NASA’s Artemis program revives Cold War-era space race logic, obscuring colonial resource extraction and privatized lunar ambitions

Indigenous perspectives on celestial bodies are systematically excluded from Artemis narratives, despite traditions that treat the Moon as a living ancestor or sacred entity. For example, the Navajo Nation’s 2006 Lunar Reconciliation Act—acknowledging past NASA missions as cultural violations—is ignored in favor of a ‘progress’ narrative. The program’s reliance on private contractors (e.g., SpaceX) further marginalizes Indigenous land rights, as launch sites (e.g., Kennedy Space Center) are built on stolen Seminole and Timucua territory. A systemic approach would require Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC) for lunar activities, aligning with UNDRIP principles.

The Artemis program is a direct descendant of the 1960s Space Race, which was a proxy for Cold War militarization and US hegemony, not a ‘humanity-first’ endeavor. NASA’s Apollo missions were justified as a response to Soviet ‘threats,’ but today’s lunar ambitions are driven by corporate interests (e.g., rare earth mining, space tourism) under the guise of ‘scientific discovery.’ Historical parallels include the 1979 Moon Treaty’s failure due to US/Western opposition, and the 2015 Commercial Space Launch Competitiveness Act, which legalized asteroid mining—setting a precedent for lunar resource grabs. The lack of historical reflection erases how space exploration has always served power, not progress.

Non-Western space programs (e.g., China’s Chang’e, India’s Chandrayaan, UAE’s Hope Probe) frame lunar exploration as a tool for national pride and South-South cooperation, contrasting with Artemis’ militarized and privatized model. In Latin America, the ALCE (Latin American and Caribbean Space Agency) advocates for a ‘decolonial space agenda,’ emphasizing resource-sharing and South-South technology transfer. Meanwhile, African nations push for the ‘African Space Policy,’ which prioritizes sustainable development over extractive ventures. These alternatives highlight how space exploration can be reimagined outside the Western paradigm of domination.

Artemis is framed as a scientific breakthrough, but its primary goals—establishing a lunar base and extracting water ice for fuel—are driven by engineering challenges, not pure discovery. The program’s reliance on SpaceX’s Starship (a methane-fueled rocket) raises concerns about methane’s climate impact, as each launch emits ~300 tons of CO2, equivalent to a transatlantic flight. Additionally, the lack of peer-reviewed studies on long-term lunar habitat sustainability (e.g., radiation shielding, psychological effects) suggests a rush to ‘boots on the Moon’ before addressing critical unknowns. The scientific community’s role is often reduced to cheerleading, not critical oversight.

Artistic and spiritual responses to Artemis reveal a tension between technological awe and existential dread, as seen in Indigenous artworks like the Māori ‘Moon as Ancestor’ carvings or Navajo sand paintings depicting celestial harmony. Western artists like Trevor Paglen critique space militarization in works like ‘The Last Pictures,’ while Afrofuturist writers (e.g., Nnedi Okorafor) reimagine lunar colonies as sites of Black liberation. The spiritual dimension is often reduced to ‘inspiration’ narratives (e.g., ‘We choose to go to the Moon’), ignoring how space exploration reshapes humanity’s relationship with the cosmos—either as stewards or conquerors.

Artemis sets a precedent for a ‘Wild West’ lunar economy, where corporations and nations stake claims on water ice, helium-3, and regolith, potentially triggering interplanetary conflicts. Scenario modeling by the Secure World Foundation warns that unregulated resource extraction could lead to ‘space resource wars’ by 2040, with lunar bases becoming militarized outposts. Meanwhile, ‘space debris’ from discarded landers and rovers may render parts of the Moon uninhabitable, mirroring Earth’s environmental crises. A systemic future would require binding treaties (e.g., a ‘Lunar Paris Agreement’) to cap emissions, ban weapons, and mandate equitable resource sharing.

Marginalized voices—Global South nations, Indigenous communities, and low-income communities—are excluded from Artemis decision-making, despite bearing disproportionate risks (e.g., rocket debris falling on their territories). Women and people of color are underrepresented in NASA’s astronaut corps (only 12% of Artemis crew are women, and none are Black), reflecting systemic barriers in STEM. The program’s economic benefits flow to defense contractors and billionaires, while local communities near launch sites (e.g., Florida’s Space Coast) face gentrification and environmental harm. A systemic approach would require quotas for marginalized scientists, Indigenous representation in lunar governance, and community benefit agreements for affected regions.