxembourg promoted the development of the
space sector as a “strategic decision” (Machuron, 2022). Consequently,
Luxembourg’s industrial policy is aimed at leveraging the space sector, both
upstream and downstream, and encompasses research, education, the production
of assets and services, as well as finance, “using the same model which caused
the financial sector boom” (Sheetz, 2017, p. 1). For this purpose, the Grand
Duchy launched the Luxembourg Space Agency (LSA) in 2018 as a coordination
hub, which, contrary to other national space agencies, does not conduct research
or launch space missions. Rather, the LSA manages national space programs and
acts as a facilitator with the mission to accelerate the emerging innovation-
oriented businesses (LSA, 2019). Via the country’s space ecosystem, the LSA
promotes the vertically integrated production of space assets and the horizontal
diversification of space activities by public and private stakeholders (LG, 2018).
As with the SES, Luxembourg continues to collaborate directly with companies
of particular importance, as in the more recent case of Euro-Composites S.A., in
which it participates directly and indirectly to produce composite materials for the
aerospace, satellite, rail, and maritime sectors (LG, 2019b). Furthermore, in order
to attract foreign investment, talent, and clout, Luxembourg “showcases” its
space ecosystem at an international level through economic missions,
participation in major international events, such as the International Astronautical
Congress, and the organization of yearly events, including “New Space Europe”
and the “Space Forum.” As a result of such concerted space promotion efforts and
due to “strong public support” (Sheetz, 2017, p. 1), in 2019, the space industry
represented 2% of Luxembourg’s GDP (Trouillez, 2019), with about 70
companies and research bodies listed in the space directory in 2021 (Machuron,
2022).
To increase the space industry’s GDP share to 5% in the next ten years
(Sheetz, 2017), Luxembourg has implemented a space industrial policy (LSA,
2019) based on four pillars: (i) expertise development through the state’s anchor
customer activity, for spurring sectoral growth through technological
development and the expansion of national players beyond its borders via a
specialized program (LuxIMPULSE) implemented in partnership with the
European Space Agency (ESA), of which Luxembourg has been a member since
2005; (ii) innovation promotion through the establishment of the European Space
Resources Innovation Centre as a center of expertise in space-related scientific,
technical, business, and economic domains ultimately aimed at human and
robotic exploration and utilization of space resources (LG, 2021a); (iii) the
acquisition and cultivation of skills and expertise through postgraduate
interdisciplinary education at the University of Luxembourg (LG, 2019a); and
(iv) funding aimed at bolstering start-ups and early-stage companies through the
venture capital investment fund Orbital Ventures, in which Luxembourg has
invested “an undisclosed amount” (Foust, 2020) in its capital of USD 140 million
(LG, 2021b).
Internationally, Luxembourg projects the civil dimensions of its space
capabilities through advertorials that present the country as a “trailblazer on the
international space […] thrilled to join forces with entrepreneurs, businesses,
agencies and investors to bring forward the NewSpace industry in general and the
space resources utilization sector in particular” (Luxinnovation, 2021, p. 1).
Nonetheless, in parallel to this projection, the military use of its space sector has
been scaling up, placing Luxembourg among the 12 EU states engaged in space
militarization activities and defensive space programs (de Montluc, 2012). In line
with the international trend of public–private partnerships in some critical areas
of space applications (Anderson, 2020), Luxembourg’s militarization of its space
sector is occurring both directly and indirectly through official and unofficial
channels as well as upstream and downstream developments at the national,
European, and international levels within its overall space sector framework, as
depicted in Figure 8.1.
Directly, and as part of its defense strategy, Luxembourg promotes:

Developing expertise and capabilities in the future oriented areas of ‘space’

and ‘cyber defense’ in order to meet the need for surveillance,
communications and data link capabilities, but also the need for data storage
and analysis capabilities, [in order] to enhance the safety of […] military
personnel, particularly on deployments.
(LG, 2017, p. 7)
 Figure 8.1 Luxembourg's Space Sector Framework.
Source: Author’s elaboration.

For this purpose, in 2018, Luxembourg established, with SES, GovSat, a joint
venture providing end-to-end encryption of satellite communication (satcom)
services. With applications in areas, such as connectivity for theaters of operation,
border control, and intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) (GovSat,
2022), GovSat addresses defense customers, including governments, such as
those of Belgium and the United States (Oglesby, 2021b), as well as institutional
users, such as NATO, for its forces in Afghanistan (Nikam, 2019), and the United
Nations (UN), for its stabilization mission in Mali (Bauldry, 2020). Additionally,
also in 2018, Luxembourg began developing public space military assets, such as
the Earth observation satellite LUXEOSys, which has been viewed with “great
interest” (Schnuer, 2021b, p. 1) by Luxembourg’s allies, including the EU, the
UN, and NATO. The LUXEOSys program was created by law in 2018,
authorizing the government to acquire, launch, and operate a satellite and its
ground segment for the stated purpose of Earth observation. However, the project
was hampered by several shortcomings in its design, as the army “did not have
the infrastructure” (Oglesby, 2021a, p. 1), or because of “miscommunication”
(Schnuer, 2020a, p. 1), or even due to “blantant amateurism” (Schnuer, 2020c, p.
1). As a result, LUXEOSys experienced cost overruns of 82%, from its initial
budget of EUR 170 million to nearly EUR 309 million as re-estimated in 2020
(Schnuer, 2020a). Nonetheless, interest in the system has been expressed by the
US Space Force (Schnuer, 2021a). While the cost overruns of the project are
under investigation by the Court of Auditors for, among other potential fraud,
Luxembourg has partnered with LUXEOps, a formal Luxembourg Temporary
Partnership founded by Luxembourg-, Belgium-, and Germany-based enterprises
(LG, 2020c). LUXEOps will assume, on behalf of and under the direction of the
government, end-to-end responsibility for various phases of the LUXEOSys
program, from pre-launch preparation and validation of the ground segment to
24/7 in-orbit operations of the satellite platform and payload to the management
and “exploitation” of imagery.
Indirectly, Luxembourg has ramped up its space militarization first through its
private sector activities. Starting in 2005, the SES, more than a third of which is
state-owned, has led the way as a provider of connectivity solutions and services
“to governments all over the globe, and in particular, the US Government and
military” (SES, 2022, p. 1). The government segment, concerning civilian and
defense-related applications serving 30 countries, 15 agencies, and more than 60
organizations, including NATO and the UN, underwent considerable growth. As
one of the world’s leading fixed-satellite service operators (Venet, 2011) of a
growing constellation of medium Earth orbit (MEO)-geosynchronous equatorial
orbit satellites for ISR, the SES’s government sector constituted 38% of the group
revenues of the SES in 2020 (SES, 2021a, p. 22), up from 12% in 2017 (SES
2018a, p. 22). The United States, which is responsible for 60% of the activities of
the SES’s government sector, is served mainly through an SES-wholly owned
US-based branch, the Government Solutions (SES GS), which “supports the US
Army in conducting a series of cutting-edge trials and testing of commercial
satellite constellations [mainly because] MEO satellites are unique in their
capabilities and SES operates the world’s only commercial MEO satellite
constellation” (Ombredane, 2021, p. 1). The SES’s cooperation with the United
States for military operations has been strengthened further, both upstream and
downstream, through a number of initiatives. Examples of these initiatives
include contractual cooperation with the US Air Force Research Laboratory to
produce terminals capable of military access to the O3b constellation, a satellite-
based communications system (Gerhardstein, 2020), and the Hydra platform,
which permits the provision of customizable situational awareness information in
real time (SES, 2021b). Another Luxembourg company, established in 2017,
Kleos Space S.A. (Kleos), provides Luxembourg with “meaningful capacities for
[its] defence but also society” (Schnuer, 2020b, p.1) as an artificial intelligence
(AI)-enabled radio frequency reconnaissance provider of data as a service for
global intelligence and geolocation. With three of the four planned nanosatellite
clusters scheduled for launch by the middle of 2022, Kleos will monitor key
areas, such as the Strait of Hormuz, the South China Sea, and the arctic and
Antarctic regions. With plans to establish a constellation of 20 such clusters in the
long term (Schnuer, 2020b), Kleos will provide services to the Japanese military
for the identification of illicit activities in territorial and international waters (AA,
2021), which could evolve into “offensive concepts for an AI-enabled
battlespace” (Layton, 2021, p. 1). Kleos cooperates with another Luxembourg-
based company, Spire Global Inc. (Spire), which operates in the same fashion.
With an AI-enabled constellation of roughly 90 nanosatellites and space-to-cloud
analytics, covering approximately the same areas as those monitored by Kleos,
Spire is cooperating with the Australian Government’s Office of National
Intelligence (Spire, 2022) and Japan to implement a space-based Automatic
Dependent Surveillance–Broadcast surveillance system to generate data
specifically tailored for improving the global tracking of aircraft (Spire, 2018).
Second, being committed to and actively supporting multilateralism (Harmsen
& Högenauer, 2021) and Euro-Atlanticism (LG, 2017), Luxembourg is carrying
out its space militarization activities within EU, European, and multilateral
institutional activity frameworks. Founded “on broader structures” (LG, 2017, p.
24), Luxemburg’s defense apparatus participates in the acquisition and
development of programs for common capabilities, which enable contributions to
the priority requirements of the EU, the ESA, and NATO. The institutional space
militarization activities of the Grand Duchy are channelled through public and/or
private sector entities, mostly in a combined manner. Despite not developing
security programs, unlike other space agencies (Kolckynski, 2018; Papadimitriou
et al., 2019), the LSA coordinates a wide range of institutional activities for
meeting national and allied “critical strategic requirements in the field of
communications and observation” (LG, 2017, p. 38). Since its launch in 2018, the
LSA represents Luxembourg in ESA and EU space-related programs, whilst in
parallel, Luxembourg “participates in the Alliance Ground Surveillance (AGS)
programme” (LG, 2017, p. 38) and actively explores “opportunities in the space
sector, from a European and transatlantic perspective, particularly within the
Wideband Global satellite communications System (WGS) programme” (LG,
2017, p. 42). In the future, the LSA plans to acquire remotely piloted aerial
system capabilities in the service of its ISR mission in order to further strengthen
its “space technologies for communications and observation” (LG, 2017, p. 37)
and accommodate “a NATO programme to protect satellites against harmful
debris and spot hostile activity in space” (Lambert, 2021b, p. 1). In this vein,
Luxembourg participates in ESA programs covering, among other tasks,
navigation and Earth observation and EU dual-use space-related projects,
including global navigation satellite systems (GNSS), such as Galileo, European
Space Surveillance and Tracking, Govsatcom, and Copernicus earth observation.
For managing and operating Galileo’s GNSS, the SES delivers an array of
services (SES, 2018b). The examples above demonstrate Luxembourg’s active
support of the EU’s Global Strategy for security and its contributions “to the
measures and structures designed to exploit the full potential of the Treaty of
Lisbon as regards the Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP), particularly
in the context of Permanent Structured Cooperation (PESCO)” (LG, 2017, p. 30).
Third, as part of its defense policy, Luxembourg engages bilaterally with its
allies, which, beyond the United States and Belgium are primarily those countries
labeled “key partners,” namely, neighboring France, Germany, and the
Netherlands, with which Luxembourg deploys its military capabilities “almost
exclusively” (LG, 2017, p. 16), incorporating them into joint multinational
groups, of which GovSat constitutes a prime example of the “collective defence
capabilities of [Luxembourg’s] allies” (Pultarova, 2017, p. 1). Furthermore, from
a global perspective, Luxembourg already provides, and plans to increase its
provision of, dual-use space capabilities in the framework of its official
development assistance (ODA) (Machuron, 2022), as in the case of Burkina Faso.
For improved connectivity, Burkina Faso has partnered with the SES to integrate
its existing terrestrial networks of communications with the dual-use O3b satellite
system (SES, 2019). Such partnerships and commercial approaches typify
Luxembourg’s space development as a mixture of Odyssey-like discoveries and
Iliad-like “epic” strategies.

Evolving from Melians to Athenians?

In the contemporary booming space sector, Luxembourg is seeking to emerge as a
European focal point, one “thrilled to join forces with entrepreneurs, businesses,
agencies and investors to bring forward the NewSpace industry” (Luxinnovation,
2021, p. 1). Departing from—but alongside—the economic domain, which
normally occupies the forefront of the national stage, Luxembourg is
strengthening its space militarization activities, contrary to the usual process,
whereby civilian applications stem from the military use of space capabilities
(Kolovos & Pilaftsis, 2015). Why is a small European state, nestled in multiple
Euro-Atlantic security structures, turning to space militarization? Is it an effort to
escape the fate of small powers, as the more powerful Athenians reminded the
weaker Melians during the Peloponnesian War, more than two millennia ago?
As the context shapes the space priorities of countries (Hoerber, 2009), when
examining the question from a structural-realist perspective, geopolitical
developments, with new actors and new threats, have to be considered. In this
manner, the role of the state as a rational actor pursuing national interests and
power in world politics has been emphasized. To explain Luxembourg’s space
militarization activities, this chapter relied on the RAM, Allison’s trademark
analytical tool, for “recounting the aims and calculations” (Allison & Zelikow,
1999, p. 13) of these activities. The RAM was applied via a contextual approach
to decipher, through a light discourse analysis of official documents and
government public statements, the implications of Luxembourg’s space
militarization activities with reference to the four core concepts of the RAM:
goals and objectives; alternatives; consequences; and choices.
The security context has changed at the global and European levels since the
2009 Treaty of Lisbon, which hastened the EU’s development as a security-policy
actor and imposed trans-Atlantic demands on the EU to assume “more of the
burden for its own defense” (Kolczynski, 2018, p. 214). The new security context
and the allocation of significant EU funding for military space programs
(Kolczynski, 2018) constituted a window of opportunity for Luxembourg to
accomplish its objective of expanding its nascent space industry into the military
realm. This expansion was a strategic choice facilitated by the fact that Étienne
Schneider, the “architect of Luxembourg’s space sector” (SWG, 2020, p. 1), was
the Minister of Defense and the Minister of Economy when “Luxembourg was
looking for ways to diversify its economy and explore new sectoral avenues”
(Carey, 2017, p. 2). An integrated policy as a consequence could serve both
security and the economy (Robinson & Mazzucato, 2019) through the cross-
development of both sides of dual-use space technologies for the purpose of
reaping dual benefits. Alternatively, and in order to meet its 2014 commitment to
NATO to increase its defense efforts and achieve the military spending target of
2% of the GDP by 2020 (LG, 2017), Luxembourg could strengthen its
conventional military capabilities. Nonetheless, the chosen synchronous approach
to developing space militarization and the economy has allowed Luxembourg to
overcome the technological and financial barriers (Wiberg, 1987), often faced by
other small states when pursuing access to space by blending the private sector,
bottom up, with the security sector, top down, jointly developing revenue-
generating civilian uses and cost-implicating military uses. Although in this
manner, Luxembourg increased its defense spending from 0.4% in 2019 to almost
0.6% in 2021, the country remains “a defense laggard” (Dalesio, 2021, p. 1), with
just one-third of the average defense budget in the EU. Even though the Grand
Duchy of Luxembourg plans to increase investment in space capabilities to 0.72%
by 2024 (Lambert, 2021a), the country will still remain well behind in its
commitment.
Space militarization has enabled Luxembourg to strengthen three of its prime
interests:

i. security at the national and alliance levels, in line with its defense policy,
which advocates “capabilities that are relevant in the broadest possible range
of situations” (LG, 2017, p. 38). Space reconnaissance and observation can
be built on their conventional forms, in which Luxembourg has traditionally
specialized, and thereby allow the country “to outgrow its land dimension”
(LG, 2017, p. 37). Furthermore, by primarily embracing “the field of satellite
communications” (LG, 2017, p. 42), space-related ISR capabilities “shadow
technological evolutions that fall within priority areas for Luxembourg, […]
in the domains of military action of intense developments” (LG, 2017, p.
37);
ii. economic growth for defending both “economic prosperity and security
interests” (LG, 2017, p. 12) through “a strategy for industry, innovation and
research in order to involve Luxembourg’s economic fabric in defence
capability building” (LG, 2017, p. 7). Additionally, the country plans its
capability increase and diversification to “be implemented in a resolute and
intelligent manner [in order to] draw on expertise from EU countries” (LG,
2017, p. 25), creating significant growth spill-overs and embedding security
considerations in socio-economic objectives (Karampekios & Oikonomou,
2018);
iii. soft power in the form of image through techno-nationalistic prestige as
“space power has consequences (and profound implications) both
domestically and internationally and gives additional overall national power
to a State” (Peter, 2009, p. 3). In this sense, Luxembourg’s defense policy
goal beyond the 2025 horizon is to make a “visible” (LG, 2017, p. 3) defense
effort in a way that “the evolution of the armed forces […] reflect the image
of [the] country–integrated with the international community, in full
command of modern technology, receptive to research and development and
open to EU citizens” (LG, 2017, p. 37). Despite addressing distinct needs, all
three interests served by Luxembourg’s space militarization converge on the
goal of increasing the country’s soft power: On the one hand, through its
security interests, Luxembourg aims to meet its commitments as a credible
and “reliable” (LG, 2017, p. 49) partner, thereby increasing its voice and
influence within the various Euro-Atlantic security structures, rather than
being security autonomous; on the other hand, economic growth spurs
 Luxembourg’s influence, as space capabilities and innovative technologies
allow the country to participate in setting agendas and standards as a
member of the “club” of space-faring nations. Additionally, space-led
growth can increase the country’s outreach to other countries through
cooperation agreements, ODA, and paradigm setting, especially among
small states.

Luxembourg’s real interests, served through the military use of space, are no
different than those of the United States (Hayden, 2005), albeit having different
footprints on the hard–soft power continuum. Certainly, therefore, Luxembourg’s
capability strengthening and soft power increase cannot transform a small country
into a big player (Haass, 2008). Melians cannot become Athenians through an
upgrade to power or status (Saperstein & Cera, 2021). Yet, viewing power as a
resource (Baldwin, 2002) or in relational terms (Long, 2017; Rothstein, 1968;
Wivel, 2010), Luxembourg’s overall power increases alongside its capacity to
achieve its intended results, especially by “leveraging the ‘soft-power’ dividends
of space programs in foreign policy” (Luzin, 2013, p. 26). As technology trends
increasingly enable access to space capabilities, smaller states become
increasingly dependent on the strategic use of the space domain. Nonetheless in
parallel, new vulnerabilities, dependencies, and risks emerge, as space capabilities
can expand opportunities for collaboration but they can also provoke competition
and potential conflict (Johnson & Levite, 2003).

Conclusions
Important developments in the international system and in the EU include radical
changes in the security context, with new threats, capabilities, “battlefields,” and
players. In the new, fragmented geopolitical structure, power dynamics and new
technologies create windows of opportunity for different actors, especially small
states, such as Luxembourg. Against this backdrop, Luxembourg, which is at the
forefront of space development despite its geographic size, has moved into space
militarization as a corollary to the dual use of its space capabilities. By
strengthening and diversifying its security policy with the addition of a
militarization dimension to its space capabilities, the Grand Duchy of
Luxembourg has strengthened three prime interests—namely, security, economic
growth, and soft power. Increased security through space capabilities not only
allows the country to meet its international commitments vis-à-vis the EU and
NATO but also helps it to consolidate its image as a “reliable partner.” The
economic growth stimulated through space militarization diffuses significant
growth spill-overs serving both economic prosperity and security interests.
Whereas economic might is not necessarily paired with soft power, it can be seen
as one of its dimensions, inasmuch as economic resources bolster the projection
of soft power while generating further economic gains in turn, facilitating and
reinforcing the country’s outreach efforts. Soft power, in the form of visibility,
prestige, standing, reputation, and national pride, has increased Luxembourg’s
influence at the international level. Despite addressing distinct needs, all three
interests served by Luxembourg’s space militarization converge on its goal of
increasing its soft power. In this sense, by increasing its hard power, Luxembourg
has predominantly gained soft power, while in parallel stimulating economic
growth.
Building on its space-enabling environment—including a sophisticated
regulatory framework in this area as well as vibrant technological, financial, and
academic ecosystems—Luxembourg relies to a significant extent on the private
sector for developing its space militarization capabilities, thereby acting as an
anchor customer. Having strategically selected space militarization as the way to
meet its increased international obligations in the future, Luxembourg meets this
objective with limited public spending, having, on the contrary, increased
revenues as a result of the space-generated economic growth. Additionally, by
joining the “club” of space-faring countries, Luxembourg can make use of its
small geographic size to perform a credible partner role, further strengthening its
position and clout in the European and international contexts during the
contemporary era of major changes in the geopolitical order and the intensive
fermentation of space-related issues. Yet, Luxembourg’s augmented militarized
space capabilities and amplified soft power are not sufficient to upgrade its power
in a way that would transform it from a small to a big player, nor can it—at least
as of yet—dispense with “bandwagoning” and shelter-seeking. That said, “Any
particular small state may not be an ‘essential actor’ in the system, but [the
world] would not be the same […] without this class of powers” (Baker Fox,
1969, p. 752).

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Part III
The Global Dimension
9 From Space Situational Awareness to
Space Domain Awareness
Examining Rhetorical and Substantive
Transitions in the U.S. Approach to Space
Security

Mariel Borowitz

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-13

Introduction: U.S. Military Space Activity

For years, the U.S. military has maintained the most advanced space
surveillance system in the world, monitoring the status of human-made
objects in space, and providing data and information to spacecraft operators
around the world to help avoid collisions in space. In 2019, the United
States re-established USSPACECOM and created the U.S. Space Force. In
concert with these organizational changes, the U.S. military announced in
October 2019 that it would adopt the term “SDA,” in place of the
previously used – and broadly accepted – term “SSA” (Erwin 2019).
According to the memo announcing the change, the new terminology was
designed to reflect the shift in focus from space as a benign environment to
space as a warfighting domain. This chapter examines how both the rhetoric
and the substantive approach to SSA/SDA has shifted in recent years,
treating this as an illustrative case study to examine whether there is a trend
toward militarization in U.S. space activities.
The U.S. military has been involved in space activities since before the
first satellite was launched. In its first statement of national policy for outer
space, contained in a 1955 U.S. National Security Council document, the
United States acknowledged the practical and strategic importance of space.
It endorsed the U.S. goal of launching a small satellite as part of the
International Geophysical Year but made clear that this endeavor must not
slow progress on efforts to develop a more advanced reconnaissance
satellite (NSC 1955). In the years following, parallel to the civil efforts
undertaken by NASA, the U.S. military developed numerous types of space
technologies that would support their mission – reconnaissance; early
warning; communication; and positioning, navigation, and timing satellites.
The U.S. military has continued to develop and refine these systems over
the last 60 years.
In addition to satellites designed to support and enhance forces on the
ground, the United States also developed and tested anti-satellite weapons,
a capability designed to deny freedom of action in space to potential
adversaries. By the late 1950s, the United States had already tested multiple
anti-satellite capabilities. U.S. testing of anti-satellite weapons ended in the
1980s, and none were ever used against an adversary’s spacecraft. In 2008,
the United States demonstrated that it still has the capability to destroy a
satellite in orbit through Operation Burnt Frost, which used a modified
ballistic missile to destroy a de-orbiting U.S. military satellite, ostensibly to
avoid the possibility of the spacecraft surviving re-entry and causing
damage on the ground (Weeden and Samson 2021).
To support these activities, and to gain insight into the activities of
others, the United States developed the ability to detect and track satellites,
allowing officials to understand where these objects are and where they will
be in the near future. This SSA capability is particularly interesting, because
it has both a security and a safety aspect. High-quality SSA is required to
carry out attacks on space assets – providing key targeting information.
SSA is also essential to attribution, which improves deterrence –
adversaries are more likely to carry out attacks if their actions cannot be
attributed, and less likely to attack if attribution is likely. However, the
value of SSA data goes beyond military use. This data has become
increasingly important to all satellite operators in order to identify and
avoid accidental collisions. Currently, the U.S. military makes SSA data
available to satellite operators around the world, and while some other
nations and commercial entities operate their own SSA systems, the U.S.
military is widely recognized as the most significant global provider of SSA
data and services.
In 2019, U.S. military space activity underwent a significant
organizational change, with the creation of USSPACECOM in August
2019, and the creation of the U.S. Space Force in December 2019.
USSPACECOM is one of 11 combatant commands. It conducts operations
in, from, and to space. The U.S. Space Force is a new military service,
similar to the Army or Navy. U.S. Space Force organizes, trains, and equips
space forces. Its mission includes “developing Guardians, acquiring
military space systems, maturing the military doctrine for spacepower, and
organizing space forces to present to our Combatant Commands.”(USSF
2022) The creation of these two new organizations has the potential to
change the trajectory of U.S. military space activity, and some fear that it
may lead to increased militarization of space. Perhaps, a signal of such a
change, in the midst of this organizational transition, the U.S. military
announced that it would adopt the term “SDA,” replacing the term “SSA,”
in recognition that space is considered a domain of warfare, just like land,
air, and sea.
This chapter examines the trajectory of U.S. SSA activities, and
particularly the changes that have occurred following the transition to the
term SDA, with the goal of identifying whether this shift in terminology
represents a shift toward increased militarization of space within the United
States. I examine how the rhetoric related to SSA/SDA has changed within
the U.S. military, and to what extent this change is reflected in the
substantive approach to SSA/SDA activities and issues. Does this change in
terminology represent a change in the way the U.S. military views or
approaches the issue of SSA? Is it a sign of increased militarization of
space?

Defining Militarization
Understanding whether “militarization of space” is accelerating requires
that we first understand the meaning of this term. Many authors define
militarization of space simply as the military use of space, and most
acknowledge that by this definition, space has been militarized since the
beginning of the space age. For example, Rosas (1983) noted that already at
that time, space was an important theater for military activities, with an
estimated 75% of satellites in orbit at the time performing military missions
(Rosas 1983: 357). In “The Myths of Space Militarization,” Aldridge
(1984) details the early involvement of the U.S. military in space activities,
showing that military use of space is nothing new (Aldridge Jr 1987).
Other authors, such as Freese and Burbach (2019), use the term
“weaponization of space,” focusing on offensive actions in, and from, space
(Johnson-Freese and Burbach 2019). As noted above, offensive space
weapons have been tested, but not deployed in conflict. Peoples (2020)
argues that the distinction between the terms militarization and
weaponization is not significant because many space capabilities are dual
use. Even if designed as a passive system, it may be used in an offensive
way. A common example is the Space Shuttle, which had the capability to
rendezvous with spacecraft. While designed to allow satellite repair, the
same capability could allow destruction of an enemy satellite (Peoples
2010). The intent of the organization controlling the space asset is the key
variable – and that variable cannot be independently observed. Defrieze
(2014) argues that a space weapon cannot be defined by its physical
properties or functions but rather must be defined by what it is used to do.
He argues that the focus must be on the behaviors we find acceptable or
unacceptable (DeFrieze 2014). However, with this definition, you could
only identify “weaponization” after an offensive act had occurred. While it
is surely important to have a shared understanding of acceptable and
unacceptable behaviors in space, it is still prudent to also pay attention to
technological development, particularly those that offer offensive
capabilities – even if latent.
It is also possible to understand these terms not as dichotomous states
but as a spectrum along which development may occur. This could be
measured as the volume or proportion of space activity undertaken by the
military – how many space objects, or what proportion of space objects, are
owned or operated by the military? How are military investments in space
changing? What is the rhetoric that surrounds the development or use of
these technologies? Drawing from the weaponization literature, we may
consider trends in offensive versus defensive space developments in
technology and/or doctrine. Taking this approach, it is possible to consider
whether, and in what ways, militarization of space may be increasing or
decreasing over time.

Theoretical Framework
Militarization of space can be further understood by examining the concept
through the lens of traditional international relations theory, particularly the
dichotomy between realist and liberal approaches to the development of
space. Grondin (2009) argues that the difference between the two camps
revolves primarily around the inevitability of the weaponization of space.
Realist theory posits that nations work to achieve their own self-interest
within an anarchic world system, such that power and security are central to
understanding world events. Realists tend to view conflict in space, and
hence militarization and weaponization, as inevitable. Moltz (2020)
explains that in the realm of space, realism suggests that leading
spacepowers will continue military developments in space in an effort to
gain geopolitical advantages (Moltz 2020: 24). Grondin (2009) notes that
this view has been reflected in multiple U.S. Space Policy documents.
By contrast, liberalism suggests that the anarchic global system can be
moderated through international institutions, organizations, and norms of
behavior. Individuals with this approach reject the idea that space assets can
only be protected through the development of space weapons (Moltz 2020:
36). Viewed through this lens, weaponization of space can be avoided
through treaties and other international agreements. As DeFrieze (2014:
110) states, “Space is an international common and is thus easier to protect
through international cooperation.” Indeed, the international space
community has succeeded in negotiating multiple important treaties
governing the use of outer space. Treaties have even addressed some space
weapons, with the Partial Test Ban Treaty, for example, banning nuclear
testing in outer space. Liberal theory also highlights the importance of
economic and societal interdependence as a force that decreases the
likelihood of conflict among states. In the space domain, there is high
interdependence due to the nature of the space environment; creation of
debris or other degradation of the space environment has the potential to
harm many types of users – civil, military, and commercial – from many
nations (Hansel 2010).
A third view, focused on domestic politics and bureaucratic theory, is
also worth considering, particularly with the recent re-organization of U.S.
military space. Johnson-Freese and Burbach (2019) suggest that the Space
Force, in an effort to justify its existence and make its place within the
military structure, must present itself as a fighting force. As such, it will
emphasize threats to space assets and the offensive capabilities needed to
defeat them (Johnson-Freese and Burbach 2019). Some fear that this
aggressive rhetoric could lead other nations to perceive the United States as
a greater threat, leading those nations to also step up their own offensive
space capabilities. In this view, the emphasis on threats in space could
become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
As noted above, SSA capabilities can be used for offensive or defensive
military capabilities, as well as for safety of flight relevant for all space
operators. When prioritizing SSA development, realists would emphasize
the importance of offensive capabilities, ensuring the United States has the
high-quality SSA needed for identifying and targeting enemy spacecraft.
This includes not only improving data collection systems and tracking
algorithms but also intelligence that allows the United States to understand
which satellites may pose a threat.
Liberal thinkers may instead seek to improve SSA capabilities – and
security – by engaging with international partners. Sharing SSA data and
creating a common understanding of the space environment can help to
improve deterrence and decrease the likelihood that attacks on space assets
will occur. Coordination with global commercial entities, with an emphasis
on safety and sustainability of the space environment, would also be a
priority in this view. Security could be further increased by engaging not
only with allies but also with potential adversaries. Such engagement could
include SSA data sharing or agreements on appropriate behavior in space.
Building on the concepts put forward by Johnson-Freese and Burbach
(2019), this paper also considers the possibility that changes in SSA are
primarily rhetorical, driven by domestic politics, particularly associated
with the creation of USSPACECOM and the U.S. Space Force. In this case,
we may find that changes in terminology and associated rhetoric are not
accompanied by significant substantive changes. However, it is also
possible that changes that were originally only rhetorical may result in
substantive changes, due to the dynamics described above.
The following section provides a detailed examination of the
development of SSA capabilities in the United States. Technical
developments and improvements and organizational challenges are
examined, as well as the rhetoric surrounding these activities in speeches
and key policy documents.

Developments and Trends in SSA

Early Space Surveillance Efforts

Plans to track objects in space – an activity originally referred to simply as
“space surveillance” or “space tracking” – were put in place in the mid-
1950s, in preparation for launches expected during the International
Geophysical Year. The earliest efforts were undertaken by universities and
volunteer amateur astronomers, supported with funding from the U.S. Air
Force. The Naval Research Laboratory also developed a complementary
electronic detection system (Sturdevant 2008: 6–7).
Military-focused efforts accelerated soon after. The Naval Space
Surveillance system began more systematic efforts at tracking in 1958. That
same year, the Air Force issued General Operational Requirement 170,
which called for a space tracking and control system, followed by anti-
satellite weapons. In 1959, officials at the North American Air Defense
Command [North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD)]
advocated for the creation of a catalog of all objects in space that could be
used in efforts to develop active defense capabilities (Sturdevant 2008: 10).
These early efforts clearly emphasized the importance of space tracking for
offensive space capabilities.
In 1961, NASA and the Department of Defense (DoD) agreed to provide
data from their respective sensor systems to a centralized data collection
and cataloging center within the NORAD. The DoD removed data on
sensitive assets, such as the newly launched Corona reconnaissance
satellite, before providing the catalog to NASA, which further disseminated
that information to others. By 1963, the DoD developed initial capabilities
to estimate the operational mission of objects put into space by other
nations (Sturdevant 2008: 12). In these actions, we see the military
increasing secrecy and improving capabilities for military-specific
applications of the data, while still acknowledging the importance of the
space safety mission through cooperation with civil entities.
In following years, the accuracy of the tracking system was improved,
both to allow for prediction of U.S. spacecraft re-entry points, and to
support operation of the country’s first anti-satellite system. In 1967, the
Space Defense Center was created within Cheyenne Mountain. Despite its
seeming importance, space tracking capabilities were not provided by
dedicated systems – the sensors were operated by a variety of organizations
for various purposes. The first dedicated space surveillance radar was not
added to the system until 1969. Over the next decade, additional tracking
resources were added to the network, largely in response to Soviet anti-
satellite weapon testing and U.S. anti-satellite weapon development
(Sturdevant 2008: 12–15).
In 1982, the Air Force established the Air Force Space Command
focused on space operations (USAF 2022). That same year, it carried out a
space surveillance architecture study to determine space surveillance
requirements and identify sensors needed to meet those requirements. This
process identified the need for a space-based space surveillance system. A
1986 review of the Space-Based Space Surveillance System program
carried out by the General Accounting Office (GAO) stated that the purpose
of space surveillance was “to detect, track, identify, and assess space objects
of all kinds, especially satellites and antisatellite interceptors.” This
included determining both the location and the mission of objects launched
by other nations. GAO explained, “With this information, actions can be
taken to protect U.S. satellites from attack or initiate attacks against enemy
satellites should the need arise” (GAO 1986: 2). A 1987 report reiterated
that the Space Defense mission included the use of space surveillance
capabilities to support U.S. anti-satellite weapons and warn of attacks on
U.S. satellites (GAO 1987: 1). Once again, these documents highlight the
emphasis on using SSA data for national security purposes, particularly
detecting and responding to potential threats.
Throughout the early space age, the DoD had continued its coordination
with NASA. Following the Challenger accident in 1986, the DoD provided
warnings to NASA when tracked objects would come close to the Space
Shuttle (GAO 1990: 4). Despite these activities, DoD officials explained to
General Accountability Office investigators that as of 1990, they did not
have the capability to detect and identify all debris, and they had not
approached the issue of space debris from a collision-avoidance perspective
(GAO 1990: 15). This suggests that while the military was willing to share
data with civil entities, this was largely a by-product of their core goal,
which was squarely focused on the national security relevance of space
surveillance.

Increasing Importance of Space and Shift to SSA

Throughout the 1990s and early 2000s, the use of space – by the U.S.
military as well as many other users – increased significantly. Operation
Desert Storm, in 1991, was considered by many “the first space war.”
Commercial communications and remote-sensing satellites were
proliferating. It was clear that space assets were becoming increasingly
important for military operations and for the global economy. Up until this
time, spacecraft tracking had been largely a military activity, carried out by
the military primarily for military purposes, with the exception of some
coordination with NASA, as needed. However, the two realizations
mentioned earlier – first, that space assets were increasingly important to
military activity and also inherently vulnerable, and second, that growing
civil and commercial activity required increased attention and support – led
to significant developments in military-focused space surveillance
capabilities as well as those related to civil and commercial space safety
needs in the late 1990s and early 2000s.
In 1997, the USSPACECOM, which had been established in 1985,
published its “Vision for 2020.” This document acknowledged growing
global capabilities in space. The authors argued that the United States “may
evolve into the guardian of space commerce – similar to the historical
example of navies protecting sea commerce (USSPACECOM 1997).” It
also noted that increased military dependence on space capabilities may
lead to increased vulnerabilities, and that given their importance, it was
unrealistic to expect that military space systems will never become targets.
The document called space the “fourth medium of warfare” along with
land, sea, and air and argued that U.S. space forces were needed to “protect
military and commercial national interests and investments in the space
medium” (USSPACECOM 1997: 10). It called for the United States to
“dominate space” (USSPACECOM 1997: 10) and put forward the concept
of space control. The report noted that this required surveillance of space,
with real-time, precise data (USSPACECOM 1997: 10). A 1997 GAO
report stated that the DoD recognized that its space surveillance network
could not adequately deal with future national security threats, and that the
growing commercial space sector would result in increased requests for
surveillance support (GAO 1997: 12).
The USSPACECOM Long Range Plan, released in 1998, focused on the
steps necessary to implement the USSPACECOM Vision for 2020. It called
for “near real-time Space Situational Awareness” – the first use of that term
in official documentation – and called it the “foundation for space
superiority” (USSPACECOM 1998: 28). This required the capability to
characterize high-interest objects – using imagery, electronic intelligence,
and other information to identify potential threats. It also called for an
improvement in detection and tracking needed to support crewed spacecraft
as well as to employ weapons. Finally, the report called for the creation of a
more accurate catalog of space objects that would be “shared with all
nations” and organizations that own or operate space systems
(USSPACECOM 1998: 29). While centralized surveillance of space by
USSPACECOM was seen as critical, the organization would also make use
of data from a variety of sources. The report suggested that allied or foreign
surveillance capabilities could be integrated into an international operations
center, with NASA, Canada, the European Space Agency, and the Russian
Space Agency identified as potential partners (USSPACECOM 1998: 28–
31).
SSA capabilities improved somewhat in the following years, as the
United States experimented with the use of space-based SSA and advanced
its analysis capabilities to produce a “high-accuracy” catalog. Using
“special perturbation” algorithms, this catalog was several times more
accurate than the general catalog and was provided only to selected users on
a case-by-case basis (Sturdevant 2008: 16). Still, in 2001, two major reports
emphasized the need to further improve SSA capabilities. The Report of the
Commission to Assess United States National Security Space Management
and Organization (typically referred to as the “Rumsfeld Commission”
because it was chaired by Donald Rumsfeld) warned of the potential for a
surprise attack in space –a “space Pearl Harbor” (Rumsfeld, Andrews et al.
2001: 22). It noted that SSA is the key capability needed to avoid such a
scenario (Rumsfeld, Andrews et al. 2001: 31). Similarly, the 2001
Quadrennial Defense Review stated that achieving the space control
mission required improvements in SSA (DOD 2001: 45). The military was
actively developing such missions – in 2003, it tested the XSS-10 satellite,
which was used to approach satellites for inspection, sending imagery that
could be used to determine threats (Sturdevant 2008: 18).
The United States made extensive use of space assets for intelligence
gathering, targeting, and weapons guidance during the 2003 Iraq War,
further illustrating the growing importance of space assets to the military
(Posen 2003). In 2004, the Air Force released its first doctrine publication
on counterspace operations. Counterspace operations include both the
defensive and offensive elements necessary to ensure freedom of action in
space for the United States as well as denying that capability to adversaries.
The document stated that SSA was the foundation of these capabilities and
dedicated a full chapter (one of six in the document) to SSA, clarifying that
SSA includes not just space surveillance but also detailed reconnaissance of
specific space assets, collection, and processing of intelligence data on
space systems, and monitoring of the space environment (i.e. space
weather). The document stated that SSA is needed to understand and
respond to threats to U.S. space systems and target and engage enemy
systems, and while it is critical for all space activities, its most stringent
requirements are derived from counterspace operations (USAF 2004: 2).
As the United States continued to push forward in developing military
space capabilities, some advocated for a cooperative approach. In 2002,
China and Russia submitted a joint working paper on the “Prevention of the
Deployment of Weapons in Outer Space” in the United Nations Conference
on Disarmament. The Chinese representative warned that outer space was
faced with the danger of weaponization and an arms race. The United States
remained opposed to such efforts, arguing that the existing outer space
regime was sufficient (UN 2002). This position was further codified in the
2006 U.S. National Space Policy, which stated, “The United States will
oppose the development of new legal regimes or other restrictions that seek
to prohibit or limit U.S. access to or use of space” (United States 2006: 2).
In 2007, China conducted a kinetic anti-satellite test, using a ground-
based missile to destroy its own aging weather satellite in low Earth orbit.
This action significantly increased the amount of debris in orbit and focused
public and Congressional attention on threats to satellites. Critics argued
that efforts to improve SSA were not keeping up with this growing risk
(Singer 2007). The former chairman of the House Armed Services
committee called on the military to improve its SSA capabilities, noting,
“we are limited in what we can do in space if we don’t know what’s going
on up there” (Everett 2007). Other experts argued that the most effective
response would be to lay out rules of the road for responsible behavior in
space (Krepon and Katz-Hyman 2007).
One year after the Chinese anti-satellite test, the United States
announced that it would use a modified missile defense interceptor to
destroy its own malfunctioning reconnaissance satellite. The United States
stated that this was necessary to avoid contamination that could result if the
satellite continued its uncontrolled re-entry, since it carried a large amount
of hazardous hydrazine fuel that would be likely to survive re-entry. Despite
this explanation, many interpreted this action as an anti-satellite test carried
out in response to the Chinese actions in 2007. Regardless of the underlying
motivation, the United States undertook the activity in a much different
fashion, providing advanced warning to the international community and
designing the interception to minimize the creation of long-lasting debris
(Johnson 2021). SSA information was critical to this activity, providing the
precise position of the satellite, projecting its path, and detecting and
tracking debris resulting from the interception (Raymond 2007).

Growing Civil Use of Space and Need for SSA

As seen above, throughout the late 1990s and 2000s, U.S. military use of
space – including the development of offensive and defensive space
capabilities – had increased significantly. Military leaders largely focused
on SSA as an enabler of military missions – identifying threats, controlling
space, and protecting space assets. But this data had value for space safety,
as well. Civil and commercial space activities had increased rapidly around
the globe, and in 2002, the U.S. GAO noted that government, commercial,
and foreign entities relied almost exclusively on the United States space
surveillance network data (provided via NASA) to reduce the risk of space
collisions (GAO 2002: 1).
This became a source of concern for the military, which saw the existing
system as a potential risk to national security. Space Command officials
noted that NASA did not verify the identity of the users accessing SSA data
on its website and argued that users with access to this data could attempt to
damage or jam satellites or move military assets to avoid detection (GAO
2002: 1). Subsequently, the Air Force Space Command proposed a pilot
study to place a Federally Funded Research and Development Center in
charge of data dissemination, ending the long-standing arrangement with
NASA. Officials argued that this move would allow them to better
“maintain control over processes and data dissemination” and “determine if
providing support to a foreign entity was in the best interests of national
security” (GAO 2002: 3).
In 2003, Congress authorized the DoD1 to undertake such a pilot
program to provide satellite tracking support to entities outside the U.S.
government (Congress 2003). The Commercial and Foreign Entities (CFE)
pilot program resulted in the development of the space-track website, which
provided registered users with access to basic information about objects in
space. (The high accuracy catalog was not made publicly available.) By
2005, the NASA website had ceased operations, and space-track had over
16,000 registered users (Sturdevant 2008: 19).
Just as China’s 2007 anti-satellite test, and the resulting debris, raised
awareness of the threat to military satellites, it also led to calls for improved
services to the global civil and commercial sector. The CEO of Intelat, a
major commercial communications satellite operator, called for increased
funding for the U.S. SSA tracking program and improvements to the CFE
program. He noted that the data currently provided under the program was
not sufficient for independent collision assessments (McGlade 2007). The
shortcomings of the system were dramatically illustrated with the 2009
collision of an Iridium commercial communications satellite and a defunct
Russian communications satellite, which created thousands of pieces of
debris. Until this point, the United States had been focusing its tracking and
analysis on U.S. military assets. Following the event, it began conducting
analyses for all 800 active satellites in orbit at the time (Shalal-Esa 2009).
International advancements in SSA also challenged the United States to
consider the views of a broader range of stakeholders. While the United
States had routinely removed its own classified satellites from the publicly
provided catalog, it had not removed those of allies. In 2007, when France
developed its own independent catalog of space objects, it threatened to
publish information on classified U.S. satellites, unless its own military
systems were removed from the U.S. database (Space News Editor 2007;
the United States ultimately obliged, removing the objects in question). In
2008, the European Space Agency began work on a space surveillance
network that would tie together assets from a variety of European nations,
the first step toward developing an independent capability for Europe (De
Selding 2008). Commercial industry began to take independent action as
well, forming the Space Data Association in 2009 to share positional data
among commercial satellite operators to enable commercially-relevant SSA
(SDA 2022).
In 2008, General Chilton, commander of the U.S. Strategic Command,
acknowledged that SSA crosses civil, military, and commercial boundaries
and suggested that trans-Atlantic cooperation should be considered (De
Selding 2008). Similarly, Lt. General Shelton, commander of U.S. Strategic
Command’s Joint Functional Component Command for Space, argued that
the operators of military, civil, commercial, and allied satellites all need to
share more information with one another (Brinton 2008). The military’s
CFE pilot program was re-named the SSA Data Sharing Program and made
permanent (Chow 2011: 2). Driven by increasing foreign and commercial
SSA capabilities and demand for data, as well as tightening budgets, in
mid-2009, U.S. Air Force Space Command demonstrated its ability to
incorporate data from non-Air Force satellite operators into its SSA system
(Singer 2009).
This increased engagement with international and commercial partners
also aligned with the incoming Obama administration’s more cooperative
approach to space issues, illustrated in the National Space Policy released in
2010. This document called out the importance of using SSA information
“from commercial, civil, and national security sources” to help ensure the
“long-term sustainability of the space environment” (United States 2010:
7). The 2011 National Space Security Strategy continued this trend, arguing
that the United States should use its leadership in SSA to “foster
cooperative SSA relationships, support safe space operations, and protect
U.S. and allied space capabilities and operations” (United States January
2011: 6). That same year, the deputy secretary of defense for space policy
stated that the United States should negotiate orbital data sharing
agreements with other nations as part of its effort to ensure space safety and
suggested that the United States could provide space surveillance data as a
global service, similar to that provided by the U.S. GPS system (Space
News Staff 2011).
Throughout the 2010s, military discussion of SSA continued to
acknowledge the importance of international and commercial activities in
space and reflected the importance of both space safety and national
security concerns. For example, the 2010 Quadrennial Defense Review
stated that the DoD would work to promote spaceflight safety as well as use
SSA data to enhance the ability to attribute actions in space (DOD 2010:
33).
In practice, the DoD struggled to complete major technological
improvements to its SSA system, including the deployment of the Space
Fence monitoring system and the Joint Space Operations Center Mission
System needed to enable advanced analysis, both of which were
significantly over budget and behind schedule (GAO 2011). Commercial
users of the military SSA data complained that the quality of data and
warnings were insufficient, noting that numerous conjunction warnings
received by the military were determined, on closer analysis, to be false
alarms, and some true close approaches did not generate warnings from the
military (Ferster 2012). Independent international and commercial SSA
efforts continued to proliferate, in part to address perceived shortcomings in
data provided by the United States.
Risks in space continued to grow, with increased launches and a rise in
debris, as well as potentially threatening actions. In 2015, leaders of the
communications satellite company, Intelsat, stated that a Russian satellite
had maneuvered into a position between two of its satellites, at a distance
small enough to pose a risk in the view of company leaders. Russian
satellite operators did not respond to initial attempts to communicate by
Intelsat or the U.S. DoD (Gruss 2015). Russian officials later denied its
actions were aggressive and noted that it had not violated any rules (Peter
2015). In subsequent years, Russia continued to maneuver this satellite near
a variety of other commercial and foreign satellites (Roberts 2021).
Beginning in 2016, a Chinese satellite began to carry out similar
maneuvers, although it only visited other Chinese spacecraft (Roberts
2021). Data released by Russia in 2019 showed that U.S. satellites were
undertaking similar behavior, approaching Russian and other foreign
satellites beginning in 2016 (Hitchens 2019).
Calls for Civil SSA
Despite the change in rhetoric and the efforts on the part of the DoD to
pursue cooperative agreements with international and commercial entities,
some experts warned that a military-based SSA system serving national
security, civil, commercial, and foreign users was unlikely to succeed. Brian
Weeden, a technical advisor at the Secure World Foundation, argued that
the U.S. military’s decision to conduct conjunction analyses for all
operational space objects was primarily driven by a desire to retain control
over SSA data. Taking on this new task was preferable to sharing data of
sufficient quality to allow operators to carry out their own analysis (Weeden
2012). While this level of secrecy may have been reasonable and practical
when the United States was the sole source of such data and analysis, the
national security imperatives are much less strong when other nations and
commercial entities offer independent data sources and capabilities, and the
need for high-quality data was much greater now that commercial space
activity had grown (Borowitz 2018). Weeden and others argued that the
most productive way forward was to remove the SSA data sharing task
from the U.S. military and give it to a civil agency (Weeden 2016).
Both the DoD and the Department of Transportation (whose Office of
Commercial Space Transportation was originally tapped as the potential
owner of the civil system) were supportive of the idea. DoD officials argued
that this division of labor would allow the military to focus on national
security imperatives in space, including defending space assets and
attributing bad actors. The Department of Transportation indicated that it
was prepared to take on the new responsibility (Foust 2016). Despite the
support by both agencies, Congress did not provide the funding and
authority necessary to enable this transition.
The Trump administration, which began in 2017, revisited this debate. In
2018, the administration released Space Policy Directive 3 (SPD-3), the
National Space Traffic Management Policy. This document discussed the
importance of SSA for both safety and security. It called for continued U.S.
provision of SSA data, free of charge, to users around the world and
identified the Department of Commerce as the home for the civil SSA
mission (United States 2018). While the DoD remained supportive and the
Department of Commerce was enthusiastic about taking on this role, the
transition of authority and funding remained stalled, largely due to debates
within Congress about whether the Department of Transportation or
Commerce was the most appropriate choice (Young 2021).
At a meeting of the National Space Council during which SPD-3 was to
be discussed, President Trump surprised attendees by calling for the
establishment of a Space Force as a sixth branch of the Armed Forces.
Although the concept was new to the public, the creation of a Space Corps
had been promoted by members of the House Armed Services Committee
in 2017, and the DoD had already been tasked to develop a report on the
subject (Becker 2018). In August 2019, President Trump re-established
USSPACECOM as the eleventh Unified Combatant Command, an
organization that would bring together troops to conduct operations in,
from, and through space (DOD 2019). Not long after, in December 2019,
Congress established the Space Force as an independent service within the
Air Force (similar to the organization of the Marines within the Navy;
Kennedy 2019).
Amidst these organizational changes, Air Force Space Command
introduced a change in terminology: from SSA to SDA. This change was
meant to emphasize the fact that the U.S. military views space as a domain
of warfare, just like land, air, and sea. The term SSA had become associated
with detecting and tracking objects in space to enable space safety. Military
leaders explained that the term SDA was meant to help “shift our focus
beyond a Space Situational Awareness mindset of a benign environment”
(Erwin 2019). SDA would include existing SSA-type observations as well
as intelligence and environmental monitoring to enable space battle
management (Erwin 2019).
Aggressive behavior in space continued throughout this period. In March
2019, shortly before the re-organization of U.S. military space entities,
India carried out a kinetic anti-satellite test, shooting down its own satellite
in low Earth orbit. The U.S. response to this event was relatively muted,
with a State Department official simply noting that the issue of space debris
was an important concern (Staff 2019). Shortly after this change, U.S.
officials called attention to the type of threatening behavior that SDA seeks
to identify. Two Russian satellites had been “shadowing” a U.S.
reconnaissance satellite (Hitchens 2020). One of the spacecraft later ejected
a smaller spacecraft in a move interpreted by USSPACECOM as a weapons
test. U.S. officials argued that this test showed that “threats to U.S. and
Allied space systems are real, serious, and increasing,” and highlighted the
importance of U.S. Space Force and USSPACECOM (Hitchens 2020).
In June 2020, the DoD released the Defense Space Strategy, which
reiterated that space is a distinct warfighting domain. The document directly
highlighted the threats posed by China and Russia, demonstrated by their
deployment of counterspace capabilities and doctrine regarding the use of
counterspace capabilities. The document argues, “China and Russia each
have weaponized space as a means to reduce U.S. and allied military
effectiveness and challenge our freedom of operation in space” (DOD 2020:
1).
Despite these statements, the report largely emphasized the U.S. desire to
maintain stability in space and repeatedly emphasized engagement with
allies and the commercial sector. An example is the definition of space
superiority given in the document, which states:

DoD will establish, maintain, and preserve U.S. freedom of operations

in the space domain. DoD will be prepared to protect and defend U.S.
and, as directed, allied, partner, and commercial space capabilities and
to deter and defeat adversary hostile use of space.
(DOD 2020: 2)

In order to “shape the strategic environment,” the document calls on the

DoD to enhance stability and reduce the potential for miscalculations by
partnering with the Department of State to work closely with allies and
partners to develop common understandings of appropriate behavior in
space (DOD 2020: 8).
The U.S. Space Force’s publication “Spacepower,” also released in June
2020, takes a similarly wholistic view to U.S. space security. The document
begins with a quote from President Kennedy, rather than a military leader,
and emphasizes the importance of space for exploration, science, and
everyday life. It places blame on potential adversaries, whose “actions have
significantly increased the likelihood of warfare in the space domain”
(USSF 2020: iv). The United States, by contrast, “desires a peaceful,
secure, stable, and accessible space domain” (USSF 2020: vi) and states
that space systems must be protected “from those who would wish to harm
them” (USSF 2020: v).
 The document distinguishes between national spacepower, which
encompasses all of a nation’s efforts to use space for prosperity and
security, and military spacepower, which exists to preserve that prosperity
and security. To achieve this, military space forces “deter aggression and
apply lethal and nonlethal force in, from, and to space” (USSF 2020: 21).
The document asserts that military spacepower has the potential to be the
difference between victory and defeat in war, providing a strategic
imperative for the existence of the U.S. Space Force (USSF 2020: 26).
The document identifies SDA as one of five core competencies for the
U.S. Space Force. It provides a broad definition, stating, “Space Domain
Awareness (SDA) encompasses the effective identification,
characterization, and understanding of any factor associated with the space
domain that could affect space operations and thereby impacting the
security, safety, economy, or environment of our Nation” (USSF 2020: 34).
The document calls for leveraging allies, civil and industry partners. It
emphasizes that SDA encompasses not only physical location but also the
understanding necessary to detect deceit and determine adversary intentions
(USSF 2020: 39). The emphasis on protecting and defending space assets,
rather than a more aggressive offensive focus, was further reflected in the
December 2020 announcement that members of the Space Force would be
referred to as “Guardians” (Schwartz 2020).
While these founding documents had been released during the Trump
administration, the Biden Administration largely continued this rhetorical
approach in its first official space policy document, the United States Space
Priorities Framework. The document recognizes the importance of space for
the American way of life and acknowledges risks posed by counterspace
capabilities of potential adversaries. It argues that conflict is not inevitable
and that the United States will enhance the resilience of its space
architecture, as well as the ability to detect and attribute hostile acts in
space – a capability enabled by SDA. It calls not only for coordination with
allies, partners, and commercial entities but also for diplomatic engagement
with “strategic competitors” to enhance stability in outer space. The
document calls for expanded SSA data sharing with all space operators
facilitated by a civil agency (United States 2021).
In July 2021, for the first time in its history, the DoD put out an
unclassified statement identifying a set of norms of behavior for military
activities in outer space. While relatively vague, these guidelines reinforced
existing tenants of the Outer Space Treaty and demonstrated the willingness
of the U.S. military to engage more concretely on the issue of responsible
behavior in space (Hitchens 2021). Russia demonstrated remaining
challenges in this area with its kinetic anti-satellite test in November 2021,
which created more than 1,500 new pieces of debris (Raju 2021).
While DoD officials still support the transition of the SSA data sharing
responsibilities to a civil agency, they have continued to engage with
international and commercial partners. Officials increased transparency,
adding tracking data on some previously classified U.S. space objects,
although others remain obfuscated (Hitchens 2019). By 2021, the
USSPACECOM had signed more than 100 SSA Data Sharing Agreements
with commercial entities, foreign nations, and intergovernmental
organizations (USSPACECOM 2021). USSPACECOM maintains a
multinational space collaboration cell with members from France,
Germany, and the United Kingdom and plans to add additional members. It
is also growing its commercial integration cell, which includes a number of
commercial space entities that provide data to help improve the military’s
SSA (Erwin 2021).

Discussion
The detailed case study above shows that the U.S. military mission of
tracking objects in space has a long history with numerous changes in
terminology, program organization, and focus. However, as a whole – and
perhaps not surprisingly – the program has almost always maintained a
primary focus on the national security aspects of monitoring space activity.
From the beginning of the space age to the early 2000s, the military spoke
about monitoring objects in space almost exclusively with regard to the
importance of identifying threats and enabling a response to those threats.
The engagement of the U.S. military with the space safety mission is
only a relatively recent phenomenon, coinciding with the creation of the
CFE pilot program in 2004. Even this transition was driven by a desire to
retain control over data seen to have significant national security value.
However, as global civil and commercial activity in space grew, this space
safety mission required increased effort and gained significant attention
domestically and internationally. These realities, combined with the Obama
Administration’s focus on international engagement and cooperation,
created an environment in which the military spoke frequently of its
contributions to space safety and sustainability.
However, as the scope and complexity of the space safety mission
continued to grow in parallel with the growth of global space activity, its
maintenance by the U.S. military became untenable. Providing civil and
commercial users with SSA data could not be accomplished as a by-product
of the military mission. Unlike the provision of a signal from a system like
GPS, provision of SSA data requires that analysis capabilities scale with the
number of space objects and data users. Also unlike GPS, provision of SSA
capabilities requires continuous interaction with space operators to provide
further analysis and input when conjunctions are possible.
Even before the Obama administration ended, the cracks in this system
were showing. While its rhetoric reflected an acceptance of its space safety
and sustainability mission, it struggled to fully meet the demand of civil and
commercial space operators. The U.S. military still tended to emphasize
secrecy, and threatening actions undertaken by potential adversaries
prompted a desire to return to a focus on threat detection and enabling
counterspace operations. DoD officials were eager to offload their civil and
commercial-focused duties.
When USSPACECOM and U.S. Space Force were created, and the
change in terminology from SSA to SDA occurred, this largely represented
a continuation of a trend that had begun in the mid-2010s, at the end of the
Obama administration. The move away from the space safety mission was
not an unprecedented or aggressive move toward militarization, but rather a
return to the U.S. military’s long-standing focus on the national security
role of SSA.
While the United States has been vocal about threats posed by potential
adversaries, these have been primarily incidents of highlighting specific
threatening actions, rather than theoretical threats that could emerge.
Furthermore, this transition has not been accompanied by an emphasis on
developing new offensive space weapons, as realists might expect. Early
U.S. Space Force documents, developed under the Trump Administration,
reflected a much more wholistic view of the value of space – emphasizing
both the economic and security importance of space operations and
embracing the importance of promoting space stability and sustainability.
The U. S. military seems to be embracing traditional liberal approaches,
including international cooperation and the development of norms of
behavior.
The space environment of the 2020s is fundamentally different from that
of the early 2000s, and while the U.S. military may be returning to a
narrower national security focus, as symbolized by the adoption of the term
“space domain awareness,” it is doing so with an awareness that it must
take into account the vast civil and commercial value of space for users
around the world. Furthermore, the United States as a whole is embracing
the space safety mission, not abdicating its role in this area. While domestic
politics and bureaucratic inefficiencies may be delaying its implementation,
the United States has committed to continue providing SSA data and
services to users around the world free of charge. The implementation of
this program within a civil agency will increase transparency, facilitate
greater cooperation with international and commercial partners, and
ultimately enable a higher level of service, improving prospects for space
safety and sustainability.

Conclusion
This chapter sought to examine whether the recent U.S. military transition
from using the term “space situational awareness” to “space domain
awareness” symbolized a larger transition toward the militarization of
space. By examining the history of U.S. military activity related to SSA
throughout the space age, it became clear that the recent focus on the
military aspects of space (including SDA) is a return to the long-standing
approach the U.S. military has taken toward this issue, rather than a truly
new development.
Even so, this narrower focus on national security space is understood by
the U.S. military to exist within the context of the current space
environment – one in which space assets are essential to everyday life
around the world, and foreign and commercial use of space continues to
expand rapidly. The U.S. Space Force, while recognizing the need to
respond to counterspace threats, also acknowledges that space stability and
sustainability are key national goals that it must help to protect.
The new willingness of the U.S. military to engage in international
discussions regarding norms of behavior and the emphasis of the Biden
administration on international engagement – even with “strategic
competitors” – are trends to be encouraged. Threats in space are real, with
rendezvous and proximity operations and anti-satellite tests increasing in
recent years. While the United States will continue to develop military
means to defeat these threats, the country and all other space actors should
prioritize cooperation and engagement to discourage further militarization
or weaponization of space, ensuring the domain remains stable and usable
for all space actors.

Note
1. Despite a call for elevating the role of space activities and management
within the DoD, U.S. Space Command was dis-established in October
2002 as a part of a post-September eleventh restructuring effort.

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10 China and India as Rising Powers and
the Militarisation of Space*
Dimitrios Stroikos

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-14

Introduction
This chapter offers a discussion of China and India as space powers with a
specific focus on their growing interest in the use of space for military
purposes. China and India are the two most consequential non-Western
space powers, and both have made significant strides in developing their
space capabilities over the past few decades, with Beijing in particular
making important progress in recent years. Both countries have launched
satellites for a range of dual-use applications and have demonstrated their
ability to conduct destructive anti-satellite (ASAT) tests, with China
conducting a successful test in 2007 and India in 2019.
This chapter starts with offering a background and overview of China’s
space programme that highlights the key achievements of its civilian
programme before moving on to consider the ways in which China uses
space for military purposes. Next, it provides background on India’s civilian
and military programme. The third section applies Scott Sagan’s analytical
framework on nuclear proliferation to China and India’s military space
activities by focusing on their ASAT tests. In his influential framework on
nuclear proliferation, Sagan (1996–1997) puts forward three models that
help explain why states develop nuclear weapons: the ‘security model’, the
‘domestic politics model’, and the ‘norms model’. The security model is
premised on the idea that a state’s decision to acquire nuclear weapons is
the result of national security considerations along the lines of realist
thinking. The domestic politics model maintains that nuclear weapons serve
not only military but also political purposes, which means that they can be
used to promote narrow-minded domestic and bureaucratic interests.
According to the norms model, states decide to either build nuclear
weapons or abstain from their possession because of the importance of
nuclear weapons as a ‘normative symbol of a state’s modernity and identity’
(1996–1997: 55). In doing so, the author identifies three alternative reasons
why states pursue nuclear weapons. Similarly, this chapter argues that when
applied to China and India’s ASATs, such a framework has the advantage of
accounting for three different reasons why states build ASATs and the
interplay between them by discussing key insights that this approach can
bring into the study of China and India’s ASATs.

China in Space: Background and Brief Overview

China’s space programme has made significant strides in recent years,
consolidating its role as a major space player in the current global space
order. Although the story of China’s space programme has been frequently
told, a few salient points are worth briefly re-capping for the purposes of
this discussion.1 First, it is important to note that since its inception in the
mid-1950s, China’s space effort has been driven by the same priorities and
rationales that underpinned the space programmes of the United States and
the Soviet Union during the Cold War, including military, domestic
political, and prestige considerations. After all, it needs to be remembered
that the Chinese leadership had embarked upon the initial phases of a
human spaceflight programme in the early 1970s, but by and by Mao
decided to cancel it (Handberg and Li, 2006). Still, this is testimony to
China’s long-term ambitions in space.
Second, notwithstanding the political upheavals that defined the Great
Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution, some milestones were achieved
under Mao, such as the successful launch of China’s first satellite, Dong
Fang Hong 1, in 1970, making it the fifth country to successfully launch a
satellite into orbit. Given the limited resources and the social and political
tumult of this period in China, however, the trajectory of the Chinese space
programme might have been different were it not for the support from Zhou
Enlai and others who strived to keep the strategic weapons programme on
track by offering protection to the principal scientists and engineers
working on the space programme (Chen, 1991).
Third, the launch of China’s first satellite was part of the so-called ‘Two
Bombs, One Satellite’ project that refers to the atomic and hydrogen bombs
and the first satellite. The project was initiated in the late 1950s and early
1960s and is associated with a techno-nationalist approach to technological
advancement (Cheung, 2009; Feigenbaum, 2003).2 Although the focus of
the Chinese space programme shifted to economic development under Deng
Xiaoping, an attempt was made to revitalise the spirit and approach of the
‘Two Bombs, One Satellite’ project when in 1986 the ‘863 High-
Technology Research and Development Plan’ was introduced, which
identified main areas of strategic significance, such as space.3 It was against
this backdrop that key space projects assumed renewed interest, including
human spaceflight (Kulacki and Lewis, 2009: 21–24; Li, Ma, and Li, 2022).
It is also useful to note that the ‘Two Bombs, One Satellite’ remains an
important source of national pride, an influential top-down model of
technological innovation, and a key part of the country’s history and
identity today, illustrated by the frequent references made to it by Chinese
leaders. For example, in May 2022, Chinese President Xi encouraged the
new generation of professionals in the Chinese aerospace sector ‘to carry
forward the spirit of the “Two Bombs, One Satellite”’ in order to realise
‘self-reliance in aerospace science and technology through innovation’
(Xinhua, 2022). Reflecting the importance that Xi attaches to space, the
Chinese President has also stressed how the country’s space effort is part of
the ‘Chinese Dream’ of rejuvenating the nation.4 In his words, ‘The space
dream is part of the dream to make China stronger’ (Xinhua, 2017).
Nevertheless, in recent years, the programme has seen a number of
successes, such as the launch of Shenzhou 5 in October 2003, which sent
China’s first astronaut, Yang Liwei, into space and made China the third
country to independently send a human into space. The Shenzhou project,
China’s human spaceflight programme, which has carried out a series of
human spaceflight missions since then, has been part of a broader plan to
establish a more robust presence in space through a space station and its
lunar exploration programme. More specifically, in September 2011, China
launched Tiangong 1 (Heavenly Palace), its first space laboratory module,
followed by the launch of Tiangong 2 in 2016. These modules were
designed as experimental test beds for the construction of the Tiangong
space station, its larger orbital space station, which was completed in 2022.5
Another important aspect of China’s space programme is lunar
exploration. The Chinese lunar programme, known as the Chang’e
programme, named after the mythical Chinese goddess of the Moon, has
carried out a number of successful missions since Chang’e 1, China’s first
lunar mission that lasted from 2007 to 2009. In January 2019, China
achieved a remarkable feat when the Chang’e 4 spacecraft landed on the far
side of the Moon, becoming the first spacecraft to accomplish this, and
allowing China to explore this previously uncharted area of the Moon’s
surface. Following that, in December 2020, China successfully completed
the Chang’e 5 lunar sample return mission, the first mission in over 40
years to collect lunar samples and bring them back to Earth for scientific
analysis. Likewise, in July 2020, China launched its first Mars mission,
Tianwen-1, which entered orbit around Mars in February 2021.
Although China’s achievements in space exploration have attracted
much attention, these have been accompanied by a focus on satellite and
rocket development. China has launched and operates a series of
communication satellites for various applications and different types of
remote-sensing satellites for earth observation, meteorology, and disaster
and environmental monitoring. More recently, a notable achievement was
the launch of the last satellite of the BeiDou Navigation Satellite System in
June 2020, which signified the completion of its own equivalent of the GPS
system with global coverage. To support its vigorous and expanding space
activities, China has also been developing new variants of launch vehicles,
including the Long March rocket family which can carry payloads of
different sizes and launch from different types of launch sites. Meanwhile,
Beijing has also taken steps to commercialise its space activities with the
increasing involvement of private companies in the China space sector
(Chandrashekar, 2022; Harvey, 2019; Pollpeter et al., 2020).
To these aspects can be added China’s emphasis on international
cooperation that centres on the promotion of bilateral ties with a number of
countries in Asia, Africa, Latin America, and Europe, and its growing
participation in multilateral institutions.6 Within the scope of international
cooperation and diplomacy, China has also tried to play a leadership role at
the regional level, typified by the establishment of the Asia-Pacific Space
Cooperation Organization (APSCO) in 2008, an intergovernmental
organisation aimed at promoting multilateral cooperation on space science
and technology between its member states, with a focus on providing
training, data sharing, and capacity-building programmes in various areas of
space technology and applications. Located in Beijing, APSCO’s
membership includes eight countries: China, Bangladesh, Iran, Mongolia,
Pakistan, Peru, Thailand, and Turkey.7 China has also incorporated space
into the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) with the implementation of the
‘Space Information Corridor’ or ‘Space Silk Road’, and it has set up an
emergency response mechanism that aims to share satellite-based data with
BRI nations to assist in weather monitoring and disaster management
(Jones, 2018).
Further illustrating its leadership ambitions, China together with the
United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs (UNOOSA) has established
the ‘United Nations/China Cooperation on the Utilization of the China
Space Station’ programme within the framework of the UNOOSA’s Access
to Space for All Initiative. The aim is to provide opportunities for scientists
and researchers from around the world to conduct experiments and research
on China’s space station. Such developments underscore how Beijing
recognises the need for assuming great power responsibilities in the space
community of states through the provision of public goods that can confer it
the status of great power in space (Stroikos, 2022a: 343–346).

China and the Military Uses of Space

China’s military has played a crucial role in the development of China’s
space endeavour, overseeing both its military and civilian activities from the
outset (Wu, 2022: 17). However, it is clear that space has assumed a more
important place in China’s broader military modernisation effort as a
consequence of the country’s expanding interests across the globe and in
new domains of strategic interaction. As a result, China’s global reach
requires a national military force with the capacity to operate beyond its
immediate periphery, marking a significant shift from the People’s
Liberation Army (PLA) traditional orientation towards maintaining internal
security and protecting continental China to supporting missions at long
distances (Wortzel, 2013).
 Encompassing this shift of orientation has been an appreciation of the
potential contribution of space as a force multiplier in modern warfare since
the early 1990s. Indeed, the 1991 Gulf War, often labelled as the ‘first space
war’ by experts, prompted China to fundamentally re-evaluate its military
concepts, doctrines, and training, while also recognising the essential role
that the effective use of space assets plays in modern warfare (Cheng, 2012:
57–58; Liao, 2005: 206, 208). This was evident in the introduction of the
new doctrine of ‘local wars under modern high-tech conditions’, which was
accompanied by a growing interest in the research and development of
state-of-the-art technologies and weaponry, including ‘building satellites,
early warning and command systems, and advanced communication relay
stations’ (Shambaugh, 2004: 70).8
Other external influences in tandem with the so-called ‘Revolution in
Military Affairs’ (RMA) have had the effect of further evolving Chinese
strategic thinking that changed from ‘limited war under high-technology
conditions’ to ‘local wars under modern informationalized conditions’ in
2002 (Finkelstein, 2007: 104). This was followed by the announcement of
the PLA’s ‘new historic missions’ under President Hu Jintao in 2004,
which, among other things, recognised for the first time that China’s
national interests were extended to outer space and the electromagnetic
sphere (Cheng, 2012: 61).
Significantly, the strategic value attached to space in the context of
China’s military modernisation has increased under Chinese President Xi
Jinping, who is also the chairman of the PLA Central Military Commission
(CMC). In April 2014, during a visit to the PLA’s air force headquarters in
Beijing, Xi called for accelerating the integration of air and space
capabilities (Zhao, 2014). Subsequently, China’s 2015 defence white paper
described outer space as a ‘commanding height in international strategic
competition’ (State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 2015).
Similarly, the 2019 defence white paper refers to ‘China’s security interests
in outer space’ as one of its ‘national defense aims’ and that ‘[o]uter space
is a critical domain in international strategic competition’ (State Council of
the People’s Republic of China, 2019).
Meanwhile, under Xi, there has been a major restructuring of the
Chinese military forces that led to the creation of the People’s Liberation
Army Strategic Support Force (PLASSF) with the goal of improving the
strategic-level coordination and efficiency of space, cyber, and
electromagnetic operations in a more integrated manner.9 Alongside this,
since 2016, under Xi an attempt has been made to revamp civil-military
integration, as part of the policy of military-civil fusion (MCF), with the
aim of integrating the development and use of civilian technologies into
military applications in order to improve China’s national security and
military capabilities. In this way, this policy entails leveraging the
technological advancements made in the civilian and commercial sectors to
enhance China’s military modernisation and competitiveness by facilitating
effective coordination between the government, military, and civilian
sectors to attain technological breakthroughs and innovation. To this end,
the Chinese government elevated civil-military fusion to a national-level
strategy and formed a new specialised central commission, the Central
Commission for Integrated Military and Civilian Development, in 2017, to
oversee its implementation.10 It is too early to assess the impact of this
effort but it is clear that within the scope of MCF, emphasis has been placed
on the space sector as a way to enhance coordination between the military
and civilian sectors, facilitate resource and data sharing, and encourage
participation from non-governmental entities. For some observers, this
move could be a significant step towards the reconstruction of the Chinese
space industry (Wu, 2022: 18).11
One of the principal manifestations of how China recognises the critical
place of space for the PLA has been the emphasis on the use of space-based
systems in support of Command, Control, Communications, Computers,
Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance (C4ISR) as part of
networked integrated C4ISR architecture that will enable Chinese military
forces to operate effectively in a variety of environments and situations.
Apart from the deployment of dedicated military satellites, this has involved
the development of a network of dual-use satellites with a variety of
military functions that provide support for C4ISR, including the utilisation
of communications satellites as well as a variety of high-resolution remote-
sensing satellites, such as the Yaogan, Haiyang, Huanjing, and Gaofen
series, Tracking and Data Relay Satellites (TDRS), and Beidou global
positioning timing and navigation satellites.12
Furthermore, it is believed that a key component of how China
prioritises the military usage of space is the development of counterspace
capabilities. In particular, there appears to be evidence to support that China
has been working on various technologies that have the ability to provide
both destructive and non-destructive means of interfering with space
activities, such as direct-ascent, co-orbital, electronic warfare, and directed
energy weapons capabilities.13 This was evident in January 2007, when the
PLA carried out a direct-ascent ASAT that destroyed one of its own ageing
weather satellites, FengYun-1C (FY-1C), making the country the third in the
world to conduct this type of test. The test generated a large amount of
space debris and was widely condemned by the international community. It
was also inconsistent with China’s long-standing position against space
weaponisation. While possible explanations of this test are considered
below, what should be mentioned here is that since after the 2007 ASAT
test, China has also carried out a series of known or suspected non-
destructive direct-ascent ASAT tests the most remarkable of which occurred
in May 2014, when the launch of a missile is thought to have attained an
altitude of about 30,000 km. This is seen as evidence of a new sophisticated
ASAT weapons system that can effectively engage objects orbiting at
medium or high altitudes above Earth (Weeden, 2014).

India in Space: Background and Brief Overview

Like China, there is now a growing body of literature that examines certain
aspects of India’s space programme and its history.14 However, a few points
are worth highlighting here for the purposes of this discussion. First, for
some informed observers, the origins of India’s space endeavour can be
found in India’s participation in the International Geophysical Year (IGY)
of 1957–1958 (Kochhar, 2008; Reddy, 2008). It should be recalled that the
IGY was a global scientific programme that engaged in investigating and
understanding various aspects of the Earth’s physical environment
epitomising scientific internationalism and international cooperation, which
led to the emergence of the Space Age with the launch of the first artificial
satellite, Sputnik 1, in October 1957 (Stroikos, 2018). Notable Indian
scientists, such as Vikram Sarabhai, played a significant role in the
organisation and execution of crucial IGY undertakings. This initial
participation served as a driving force for the development of India’s space
programme, under the leadership of Sarabhai (Kochhar, 2008). As a result,
a nascent space programme was established in 1962 with the creation of the
Indian National Committee for Space Research and the launching of the
first Nike-Apache sounding rocket from the Thumba Equatorial Rocket
Launching Station (TERLS) in 1963. This was followed by the formation of
the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO) in 1969.
Second, one of the most notable features of India’s space programme
from the outset has been its priority to use space for socio-economic
development. Unlike the historical trajectory of the space efforts of other
space powers that benefited from military programmes, as Michael Sheehan
(2007: 142–143) points out, ‘the Indian space and missile development
programmes are distinct enterprises, notwithstanding their common roots,
and the technologies employed are far from interoperable’. In this respect,
Indian scientists gave precedence to practical applications, including
communications, meteorology, and remote sensing, to meet the social and
developmental needs of the country (Sankar, 2007: 1–2). Therefore,
underlying India’s space effort was a development rationale and vision
formulated by Sarabhai (1974). As Sarabhai (1968: 39) famously remarked:

There are some who question the relevance of space activities in a

developing nation. To us, there is no ambiguity of purpose. We do not
have the fantasy of competing with the economically advanced nations
in the exploration of the moon or the planets or manned space flight.
But we are convinced that if we are to play a meaningful role
nationally and in the community of nations, we must be second to none
in the application of advanced technologies to the real problems of
man and society, which we find in our country. The application of
sophisticated technologies and methods of analysis to our problems is
not to be confused with embarking on grandiose schemes whose
primary impact is for show rather than for progress measured in hard
economic and social terms.

Resting upon this rationale for the space programme and pivoted around
meeting the socio-economic needs of a developing country, Sarabhai’s
vision was also entrenched in the idea of science and technology as ‘as
enablers of modernization, and particularly a belief in state management of
resources directed towards “leapfrogging” stages of development into a
state of modernity’ (Siddiqi, 2015: 35). Such a vision was also aligned with
Jawaharlal Nehru’s enthusiasm for the role that science and technology can
play as a progressive force in Indian society and was shared by other
prominent scientists, such as Homi Bhabha, who supported the space
programme (Siddiqi, 2015). In this context, the use of space was also
viewed as a scientific pursuit of national significance that could allow India
to become a technologically advanced country as well as symbol of ‘nation-
building’ and a source of international prestige (Kochhar, 2008; Sheehan,
2007).
As a result, from the beginning, three key components provided the
foundation for the development of India’s space programme:
communications and remote-sensing satellites; practical applications; and
space transportation systems (Lele, 2021: 7). Regarding communications
and remote-sensing satellites, the Indian National Satellite (INSAT) system
became operational in 1983 and the first Indian Remote Sensing (IRS)
Satellite, as part of the IRS satellite programme, was launched in 1988. In
terms of applications, the focus has been on areas, such as meteorological
observation and forecasting, disaster monitoring, tele-education and
telemedicine, and the management of natural and earth resources (Reddy,
2008: 238). As per space transportation systems, India took steps to develop
indigenous launch capabilities. Typifying this was the successful launch of
the Satellite Launch Vehicle (SLV)-3 in 1980, and the subsequent building
of more sophisticated launch vehicles, such as the Augmented Satellite
Launch Vehicles (ASLV), the Polar Satellite Launch Vehicle (PSLV), and
the Geosynchronous Satellite Launch Vehicle (GSLV) (Lele, 2021: 23–40).
However, it is plain that India’s ambitions as a great power in
international society have also affected the overall trajectory of India’s
space programme. In reality, even though the development rationale
remains a key element of India’s space activities, there has been a notable
shift in space exploration missions, exemplified by the launch of the
country’s first lunar mission called Chandrayaan-1 in 2008, which
confirmed the presence of water molecules on the Moon’s surface and
marked a significant milestone in India’s space programme. After the
successful completion of the Chandrayaan-1 mission, ISRO was motivated
to pursue further space exploration missions. The next natural progression
was seen as a mission to Mars, building on a similar approach taken by
other countries with established space programmes (Laxman, 2014: 70–72).
Yet, as some observers have suggested, the timing of the decision and the
limited scientific value of the Mars mission indicate that it was partly
driven by political and strategic considerations in light of the unsuccessful
Russian-Chinese Phobos-Grunt Mars mission in November 2011, as it
would allow India to reach Mars ahead of China (Bagla and Menon, 2014:
47–49). Nevertheless, on November 5, 2013, India launched the Mars
Orbiter Mission (MOM), also known as Mangalyaan, which resulted in
India becoming the first country in Asia to successfully reach Mars.
Remarkably, and emblematic of this reorientation towards space
exploration, during his Independence Day speech in August 2018, Indian
Prime Minister Narendra Modi, declared that India intends to launch its first
human spaceflight mission by 2022, also known as the ‘Gaganyaan’
programme, but this has since been delayed and the country’s maiden
human spaceflight mission is now expected in 2024. In the meantime, ISRO
is working on other future space missions, while significant steps have been
taken to promote the commercialisation and privatisation of the Indian
space sector.

India and Space Militarisation

Coupled with this reorientation towards space exploration, another key
dimension of India’s space programme has been the increasing interest in
military uses of space. Nowhere has this been more apparent than in India’s
ASAT test, named ‘Mission Shakti’, which was carried out in March 2019,
when a missile was launched from the Kalam Island missile complex that
managed to intercept an Indian military satellite called Microsat-R. The
satellite was in low orbit located about 300 km above the Earth’s surface,
built by the Defence Research and Development Organisation (DRDO) and
launched by ISRO in January 2019 (Weeden and Samson, 2021: 5–3).
Different explanations of the test are discussed in detail in the next section.
But the point to make at this stage is that the militarisation of India’s space
programme has also been evident in the deployment of various satellites
that have become crucial as a ‘force multiplier’ for Indian military
capabilities. Therefore, since 2000, ISRO has put several remote-sensing
satellites in orbit that have dual-purpose applications, with the ability to
generate very high-resolution images suitable for military applications
(Paracha, 2013: 164). Part of the reason for this can be attributed to the fact
that the 1999 Kargil War revealed to the Indian military the insufficiency of
India’s remote-sensing infrastructure in offering efficient surveillance and
timely identification of hostile incursions (Gopalaswamy, 2019: 80). More
specifically, as Ajey Lele (2011: 384) notes, some of the India Remote
Sensing (IRS) series satellites launched after 2000 are being considered to
have dual-use utility. However, the military value is clearer when it comes
to the high-resolution CARTOSAT (Cartographic satellite) series. In
addition, the RISAT (Radar Imaging Satellite) series of remote-sensing
satellites launched by India since 2009 uses synthetic aperture radar (SAR)
to capture high-resolution images of the Earth’s surface with dual-use
applications (Paracha, 2013: 165).
India has also developed an independent regional navigation satellite
system called NavIC (Navigation with Indian Constellation), also known as
the Indian Regional Navigation Satellite System (IRNSS), which offers
accurate positioning, navigation, and timing information to civilian and
military users. The Standard Position Service (SPS) provides services to
civilian users, and the Restricted Service (RS) is encrypted and available
only to authorised military users.15 Related to this, ISRO has also
established jointly with the Airport Authority of India (AAI), the GPS
Aided Geo Augmented Navigation (GAGAN) system, which has some
dual-use utility (Gopalaswamy, 2019: 116).
A further dimension of India’s interest in the military uses of space
concerns the launch of dedicated military satellites. For example, in 2013,
ISRO launched India’s first dedicated military communications satellite
GSAT-7, designed to improve the ability of the Indian Navy to carry out
maritime operations by enhancing its surveillance capabilities. Likewise, in
2018, ISRO launched GSAT-7A, a military communication satellite,
intended to augment the communication capabilities of the Indian Air Force
(IAF). Following that, in 2019, India launched its first Electro-Magnetic
Intelligence Satellite (EMISAT), a sophisticated electronic intelligence
(ELINT) satellite developed jointly by ISRO and the Defence Research and
Development Organisation(DRDO), to improve the ability of Indian Armed
Forces to identify and intercept signals transmitted by hostile radar systems
(Rajagopalan, 2020).
At the same time, encapsulating the need to integrate the use of space
into military operations, in 2010 India formed the Integrated Space Cell
under the command of the Integrated Defence Services (IDS) Headquarters
of the Ministry of Defence as a nodal agency to coordinate and synergise
the use of space assets and technologies for defence purposes, jointly
operated by three services of the Indian Armed Forces (army, navy, and air
force), the Department of Space, and ISRO (Weeden and Samson, 2021: 5–
6). Further reflecting its recognition of the importance of space technology
in national security, and soon after conducting the ASAT test in 2019, India
created the Defence Space Agency (DSA), which is expected to play a key
role in India’s efforts to address space-based threats and boost its space
power (Press Trust of India, 2019a). As well, the Indian government
approved the establishment of the Defence Space Research Organisation
(DSRO), which will be involved in building space warfare capabilities and
will offer technical and research support to the DSA (Raghuvanshi, 2019).
Remarkably, in the same year, India announced plans to conduct its first
simulated space warfare exercise, named ‘IndSpaceEx’ (Pandit, 2019).
Complementing this greater focus on national security, ISRO recently
inaugurated ‘Project NETRA (Network for Space Objects, Tracking, and
Analysis)’, to track and analyse space objects. This system is intended to
enhance India’s space situational awareness capabilities and protect its
space assets by providing early warning of potential threats (Madhumathi,
2019).
Beyond military space capabilities, to enhance its space power,
especially vis-à-vis China, India has stepped up its military space ties with a
number of strategic partners, such as the United States. For instance, in
2020, New Delhi entered into an agreement with Washington, the Basic
Exchange and Cooperation Agreement on Geospatial Cooperation (BECA),
which permits access to satellite data from the United States. This access to
US satellite data will help India improve the precision of its weapons,
including missiles and drones (Reuters, 2020). It is also worth noting that
the Quadrilateral Security Dialogue (QSD), commonly referred to as the
Quad, among Australia, India, Japan, and the United States, which is
usually seen as a counterbalance to China, has recently added a space
component with the formation of a new working group, the Quad Space
Working Group, focusing on sharing satellite data. Moreover, Quad
members have also announced a satellite-based maritime domain awareness
initiative (Si-soo, 2022).

China, India, and ASAT Tests: A Three-Model

Approach
The Security Model
Even though there has been a growing interest in the study of the politics of
space from an International Relations theory perspective over the last
decade or so, explanations of why states acquire space capabilities and
counterspace weapons in particular, whether by practitioners or scholars,
are still dominated by the neorealist or structural realist school of thought
that is in accordance with security model.16 Therefore, it is not surprising
that structural realist perspectives have offered parsimonious and
convincing explanations of China ASAT test. For example, according to
Tellis (2007), China’s decision to conduct the test was motivated by a
strategic need to counterbalance the military space superiority of the United
States by using asymmetric means, such as counterspace capabilities. In this
way, as Tellis points out, it is strategically logical for Beijing to take
advantage of Washington’s increasing dependence on space-based military
assets as a potential vulnerability or ‘Achilles heel’, especially in the event
of a future conflict between China and the United States over Taiwan.
Pertaining to realist thinking is also the security dilemma that exists
when one state’s efforts to increase its security can lead to increased
insecurity for others, triggering a spiral of action-reaction (Stroikos, 2022b).
Indeed, it can be argued that space relations are more prone to security
dilemmas due to the inherent dual-use nature of space technology (Johnson-
Freese, 2007). Be that as it may, it is this action-reaction dynamic that leads
some observers to suggest that a security dilemma in space has unfolded
between the United States and China that can help to account for Beijing’s
decision to undertake an ASAT test in 2007. Within this action-reaction
dynamic, China’s interest in building counterspace capabilities can be seen
as a response to US plans for space dominance and missile defence (Zhang,
2011). From a Chinese perspective, therefore, Chinese officials and experts
came to believe that the weaponisation of space was bound to happen. They
were also worried that US missile defence could potentially compromise
their nuclear deterrent (Zhang, 2005; Zhang, 2011).
In a rather similar fashion, India’s 2019 ASAT test can be understood
from the lens of the security model. Immediately following the test, Indian
Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, emphasised that the primary goal of the
mission was to safeguard the security of the country, promote its economic
growth, and advance India’s technological advancement, and that it was not
aimed at any specific country (Modi, 2019). And yet, as has been
acknowledged by many observers, it was China’s ASAT test in 2007 that
prompted India’s interest in counterspace capabilities, such as ASAT
technology as well as shift in New Delhi’s historical position towards the
militarisation of space. To be sure, shortly after the Chinese test, Indian
political leaders were adamant that New Delhi’s position had not changed
and that the country remained against the weaponisation of space. However,
there were also several remarks made by high-ranking military and DRDO
officials, including Vijay Kumar Saraswat, indicating India’s intention to
build ASAT capabilities using its missile defence system (Rajagopalan,
2011). Consequently, the Indian decision to undertake an ASAT test
suggests that national security considerations vis-a-vis China have become
an important factor. It also points to the existence of a security dilemma in
space, even if not definitive, between Beijing and New Delhi (Lele, 2019).

The Domestic Politics Model

Alongside the security model, the domestic politics model with its focus on
domestic political considerations and the role of bureaucratic interests is
also useful in trying to explain China’s 2007 ASAT test. Within this
framework, for instance, Kulacki and Lewis (2008) offer an alternative
explanation of China’s decision to conduct an ASAT test in 2007 by arguing
that it was less likely a reaction to US plans. Instead, looking at the
decision-making process of the test, one possible explanation is that project
managers may have been compelled to demonstrate to the Chinese
leadership that the technology had reached a state of maturity and was now
viable for use. As a result, these managers probably lobbied and succeeded
in obtaining approval for the test. It is also reasonable to assume that the
decision to aim at a satellite, as opposed to intercepting a missile, was made
because the former was deemed to be a simpler undertaking. It is also
important to remember that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs took a full 12
days to issue a statement acknowledging the test, which caused confusion
among analysts as to whether Ministry of Foreign Affairs officials were
aware of the test. This delay raised concerns that the PLA may have carried
out the test without obtaining the necessary approval from the Chinese
security and foreign policy bureaucracy. Even though it is more likely that
the Chinese leadership had approved the test, this situation suggests the
presence of factionalism between the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the
PLA (Gill and Kleiber, 2007).
The domestic politics model is also useful in trying to understand India’s
ASAT test. In terms of bureaucratic politics and internal decision-making
processes, it is not uncommon for influential technocratic bureaucracies like
ISRO and DRDO to undertake initiatives without first securing political
endorsement. These endeavours are intended to put pressure on the political
leadership to eventually grant approval. The case of the Indian ASAT
appears to be an example of this possibility, considering that officials
associated with DRDO had been advocating for the development of ASAT
capabilities for a while. They had indicated that India had all the necessary
technological components for such a programme, which could be utilised
when deemed appropriate by the political leadership (Gopalaswamy and
Kampani, 2014: 55).
This perspective is also pertinent to the role of leaders. In this respect,
we do know now that the DRDO had developed ASAT capability back in
2012. However, the prior administration did not authorise testing. This
situation changed with the advent of the Modi government, which granted
permission for the test to proceed (Tripathi, 2019). What is more, some
believed that Modi’s decision to proceed with Mission Shakti and publicly
announce it during the 2019 general election campaign was motivated by
domestic political considerations. For this reason, the opposition strongly
condemned the test, alleging that Modi had attempted to exploit the mission
for electoral gains (Press Trust India, 2019b). Finally, space achievements,
including ASATs, can be an important source of national pride, and thus,
they can contribute to bolstering the image of political leaders, such as
Modi, or the legitimacy of regimes, such as the Chinese Communist Party.

The Norms Model

Under the norms model nuclear weapons can be considered as symbols of
modernity and identity, and the same can be said about space weapons. A
number of key insights can flow from a consideration of how this model
can be related to the development and testing of ASATs. First, one of the
most well-established insights that emerges from the constructivist literature
is China and India’s quest for great power status in international society.17
In this regard, acquiring space technology can be seen as part of the
‘recognition games’ that states play in order to attain the status of great
power in the space community of states. Consequently, obtaining ASAT
capabilities can also be seen as a component of China and India’s pursuit to
establish themselves as great powers, highlighting the significance of the
link between a country’s sense of identity and its ability to develop space
weapons in a hierarchical global space order. An important and revealing
illustration of this possibility was Modi’s televised address to the nation
announcing the success of Mission Shakti. In his address, the Indian Prime
Minister applauded the test as a big ‘moment of pride for every Indian’ that
attested India’s credentials as ‘a global space power’ ‘using an indigenously
developed’ technology (Modi, 2019). Additionally, it is plausible to argue
that New Delhi’s interest and eventual decision to move on with the
conduct of an ASAT test are reflective of India’s bitter experience with the
1968 Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty (NPT) (Samson 2010). From this
perspective, to avoid a similar discrimination from happening this time in
space with the creation of a potential hierarchical order between countries
that possess ASAT weapons and those that do not, Mission Shakti cannot be
understood without taking into account India’s quest for prestige that comes
with being part of a select group of nations possessing ASATs.
Second, history is also important in the context of discussing how
national identity informs space behaviour. In the 19th century, scientific and
technological progress took the form of a ‘standard of civilisation’ that
differentiated European societies from non-European ones, premised on a
hierarchical conception of science and technology that was embedded in a
‘techno-scientific orientalist’ discourse. This process had a significant
impact on China and India in the sense that both countries continue to use
visible manifestations of techno-scientific advancement, such as space
projects, as indicators of power, status, and modernity. Typifying this is the
continuing influence of a techno-nationalist ideology in China and India
(Stroikos, 2020).
Third, great power aspirations mediated by identity are also pertinent to
how norms of responsible behaviour can constrain or alter state preferences
and actions. In a telling illustration of the potential impact of nascent norms
of responsible behaviour and what the dynamic idea of a ‘responsible great
power’ in space entails, after its 2007 ASAT test and the international
condemnation it garnered, China conducted subsequent ASAT tests in a
‘responsible’ manner by avoiding the creation of space debris and labelling
them as ‘missile defense tests’, influenced by the US Operation Burnt Frost
in 2008. This suggests that Beijing was engaging in a process of social
learning in that it has conformed to an emerging norm of environmental
responsibility in space according to which the testing of ground-based
kinetic ASAT capabilities by limiting or avoiding the generation of space
debris is socially acceptable (Stroikos, 2022a: 345). Correspondingly,
connoting how New Delhi conducted its ASAT test in a more ‘responsible’
way when compared to Beijing’s 2007 test, Indian authorities were eager to
emphasise that the Indian ASAT test was intentionally performed at a
relatively low altitude. This would enable the space debris produced by the
test to quickly re-enter the Earth’s atmosphere, so it would not pose a
significant danger to the space assets of other nations (Weeden and Samson,
2021: 5–4).

Conclusions
The aim of this chapter has been to provide an analysis of China and India
as space powers with a focus on the growing militarisation of their space
programmes. The chapter started with a discussion of China’s civilian space
activities as a necessary background, which involved highlighting the
country’s remarkable space feats in human spaceflight and lunar
exploration, before considering the ways in which Beijing places an
increasing emphasis on the use of space for military purposes. Then, it
provided a brief overview of India’s civilian space programme and its shift
from the use of space for development to space exploration missions
reflecting the ambitions of a great power in space. Like China, therefore,
India’s space programme has gone a long way since its inception.
Furthermore, as this chapter has shown, this significant transformation of
India’s space programme has also been accompanied by a greater emphasis
on military applications.
This chapter then moved on to consider the insights that can emerge
from an application of Sagan’s three models on nuclear proliferation to
China and India’s ASAT tests. Not surprisingly, perhaps, most analyses of
China and India’s ASAT tests have been in line with the security model. But
although the security model is useful in explaining the drivers behind the
Chinese and Indian ASATs, this chapter also shows the analytical utility of
the domestic politics model by underscoring how domestic political
considerations and bureaucratic interests have also been at play in both
cases. Likewise, within the scope of the norms model, this chapter has
illustrated the ways in which identity, history, and norms are important
factors that shape and constrain the development and testing of ASATs. The
key point is that rather than treating the three models as competing, their
relationship should be seen as complementary by recognising how ASATs
are dependent on the interaction of a complex array of factors and actors
than a single model can accommodate. Such considerations assume
renewed importance in an era of strategic uncertainty defined by great
power competition and predominant assumptions about the inevitability of
conflict in space. As a result, it is more important than ever to develop
frameworks that help to capture the complex forces determining space
policy outcomes, such as ASAT tests, with significant implications for the
security and stability of the domain of space.

Acknowledgements
An earlier version of the chapter was presented at the 11th ESSCA Space
Policy Workshop. I thank all the participants in the workshop for their
helpful comments. I am also grateful to Thomas Hoerber and Iraklis
Oikonomou, who read the manuscript and suggested many improvements.

Notes
* This chapter is a significantly revised and restructured version of a
forthcoming work entitled ‘Still Lost in Space? Understanding China
and India’s Anti-Satellite Tests Through an Eclectic Approach’.

1. For recent detailed accounts of China’s space programme on which

this section draws, see Aliberti (2015); Chandrashekar (2022); Harvey
(2019); Pollpeter et al. (2020); and Wu (2022).
2. For a thoughtful analysis of Chinese techno-nationalism, see Hughes
(2006).
 3. On the importance of the ‘863 High Technology Plan’, see
Feigenbaum (2003).
4. For an insightful discussion of the China Dream and its meanings, see
Callahan (2013). On Xi and his objective of making China great again,
see Brown (2022).
5. For a recent account of China’s space station, see Jiang and Zhao
(2021).
6. For a recent discussion on China’s space programme and international
cooperation, see Wu (2022).
7. More information on APSCO can be found on the organisation’s site:
http://www.apsco.int.
8. For a detailed account of the effect of the Gulf War of 1991 and other
external influences on the Chinese military, see Shambaugh (2004).
9. On the creation of the PLASSF and its importance, for example, see
Costello and McReynolds (2018); and Pollpeter, Chase, and
Heginbotham (2017).
10. For two insightful discussions of the MCF, see Bitzinger (2021) and
Kania and Laskai (2021).
11. On space and MCF, also see: Nie (2020); and Wu and Long (2022).
12. On China’s space capabilities and C4ISR, see Chandrashekar (2022);
Pollpeter et al. (2020); and Wortzel (2013).
13. For two useful assessments of China’s counterspace capabilities, see
Weeden and Samson (2021); and Harrison et al. (2021).
14. On India’s space programme, among others, see Aliberti (2018); Raj
(2000); Rao and Radhakrishnan (2012) and Singh (2017).
15. More information on NavIC can be found on ISRO’s site:
https://www.isro.gov.in/SatelliteNavigationServices.html.
16. On International Relations theory and the study of space, including
realism, see Stroikos (2022b). For a more extensive discussion of
China and India’s ASAT tests from an analytical eclectic approach that
combines structural imperatives, domestic influences, and national
identity, on which this section substantially relies, see Stroikos
(forthcoming).
17. On China’s quest for great power status, inter alia, see Deng (2008)
and Suzuki (2008). For two recent works on India and status, see
Basrur and Sullivan de Estrada (2017); and Schaffer and Schaffer
(2016).
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11 Military Strategy in Outer Space
A Call to Arms Control

Jessica West

DOI: 10.4324/9781003230670-15

Introduction
Although the “peaceful use of outer space” is a well-worn mantra of
international governance (“COPUOS” 2021), a shift to warfighting is well
underway among national militaries. Public statements are rife with
rhetorical drumbeats of space as a “warfighting domain” (Smith 2017).
From the United States to France, India, and Japan, militaries are creating
new doctrines, strategies, and operational units to respond to the growing
array of threats to space-based systems, both real and perceived. The stakes
are high. The use of outer space systems and the data that they provide are
essential to almost every function of modern militaries. But such use of
space is also deeply integrated into the everyday lives of civilians all around
the world. A war in outer space would have grave military, environmental,
and humanitarian consequences (International Committee of the Red Cross
2021). Despite the risks, few mechanisms exist to prevent conflict
escalation in space, and almost none that guard against harmful destruction
in this sensitive and essential environment (United Nations 1967).
Focused on the United States, this chapter reviews the latest military
doctrine and strategies that underpin warfighting in outer space. Aimed at
maintaining strategic stability, the strategy flows through various layers of
deterrence beginning with traditional military superiority, followed by
capabilities for “deterrence through denial,” such as detection, “active
defenses” and resilience, and coming to rest on a commitment to “winning
war” in space (United States Space Force 2020). But absent a strategy of
political engagement and arms control, this series of one-sided technical
fixes for warfighting resemble triage more than stability. It is likely to end
in failure. Strategic stability and the prevention of conflict in outer space
will not be met through technical means alone. These are political
objectives that require political solutions. None are in sight. Although a nod
to politics is evident in the inclusion of efforts to shape norms of behavior
in outer space, here too the strategy remains one-sided, rooted in
competition rather than cooperation. Missing from the current formula is a
commitment to arms control.
This chapter is a critique of space power and defense strategies
predicated on deterrence. Drawing on a broad interpretation of arms control
as a form of political engagement among potential adversaries pioneered by
Thomas Schelling (Schelling 1961), I argue that it is a compliment to
deterrence, and a necessary ingredient to achieve strategic stability and the
prevention of conflict in outer space.

Revisiting Arms Control in Space

The track record of arms control in outer space is poor. Forty years after the
first United Nations (UN) resolutions to prevent an arms race in outer space
(PAROS), the international community is still trying to agree on how to do
this (West 2021a). But long before the UN took up the mantra of PAROS,
space was a focus of strategic and bilateral arms control initiatives. Some
succeeded. Following disastrous tests of nuclear weapons that inflicted
significant harm on the surrounding space environment and satellites, the
Partial Test Ban Treaty banning nuclear explosions under water, in the
atmosphere, and in outer space was first ratified by the United States,
Soviet Union, and United Kingdom in 1963. The value of arms control in
space for strategic stability is clearly demonstrated through bilateral talks,
such as the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT), which produced both
the Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty and the SALT I agreements, each
of which prohibited interference with “national technical means of
verification,” (United States and Union of Soviet State Republics 1972a,
Article V), widely understood to mean military reconnaissance satellites, as
well as strategic communications capabilities in outer space (Koplow
2014). Additionally, the ABM Treaty limited the use of ABM systems to
defend against ballistic missiles and restricting their placement in outer
space (United States and Union of Soviet State Republics 1972b, Article
V). But additional efforts to extend military restrictions in space – including
a series of bilateral discussions in the 1970s and 1980s to ban anti-satellite
(ASAT) weapons – failed. And in 2002, the United States formally
withdrew from the ABM Treaty.
The U.S. national policy is not against arms control in space, in theory.
In 1984, the U.S. Congress introduced “A joint resolution calling upon the
President to seek a mutual and verifiable ban on weapons in space and on
weapons designed to attack objects in space” (United States Congress
1984). The 2010 U.S. National Space Policy stipulated that it “will consider
proposals and concepts for arms control measures if they are equitable,
effectively verifiable, and enhance the national security of the United States
and its allies” (Barak Obama 2010, 7).
Yet U.S. domestic space policy has been deeply resistant to the pursuit of
arms control in outer space in practice. Military space strategy has been
strongly influenced by theories of sea power (Bowen 2020; Leissle 2016).
Much like space today, naval power has long been viewed as an enabling
power for the projection of military force, underpinned by concepts of
freedom, command, and control (Gray 1994). Naval forces have notoriously
remained outside of strategic arms control initiatives. While obstacles to
formal arms control agreements in outer space are well known and largely
technical, with a focus on definitions and verification, these can and have
been overcome before (Standfield 2021). Ultimately, the core objection to
the pursuit of arms control is political and ideological.
Key theorists of space power are deeply resistant to arms control, not
only in space but also in principle. Pioneering theorists of space power
include Colin Gray, who famously viewed arms control as a paradox or
“house of cards,” concluding that it is “either impossible or unimportant”
(Gray 1992, 16–19). Despite the unique physical environment of outer
space, he famously insisted that when it comes to strategy, there is nothing
unique about space (Klein 2021). Likewise, Everett Dolman is well known
for his work sketching the inevitability of weapons and warfare as a result
of geopolitical competition in outer space; a line of argument that has been
taken up by others (Dolman 2002; Pavelec 2012). Promoters of arms
control in space have been derided as naïve, hypocritical, or unpatriotic
(“Whither Arms Control in Outer Space? Space Threats, Space Hypocrisy,
and the Hope of Space Norms” 2020).
Grey’s assessment about the futility of arms control rests not on strategy
but on politics: That the relationship is, at its core, hostile (Gray 1992). This
conclusion speaks to a broader argument by Robert Jervis that arms control
is a band-aid style that fails to take into account the political drivers of
conflict (Jervis 1993). Others note that arms control too often fails to
produce stability in a crisis (Brooks 2020). But I believe that these analysts,
who confuse outcome with process, are not looking at arms control in the
right way.
Although it has become synonymous with the formal, legally binding
arms control agreements of the Cold War, arms control has a broader
meaning in national security strategy. Thomas Schelling described it as “all
the forms of military cooperation among potential enemies that may reduce
the risk of war, its scope and violence if it occurs, or the costs of being
prepared for it” (Schelling 1961, 723). In essence, arms control is a tool for
governing relations between potential enemies based on mutual
accommodation and restraint. Aimed at preventing and mitigating the
consequences of violent conflict, arms control measures can take both a
hardware approach by controlling or restricting the development,
production, and use of certain types of weapons, or a behavioral approach
that seeks to enhance the transparency of military activities in an effort to
avoid miscommunication, misinterpretation, and the unintended escalation
of conflict. Most agreements blend the two.
Going forward, arms control must be about function not form. According
to Martha Finnemore and Duncan Hollis, who have written about
international cyber norms, the process is the product (Finnemore and Hollis
2016). Arms control includes a host of interactive processes and
mechanisms from political engagement, dialogue, and negotiation to
implementation measures that include communication, consultation, and
forums to review and discuss compliance. These processes – not the
agreement – are what give ongoing value to arms control. In a world where
formal arms control agreements are in decline, the value of political
engagement and less formal means of restraint are more essential than ever
(Tannenwald 2020).
There is no time to wait. Writing in 2006 on the need for cooperative
threat reduction in space to mitigate heightening distrust and a turn to arms,
Clay Moltz noted, “fortunately, serious threats to security in space do not
yet exist” (Moltz 2006, 121). But the subsequent shift among militaries to
consider space a warfighting domain means that this benign assessment is
no longer the case.

The Shift to Warfighting in Outer Space

The creation in 2020 of the Space Force as the sixth branch of the U.S.
military solidified the growing treatment of outer space as an operational
domain of warfighting. This development followed the re-establishment in
August 2019 of the U.S. Space Command as a geographic combatant
command within the U.S. armed forces. A summary of U.S. defense space
strategy describes space as a hostile environment marked by great power
competition (U.S. Department of Defense 2020, 3, 7). But not all
capabilities are defensive. The U.S. military intends to develop and field
offensive capabilities that target an adversary’s space and counterspace
capabilities for use in fighting and winning wars in and through space
(United States Space Force 2020, 36).
This focus on warfighting marks a decisive shift in the military treatment
of outer space, although space and the objects that humans send into space
have long been critical elements in war plans (Bowen 2020). From the
development of the first space launch capabilities and the deployment of the
first artificial satellite in outer space, major state militaries have included
space in their strategies. And while many lament the loss of what they view
as “sanctuary” in space (United States Space Force 2020, 7), others claim
that such an idyllic past never existed (Dickey 2020). Still, until recently,
the dominant approach to space as a battleground has been one of restraints
(Moltz 2008).
What is new is the clear mobilization of force in outer space. The United
States is not alone. Many states are in various stages of developing, testing,
and fielding kinetic, directed-energy, and cyber weapons that will be able to
target systems in outer space (Weeden and Samson 2023). Years of restraint
in testing ASAT systems ended with China’s infamous 2007 kinetic ASAT
test. The United States conducted an ASAT demonstration – Operation
Burnt Frost – in 2008. India followed suit in 2019 (Mission Shakti). In
2020, the United States and United Kingdom accused Russia of releasing a
“projectile” from a satellite in orbit in what they called a weapons test in
space (West 2020). The use of other tactics to temporarily deny the use of
space systems and information, such as jamming, is rampant (Weeden and
Samson 2021).
These physical demonstrations of force are integrated with warfighting
strategies and organizational structures. Within the last decade, the
militaries of Russia and China have re-organized to incorporate space into
more traditional warfighting functions. Russia created its Aerospace Forces;
China established the Strategic Support Force, which integrates space,
cyberspace, and electronic warfighting components to function in what it
describes as “informationized” warfare (State Council Information Office
2019, 6).
Such trends are accelerating. The United Kingdom, France, Italy, and
Germany host military space commands. Japan’s Air-Self-Defense Force
contains the Space Operations Squadron. India has constructed a Defence
Space Agency to take over the space-related operations of its three armed
forces (Army, Navy, Air Force).
More and more, space is driving military cooperation between the
United States and its allies. For example, the Five Eyes intelligence allies –
Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and the United
States – share space situational awareness (SSA) data and intelligence.
(This alliance could soon expand to formally include Japan). Operational
cooperation is also increasing. The annual Schriever Wargames training
event includes participants from the Five Eyes alliance as well as France,
Germany, and Japan (Everstine 2021). Such cooperation extends to the
NATO – the key link between Europe and the United States. In 2019,
NATO formally declared space an “operational domain”; emphasized the
need to protect civilian and military assets in space; and adopted a new,
classified Space Policy (NATO 2021). The approach newly situates space as
a “priority, rather than an afterthought” (Stickings 2020). While NATO has
resisted direct references to warfighting, and its Secretary-General Jens
Stoltenberg has stated that NATO would not “weaponize” space (Banks
2019), in 2021, the Alliance issued a statement formally extending the
collective defense provisions of Article 5 of its founding treaty to include
“attacks to, from, or within space” on a “case-by-case basis” (Atlantic
Council 2021).
Clearly, the United States and its European partners expect – and are
preparing for – space to feature in future conflict. But in the absence of
arms control measures, current military strategy is ill-equipped to succeed.

Strategic Stability and the Arms Control Gap in

Outer Space
An overarching objective of strategic stability belies the rhetorical focus on
warfighting in outer space. The 2020 summary report of the U.S. Space
Defense Strategy asserts, “The DoD desires a secure, stable, and accessible
space domain, whose use by the United States and our allies and partners is
underpinned by comprehensive, sustained military strength” (U.S.
Department of Defense 2020, 1). This desire is echoed in the guiding
principles of space power (United States Space Force 2020).
Deterrence is at the heart of this strategy. The point of space power,
according to the U.S. Department of Defense (DoD), is to “deter and defeat
aggression and protect national interests in space” to “avoid the application
of force” if possible (United States Space Force 2020, vi). To this end, the
military has adopted a layered approach to deterrence. It begins traditionally
with emphasis on maintaining military superiority in space. Military might
is reinforced by a policy of extended nuclear deterrence, clarified in the
2018 Nuclear Posture Review which included attacks on strategic space
assets among the “significant non-nuclear strategic attack” that might invite
a nuclear response (United States Office of the Secretary of Defense 2018,
21). Russia has adopted a similar policy (Bugos 2020).
But unlike traditional nuclear deterrence, discouraging a broad range of
activities in an entire domain of operation, such as outer space, is complex
(Langeland and Grossman 2021). Not all nefarious behaviors are strategic
threats; some – such as jamming – are minor misdemeanors. Military
strength is thus complemented with various approaches of denying
adversaries the benefits of interfering with U.S. space capabilities that
include superior detection and threat characterization abilities, the means to
pre-empt possible attacks, and the ability to withstand harmful actions
through resilience. Ultimately, however, deterrence lands on a commitment
to winning a war in space, albeit one that the country seeks to avoid. The
2020 Defense Space Strategy frames this as an ability to “compete, deter,
and win in a complex security environment characterized by great power
competition” (U.S. Department of Defense 2020, 1). The latest national
security guidance rephrases this as “deter,” “defend,” and “defeat” (Joe R.
Biden 2021, 14). This is a one-sided approach to both deterrence and
stability based almost exclusively on technical capabilities.
Arms control is not a part of this strategy; it should be. Arms control is
essential to both strategic stability and deterrence, which at their core
involve relations with other states. To succeed, it requires both a believed
threat to do something under certain circumstances, and a promise not to do
something under other conditions. It is a strategy of engagement that
requires that each party trust the other(s) (Krepon 2020). In other words,
deterrence requires the mutual self-interest that marks arms control bargains
(Schelling 1961). Strength alone is insufficient.
Strategic stability is classically defined as an outcome of deterrence and,
like deterrence, it is much more complex today (Trenin 2019). Narrowly, it
involves a relationship where neither state has an incentive to strike first
(Schelling 20), but broader interpretations include an absence of armed
conflict or even harmonious relations among nuclear powers (Acton 2013).
Given the larger range of actors and capabilities that define international
security relations today, strategic stability must be conceptualized in these
broader terms (Acton 2013). An ongoing process of arms control rooted in
engagement and mutual restraint is essential.
The continued relevance of arms control measures for strategic stability
can be seen in the current bilateral Strategic Stability Dialogue between the
United States and Russia, which aims to “lay the groundwork for future
arms control and risk reduction measures” to ensure predictability and
reduce the risk of arms control and nuclear war (Office of the Spokesperson
2021). A similar process is needed for space. Not only are space-based
military capabilities strategically critical to any future conflict but also the
layers of deterrence mechanisms laid out to protect them will not work if
arms control is not part of the defense equation in outer space. An
assessment of these various layers indicates key limitations to each. In the
absence of arms control, the net effect is one of falling dominoes cascading
toward failure.

The Limits of Deterrence through Strength

Military superiority and the process of dissuading an action through
promise of punishment are at the heart of deterrence in space. But strength
alone is insufficient. On the one hand, responding with military force in
outer space is undesirable, not least because of the negative environmental
consequences that stand to inflict additional harm on all users of outer
space. For this reason, the 2017 National Security Strategy stipulates that
harmful actions “will be met with a deliberate response at a time, place,
manner, and domain of our choosing” (Trump 2017, 31). As noted above,
this includes potential nuclear escalation. Yet, there are reasons to doubt the
ability of traditional deterrence to prevent conflict in space.
Advocates for deterrence argue that space is the same as any other
domain (Pace 2012). If so, then we can use Earth’s history of violent
terrestrial conflict and nuclear near-misses as evidence that deterrence does
not work that well. But deterrence might work even less well in space.
Cyberspace is an instructive example. The escalating number and
intensity of cyberattacks on western states suggests that deterrence is not
working (Soesanto and Smeets 2021). Indeed, the difficulty of applying
deterrence to cyberspace is identified as a key hurdle for the new strategic
stability talks that are intended to delve into this topic (Sanger 2021).
Deterrence is traditionally aimed at specific threats. How does it work
against an entire domain, when there are so many actors, not easily
identified or detected, who persist in denying their actions (Rajagopalan
2019). Another question: At what level do activities cease to be seen as
nuisances and become real threats? Grey-zone activities are difficult to
deter without risking further escalation. The strategy is all the more
dangerous because we are not even sure what such escalation might look
like. U.S. defense policy clearly states that the DoD “has limited
operational experience with conflict beginning in or extending into space”
(U.S. Department of Defense 2020, 4). Differing conceptions of conflict
escalation among adversaries further complicates matters (Stone 2020).
There is a lot that we do not know about the dynamics of conflict and
escalation in space (Harrison et al. 2017, 20). The danger is unacceptable
when it is considered that deterrence in both the cyber and space spheres is
now an extension of nuclear deterrence.
Indeed, this link to nuclear weapons is an implicit acknowledgement of
the difficulty of achieving effective deterrence in space. For this reason,
U.S. deterrence tactics in space incorporate not only the maintenance of
superior military strength and threat of nuclear escalation but also superior
detection capabilities (Gleason and Hays 2020). This is sometimes
described as deterrence through attribution (Stone 2020). The idea is that
detection denies adversaries the ability to act clandestinely. Such detection
is based on the concept of space domain awareness, an evolution of SSA
that is meant to prioritize real-time awareness and tracking of potential
threats in a warfighting domain (Erwin 2019). If adversaries know that they
are being observed, they are less likely to act aggressively, the thinking
goes. And if they pursue aggressive behavior nonetheless, such detection
means that they are less able to escape punishment.
However, detection is also central to another layer of deterrence strategy
in space, namely deterrence through denial. The logic behind this approach
is that an actor is less likely to pursue aggressive action if it will be denied
the benefits of such action, or if it is unlikely to succeed (Gleason and Hays
2020). It is an implicit acknowledgement of the limits of traditional
deterrence through strength and punishment.

The Limits of Deterrence through Denial

Underpinned by detection and attribution capabilities, U.S. military strategy
seeks to deny an adversary the benefit of attack through two approaches:
pre-emption and resilience. Both face critical limits.
The U.S. warfighting approach to military activities in outer space
includes a focus on “offensive operations,” which American space power
doctrine describes as targeting “an adversary’s space and counterspace
capabilities, reducing the effectiveness and lethality of adversary forces
across all domains” to gain the initiative and “neutralize adversary space
missions before they can be employed against friendly forces” (United
States Space Force 2020, 36).
 This strategy of pre-emption is couched in terms of self-defense or
“active defense,” which extends beyond a traditional focus on protection to
include preventive actions against a threat as it materializes (Harrison,
Johnson, and Young 2021, 36). According to U.S. space power doctrine,
these “actions to destroy, nullify, or reduce the effectiveness of threats
holding friendly space capabilities at risk” include not only “reactive
operations” in response to an initiated attack but also “proactive efforts to
seize the initiative once an attack is imminent” (United States Space Force
2020, 36).
The United States is not alone in pursing such a strategy. France also
refers to an operational framework for “self-defense” in space (The French
Ministry for the Armed Forces 2019, 9). China has stated, “we will not
attack unless we are attacked, but we will surely counter-attack if attacked,”
and emphasizes “containing and winning wars, and underscores the unity of
strategic defense and offense at operational and tactical levels” (State
Council Information Office 2019, 8).
Although advocates describe active defense as a “gray area” that can be
interpreted as either defensive or offensive, “depending on one’s
perspective” (Harrison, Johnson, and Young 2021, 36), a prospective target
clearly views it as offensive. What is true from all perspectives is that, like
any strategy that contains a pre-emptive component to strike first at a
perceived threat, it is inherently unstable, particularly when adopted by
many competing actors.
A blurring of offensive and defensive capabilities and strategies means
that it becomes unclear which actions constitute an imminent threat and
other actors do not know when to respond pre-emptively in turn (Townsend
2020). The deployment of offensive capabilities – even if intended for
defensive use – intensifies the security dilemma and provokes counter-
responses by competitors, thus increasing strategic instability (Teeple
2020). Further complications arise from the potential dual-use of military
and civilian capabilities, such as active debris removal, which some
proponents of active defense advocate (Harrison, Johnson, and Young
2021). Confusion, caused by misinterpretation and miscommunication and
amplified by the perceived advantage and necessity of striking first, is a key
driver of conflict. Indeed, active defense in space risks recreating the type
of security dilemma that nuclear arms control agreements seek to resolve.
This strategy is directly in opposition to the objective of stability.
 This is clearly dangerous since a pre-emptive strategy is unlikely to work
in practice. Many of the proposed capabilities that are intended to intercept
an attack in outer space rely on flawless intelligence, immediate reaction,
perfect timing. In reality, the laws of physics that dictate and constrain
operational responses in outer space will not produce such ideal
circumstances. Although objects in orbit move quickly, maneuvering and
outmaneuvering in space are slow and difficult (Reeseman and Wilson
2020). Finally, let us not forget that the outcome of a pre-emptive attack
will be crisis escalation and counter-attacks – in other words, war (Regehr
2020, 12). Put into practice, active defense brings about what it seeks to
prevent.
Like the limits of deterrence through strength and punishment, this is
acknowledged by the second strand of the approach to denial: resilience.
Resilience has been a part of U.S. defense strategy in space for at least a
decade (U.S. Department of Defense 2011). The United States seeks to
achieve resilience, which it sees as the ability to “continue providing
required capabilities in the face of system failures, environmental
challenges, or adversary actions” (Air Force Space Command 2016), by
focusing on six attributes of space systems: disaggregation, distribution,
diversification, protection, proliferation, and deception. Together these
amount to an ability to absorb and withstand attacks, which in theory denies
an aggressor the benefit of an attack.
Resilience is essential to survive in outer space, a harsh operating
environment rife with intentional, accidental, and natural threats. It is much
less escalatory than pre-emption and active defense and can contribute to
stability by reducing incentives for aggression (Townsend 2020). But it too
has limits.
One problem is that resilience is expensive. The obvious way to
withstand disruption to a critical system is through redundant or duplicated
capability that can be used as backup. But space systems are complex,
expensive, and not easily reproduced. In part, this can be achieved through
cooperation and interoperability with allies. This is a key objective of
NATO cooperation in outer space. But not all capabilities are easily
replicated or replaced. Efforts to recreate a non-space option for military
GPS – despite being much less effective – point to the continued
vulnerability and limited resilience of key systems in space (Cardillo 2020).
 Disaggregating capabilities of large space systems into constellations of
smaller and cheaper parts is another approach to resilience. In this instance,
the broader system might be able to withstand damage to one component, or
more easily replace a damaged piece. It’s a “strength in numbers” model
(Linville and Bettinger 2020.). This idea is not new – consider the drive to
constellations by commercial Internet providers such as Starlink – but
putting theory into military practice has been slow. Moreover, both
duplicating and disaggregating space systems add to growing safety and
sustainability risks linked to congestion in space.
Finally, while resiliency cannot be repurposed as an offensive capability,
it can be perceived by outsiders as a display of relative invulnerability and
produce unwelcome reactions by them, which can contribute to overall
strategic instability. Consider the pursuit of nuclear invulnerability through
ballistic missile defense as a case in point. Again, in the absence of mutual
agreements, there is a risk that such an approach may drive rather than
mitigate instability.
Resilience also has physical limitations. The ability of any system to
withstand or absorb harmful effects is determined by both the scope and
duration of the threat and the physical qualities of the system itself. As well,
damage is caused not only by the direct attack but also by the
environmental damage caused by the attack, which can be equally
devastating and difficult to mitigate. The cascading effects of space debris –
known as the Kessler effect – illustrate this reality.
Rather than pursue a mutual approach to deterrence that engages with
potential adversaries, the U.S. strategy emphasizes technical capabilities. It
is a strategy that embraces failure, made explicit within U.S. defense
strategy itself, which notes, “Should deterrence fail, military space forces
are prepared to fight and win our Nation’s wars, in space, from space, and
to space” (United States Space Force 2020). But the ability to win a war in
space is dubious. Arms control is necessary, not only to make deterrence
work but also to provide a safety net when it does not.

The Limits of “Winning” a War in Space

There is little public documentation on how wars in outer space are to be
won. I suspect it is because when it comes to warfighting in space, there is
no such thing as winning. In this, space is not unique. Earlier in his career,
Colin Grey asserted that victory in nuclear war was possible (Gray and
Payne 1980). He later changed his mind (Cimbala 2021).
It is not clear what winning a war in space even means. Writing about
the prospect of nuclear war, Ernie Regehr argues that such a war “would
inflict such massive and unacceptable damage that only losers would
emerge” (Regehr 2020, 14). Current law bars nuclear war in space under
Article IV of the Outer Space Treaty (OST), but massive harm is almost
certain even without the use of nuclear weapons, because of the fragility of
the environment and the connectedness of actors and activities.
It can be said without hyperbole that what is at risk is everyone’s ability
to safely access and use outer space (West 2022). While military
competition, arms races, and warfighting are not unique to outer space, the
ways in which they unfold in this environment are. There is no separate
zone for warfighting: The whole space domain is the battlefield.
The historical consequences of the use of weapons in this fragile
environment have been deadly and indiscriminate. The first nuclear tests
conducted in space by the United States in 1958 contaminated the Van
Allen belts around Earth with additional radiation and disabled at least six
satellites (Moltz 2008, 68). China’s ASAT test in 2007 created the largest
debris field to date, with all the pieces still up there in space. One of those
pieces recently smashed into a Chinese military satellite (Wall 2021). The
cascading effects of even low-debris events in space are becoming more
consequential as space becomes more and more crowded (Boley and Byers
2021). Additional destructive events could make some orbits unusable
(Kessler and Cour-Palais 1978).
The risks of warfighting in space extend far beyond space itself. The
goal of exerting power in space is to have military effects on Earth (Bowen
2020). These effects could be devastating to civilians because the targets of
warfighting activity would be both the many military space systems, which
are dual-use and support civilian functions, as well as many commercial
systems that serve military and non-military clients. If space becomes a
warfighting domain, the International Committee of the Red Cross has
declared that “the human cost of using weapons in outer space that could
disrupt, damage, destroy or disable civilian or dual-use space objects is
likely to be significant” (International Committee of the Red Cross 2021,
1). Civilian signals for GPS and Europe’s Galileo that are used for
navigating vehicles from ships to commercial aircraft and drones, are
already a target of hostile forces, even during peacetime (Zhang and Zhu
2017).
The potential for nuclear catastrophe is terrifying. The command and
control of nuclear weapons systems requires the use of space assets. These
assets could be deliberately targeted or accidentally hit or disrupted during
combat, setting off nuclear devastation. The entanglement of space
deterrence with nuclear deterrence introduces further risk.
It seems obvious that preventing a war should take priority over winning
one. In the event that violence does erupt, there should be measures in place
that prevent the worst possible outcomes. And so we are back to the critical
need for arms control in outer space, not only to make deterrence more
effective but also to provide a safety net when it does not.

A Nod to Norms
The U.S. 2020 Defense Space Strategy Summary acknowledges the
limitations and instability produced by a technical focus on deterrence and
winning wars in space when it includes an aim to develop “standards and
norms of behavior in space favorable to U.S., allied, and partner interests”
as part of an effort to shape the strategic environment in outer space (U.S.
Department of Defense 2020, 8). But here too, the focus remains on
deterrence, and a one-sided approach to rule setting.
Norms – also known as rules of behavior or rules of the road, rooted in
shared values and societal expectations of appropriate conduct – are a key
instrument in the arms control toolkit (West 2021b). While norms focus on
behavior, rather than restrictions on weapons, they can serve as
transparency and confidence-building measures (TCBMs), which support
arms control agreements by building trust among the participants
(Rajagopalan 2015). Without this trust, agreements will not be successfully
implemented. The promotion of such TCBMs has long been linked to the
prevention of an arms race in outer space (PAROS) at the UN First
Committee on Disarmament and International Security. A focus on
behavior, including efforts to prevent misperceptions and
miscommunication, can also help to address what some see as a limitation
of arms control – the ability to manage crisis escalation (Brooks 2020).
Such was the objective of the international space “code of conduct”
proposed by the European Union in 2014 (European Union 2014). It
remains the goal of the latest UN initiative to develop norms of
“responsible” behavior in space, led by the United Kingdom (United
Nations General Assembly 2020). But these good effects will not be
achieved if norms become another weapon in the competition for power in
space, or “normfare” (Radu et al. 2021). Norms must be broadly accepted
and applied.
Norms as employed in U.S. space defense strategy set out rules of the
road that favor American interests, including an effort to “inform
international and public audiences of growing adversarial threats in space”
(U.S. Department of Defense 2020, 8). This emphasis on promoting norms
that explicitly benefit the United States treats norms as an extension of the
battlefield, producing not only stability for the United States but also
winning hearts and minds at home and abroad. This strategy could be seen
in action when the United States and United Kingdom publicly accused
Russia of testing a weapon in outer space (West 2020).
This approach to norms is deeply embedded in deterrence. The aim is to
inflict a political – rather than physical – cost for aggressive action in space
(Langeland and Grossman 2021). This is of course preferable to the use of
force. But it falls short of the type of engagement and mutual security that
underpins arms control. There is also concern that a focus on “responsible”
behavior, such as avoiding the creation of long-lived debris, might be used
to legitimize rather than restrain the use of non-kinetic weapons in space
(Hitchens 2021; West 2021c). A one-sided approach to strategic stability
through a technical focus on deterrence and a political focus on self-
fulfilling norms is not sufficient to prevent warfighting in outer space.

A Call to Arms Control in Space

War increases instability. In a time of mounting tension and talk of
warfighting, the pursuit of arms control becomes more relevant to military
and national security interests that value stability and predictability. Just as
we have been expanding definitions and strategies of deterrence, we can
shift our approach to arms control to meet current needs (Williams 2019).
Contemporary arms control debates spend too much energy on form. Does
arms control restrict hardware or behavior? Is it legally binding or
voluntary? Instead, the focus should be on function. We want a tool that
will result in mutual understandings and reciprocal commitments that
mitigate the drivers of conflict and the resorting to violence. This function
is not found in a final document, but in the process that produces it.
This view of arms control is aligned with Schelling’s broad
conceptualization of arms control as a relationship between adversaries.
When thought about in this light, arms control becomes not a patch on the
wound created by violent conflict but a means of mitigating if not
necessarily resolving it. Whether states pursue legal agreements, norms of
behavior, common understandings, or transparency and conflict-prevention
mechanisms, what is critical is the process of engagement and mutual effort
to prevent a resort to violence in outer space. A recent report by the UN
Secretary-General summarizing states’ views on threats in outer space and
opportunities for progress indicates that there is common ground on which
to build such engagement (United Nations Secretary-General 2021).
Of course, a commitment to arms control by the United States and allies
is no guarantee that others will engage or follow suit. That is alright. The
pursuit of arms control is a compliment to, and not a replacement for,
strategies of deterrence. Arms control can make strategic stability through
deterrence and conflict prevention stronger, while leaving the basis for these
strategies intact. But if deterrence fails, we are left at the mercy of our
efforts to mitigate the drivers and outcomes of violence.
In the absence of arms control, military strategy in space will likely
cascade toward conflict. The cost of war is simply too high to bear.

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