Civilization on the Moon and what it means for life on Earth Jessy Kate Schingler
Right now, there’s a lot
happening with the Moon.
China has announced plans
for an inhabited South Pole station
by the 2030s,
and the United States has
an official road map
seeking an increasing number of people
living and working in space.
This will start with
NASA’s Artemis program,
an international program to send
the first woman and the next man
to the Moon this decade.
Billionaires and the private sector
are getting involved
in unprecedented ways.
There are over a hundred
launch companies around the world
and roughly a dozen private
lunar transportation companies
readying robotic missions
to the lunar surface.
We have reusable rockets
for the first time in human history.
This will enable the development
of infrastructure
and utilization of resources.
While estimates vary, scientists think
there could be up to a billion metric tons
of water ice on the Moon.
That’s greater than the size of Lake Erie,
and enough water to support
perhaps hundreds of thousands of people
living and working on the Moon.
So although official plans
are always evolving,
there’s real reason to think
that we could see people
starting to live and work on the Moon
in the next decade.
However, the Moon is roughly
the size of the continent of Africa,
and we’re starting to see
that the key resources
may be concentrated in small areas
near the poles.
This raises important questions about
coordinating access to scarce resources.
And there are also legitimate questions
about going to the Moon:
colonialism, cultural heritage
and reproducing the systemic inequalities
of today’s capitalism.
And more to the point:
Don’t we have enough
big challenges here on Earth?
Internet governance, pandemics, terrorism
and, perhaps most importantly,
climate crisis and biodiversity loss.
In some senses,
the idea of the Moon as just a destination
embodies these problematic qualities.
It conjures a frontier attitude
of conquest,
big rockets and expensive projects,
competition and winning.
But what’s most interesting about the Moon
isn’t the billionaires with their rockets
or the same old
power struggle between states.
In fact, it’s not the hardware at all.
It’s the software.
It’s the norms, customs and laws.
It’s our social technologies.
And it’s the opportunity to update
our democratic institutions
and the rule of law
to respond to a new era
of planetary-scale challenges.
I’m going to tell you about
how the Moon can be a canvas
for solving some of our biggest
challenges here on Earth.
I’ve been kind of obsessed with this topic
since I was a teenager.
I’ve spent the last two decades
working on international space policy,
but also on small community projects
with bottom-up governance design.
When I was 17,
I went to a UN conference
on the peaceful uses of outer space
in Vienna.
Over two weeks, 160 young people
from over 60 countries
were crammed into a big hotel
next to the UN building.
We were invited to make recommendations
to Member States
about the role of space
in humanity’s future.
After the conference,
some of us were so inspired
that we actually decided
to keep living together.
Now, living with 20 people
might sound kind of crazy,
but over the years, it enabled us
to create a high-trust group
that allowed us to experiment
with these social technologies.
We designed governance systems
ranging from assigning a CEO
to using a jury process.
And as we grew into our careers,
and we moved from DC think tanks
to working for NASA
to starting our own companies,
these experiments enabled us to see
how even small groups
could be a petri dish
for important societal questions
such as representation,
sustainability or opportunity.
People often talk about the Moon
as a petri dish
or even a blank slate.
But because of the legal agreements
that govern the Moon,
it actually has something
very important in common
with our global challenges here on Earth.
They both involve issues that require us
to think beyond territory and borders,
meaning the Moon is actually
more of a template
than a blank slate.
Signed in 1967, the Outer Space Treaty
is the defining treaty
governing activities in outer space,
including the Moon.
And it has two key ingredients
that radically alter the basis
on which laws can be constructed.
The first is a requirement for free access
to all areas of a celestial body.
And the second is that the Moon
and other celestial bodies
are not subject to national appropriation.
Now, this is crazy,
because the entire earthly
international system –
the United Nations,
the system of treaties
and international agreements –
is built on the idea of state sovereignty,
on the appropriation of land
and resources within borders
and the autonomy to control free access
within those borders.
By doing away with both of these,
we create the conditions
for what are called the “commons.”
Based on the work of Nobel
Prize-winning economist Elinor Ostrom,
global commons are those resources
that we all share
that require us to work together
to manage and protect
important aspects
of our survival and well-being,
like climate or the oceans.
Commons-based approaches offer
a greenfield for institution design
that’s only beginning to be explored
at the global and interplanetary level.
What do property rights look like?
And how do we manage resources
when the traditional tools
of external authority and private property
don’t apply?
Though we don’t have all the answers,
climate, internet governance,
authoritarianism –
these are all deeply existential threats
that we have failed to address
with our current ways of thinking.
Successful paths forward
will require us to develop new tools.
So how do we incorporate
commons-based logic
into our global and space institutions?
Well, here’s one attempt
that came from an unlikely source.
As a young activist in World War II,
Arvid Pardo was arrested
for anti-fascist organizing
and held under death sentence
by the Gestapo.
After the war,
he worked his way
into the diplomatic corps,
eventually becoming the first
permanent representative of Malta
to the United Nations.
Pardo saw that international law
did not have the tools
to address management
of shared global resources,
such as the high seas.
He also saw an opportunity to advocate
for equitable sharing between nations.
In 1967, Pardo gave a famous speech
to the United Nations,
introducing the idea
that the oceans and their resources
were the “common heritage of mankind.”
The phrase was eventually adopted
as part of the Law of the Sea Treaty,
probably the most sophisticated
commons-management regime
on the planet today.
It was seen as a watershed moment,
a constitution for the seas.
But the language proved so controversial
that it took over 12 years
to gain enough signatures
for the treaty to enter into force,
and some states still refuse to sign it.
The objection was not so much
about sharing per se,
but the obligation to share.
States felt that the principle of equality
undermined their autonomy
and state sovereignty,
the same autonomy and state sovereignty
that underpins international law.
So in many ways,
the story of the common heritage principle
is a tragedy.
But it’s powerful because it makes plain
the ways in which the current world order
will put up antibodies and defenses
and resist attempts at structural reform.
But here’s the thing:
the Outer Space Treaty has already
made these structural reforms.
At the height of the Cold War,
terrified that each
would get to the Moon first,
the United States and the USSR
made the Westphalian equivalent
of a deal with the devil.
By requiring free access
and preventing territorial appropriation,
we are required to redesign
our most basic institutions,
and perhaps in doing so,
learn something new
we can apply here on Earth.
So although the Moon might seem
a little far away sometimes,
how we answer basic questions now
will set precedent
for who has a seat at the table
and what consent looks like.
And these are questions
of social technology,
not rockets and hardware.
In fact, these conversations
are starting to happen right now.
The space community is discussing
basic shared agreements,
such as how do we designate
lunar areas as heritage sites,
and how do we get permission
for where to land
when traditional external authority
doesn’t apply?
How do we enforce requirements
for coordination
when it’s against the rules
to tell people where to go?
And how do we manage
access to scarce resources
such as water, minerals
or even the peaks of eternal light –
craters that sit
at just the right latitude
to receive near-constant
exposure to sunlight –
and therefore, power?
Now, some people think
that the lack of rules on the Moon
is terrifying.
And there are legitimately
some terrifying elements of it.
If there are no rules on the Moon,
then won’t we end up
in a first-come, first-served situation?
And we might,
if we dismiss this moment.
But not if we’re willing to be bold
and to engage the challenge.
As we learned in our communities
of self-governance,
it’s easier to create something new
than trying to dismantle the old.
And where else but the Moon
can we prototype
new institutions at global scale
in a self-contained environment
with the exact design constraints needed
for our biggest challenges here on Earth?
Back in 1999,
the United Nations taught
a group of young space geeks
that we could think bigger,
that we could impact nations
if we chose to.
Today, the stage is set for the next step:
to envision what comes after
territory and borders.
Thank you.