How International Treaties Protect Celestial Bodies: A Policy Lens for the Global South

The Outer Space Treaty: A Constitution for the Cosmos

The 1967 Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space, including the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies—the Outer Space Treaty, or OST—is still the bedrock. Ratified by 114 states, including many from Africa, Asia, and Latin America, it sets down two principles that directly shield celestial bodies. First, Article II blocks national appropriation by claim of sovereignty, use, occupation, or any other means. Second, Article IX requires states to act with “due regard to the corresponding interests of all other States” and to avoid harmful contamination. For a country like Nigeria or Bolivia, that means no single power can plant a flag and claim a lunar crater or an asteroid’s platinum-group metals as its own.

But the OST’s protection is passive. It stops sovereign claims, but it doesn’t actively preserve scientific or cultural sites. The treaty also has no dispute resolution mechanism. When a private company from a launching state plans to extract resources, the OST’s silence on commercial appropriation turns into a loophole. The Global South has to read the OST not as a shield, but as a floor—a baseline that needs reinforcement through later instruments and national legislation.

The Moon Agreement: A Bold Attempt at Collective Stewardship

Adopted in 1979 and in force since 1984, the Agreement Governing the Activities of States on the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies—the Moon Agreement—tries to deepen the protection regime. Article 11 declares the Moon and its natural resources the “common heritage of mankind.” That phrase, lifted from the Law of the Sea, implies benefits must be shared equitably, with special consideration for developing countries. The Agreement also tells parties to set up an international regime to govern exploitation once it becomes feasible. That regime has never been created.

Here’s the tension. Only 18 states have ratified the Moon Agreement. None are major spacefaring nations. India signed but didn’t ratify; Nigeria and South Africa haven’t acceded. The reason is pragmatic: without the states that actually launch missions, the Agreement risks being a paper tiger. Still, for the Global South, the Moon Agreement is the only treaty that explicitly ties environmental protection of celestial bodies to distributive justice. Its Article 7 requires parties to prevent disruption of the existing environmental balance and to avoid harmful contamination. That’s a stronger, more proactive duty than the OST’s “due regard.”

In practice, the Moon Agreement’s principles are being tested. The Artemis Accords, a set of bilateral agreements led by the United States, sidestep the common heritage language and instead promote “safety zones” around operations. The Accords say they’re consistent with the OST, but critics argue they normalize de facto appropriation. For a policy analyst in Jakarta or Nairobi, the lesson is blunt: the treaty framework is fragmenting, and protecting celestial bodies now depends on which instruments states choose to champion.

Planetary Protection: From Science to Binding Norms

Protection of celestial bodies also runs through a scientific lens. The Committee on Space Research (COSPAR) Planetary Protection Policy classifies missions by destination and objective, imposing sterilization requirements to prevent biological contamination. It’s not a treaty, but space agencies worldwide implement it, and it’s referenced in the OST’s Article IX. For Mars, a Category IV body, landers have to undergo rigorous cleaning to avoid introducing Earth microbes that could disrupt future life-detection experiments.

This framework, though, was designed by a small group of spacefaring nations. Its categories reflect their priorities—protecting scientific access, not cultural or natural heritage. A Global South perspective might ask: should the Moon’s permanently shadowed craters, which hold water ice vital for future equatorial states, get a special protection status? Should the far side of the Moon, a unique radio-quiet zone, be shielded from interference under a treaty? These questions stay unanswered because the current governance structure lacks inclusive deliberation.

The UN Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS) provides a forum, but its consensus-based decision-making often stalls. The Working Group on Legal Aspects of Space Resource Activities has debated for years without a binding outcome. Meanwhile, the International Telecommunication Union (ITU) allocates orbital slots and frequencies—a tangible form of celestial protection—but its first-come, first-served principle for geostationary orbit has historically disadvantaged latecomers. These are the real-world mechanisms that determine whether protection means preservation for all or reservation for a few.

Cultural Heritage Beyond Earth: A Missing Pillar

Existing treaties protect celestial bodies as physical environments, but they mostly ignore cultural heritage. The Apollo 11 landing site at Tranquility Base holds artifacts of profound human significance. Yet no binding international agreement shields it from future interference. The World Heritage Convention applies only to Earth. The Hague Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict could theoretically extend to space, but its application is uncertain.

In 2020, the U.S. enacted the One Small Step to Protect Human Heritage in Space Act, requiring companies to avoid disturbing Apollo sites. That’s domestic law, not a treaty. It protects American heritage, not a shared human legacy. For the Global South, this raises a familiar worry: will the narrative of space heritage be written solely by those who arrived first? A truly inclusive protection regime would recognize sites of future significance—maybe the first African or Latin American lunar base—as equally worthy of safeguarding.

Enforcement Gaps and the Role of Non-Binding Instruments

International space law suffers from a familiar ailment: strong principles, weak enforcement. The OST provides for state responsibility and liability, but no state has ever been formally sanctioned for contaminating a celestial body. The Liability Convention of 1972 covers damage caused by space objects, but its application to environmental harm on the Moon or asteroids is untested. When a probe crashes, who assesses the ecological damage? No permanent body exists to do so.

In this vacuum, soft law fills the gaps. The UN Space Debris Mitigation Guidelines and the Long-Term Sustainability Guidelines recommend practices to keep orbits and celestial bodies usable. They aren’t treaties, but they influence national legislation. Nigeria’s National Space Research and Development Agency (NASRDA), for instance, incorporates debris mitigation into its licensing process. That’s a practical pathway: even without new treaties, states can embed protection norms into domestic law, creating a patchwork of standards that gradually hardens into custom.

Another underused tool is the environmental impact assessment (EIA). The OST doesn’t explicitly require EIAs for space activities, but the principle of due regard could be interpreted to demand them. A coalition of Global South states could propose a COPUOS resolution making EIAs standard practice for lunar missions, much like the Antarctic Treaty’s Protocol on Environmental Protection. That would shift the burden of proof onto launching states to show their activities don’t harm celestial environments or pre-empt future equitable use.

Why This Matters for the Global South Now

The protection of celestial bodies is often framed as a scientific or environmental concern. But for nations in the Global South, it’s fundamentally about intergenerational equity. The OST declares that space is the province of all humankind. If celestial bodies are degraded or their resources monopolized before these nations develop space capabilities, that principle becomes hollow. The current push for lunar resource extraction—through the Artemis Accords and national legislation—risks creating a de facto property regime that excludes latecomers.

Consider the Moon’s polar regions. They contain water ice, a resource that could sustain human presence and produce rocket fuel. If a handful of states and companies establish permanent facilities there, they may effectively control access. The OST prohibits sovereign claims, but it doesn’t clearly prohibit permanent occupation that amounts to de facto control. This ambiguity is a ticking clock for countries like Brazil, Indonesia, and Kenya, which have growing space ambitions but limited near-term lunar capacity.

Engagement in multilateral forums is the most immediate lever. The UN Office for Outer Space Affairs (UNOOSA) and the Legal Subcommittee of COPUOS are arenas where even non-spacefaring nations can shape norms. The African Space Agency, headquartered in Egypt, could coordinate a continental position on celestial protection. The Asia-Pacific Space Cooperation Organization (APSCO) and the Latin American and Caribbean Space Agency (ALCE) offer similar platforms. The goal isn’t to block progress, but to make sure the rules governing celestial bodies are written by all stakeholders, not just the first arrivals.

Practical Steps for States and Policymakers

For states in the Global South, protecting celestial bodies isn’t a distant ideal. It’s a near-term policy challenge. Here are concrete actions that align with existing legal frameworks:

• Ratify the Moon Agreement. Imperfect, yes, but it’s still the only treaty that explicitly links environmental protection to resource equity. More ratifications would strengthen its normative weight.
• Develop national space legislation. Even without ratifying the Moon Agreement, states can incorporate its principles—like environmental impact assessments and benefit-sharing mechanisms—into domestic law, as Belgium and Austria have done.
• Advocate for a planetary protection protocol. Inside COPUOS, push for a binding instrument that designates protected sites on the Moon and Mars, similar to UNESCO World Heritage Sites, but for celestial bodies.
• Invest in space situational awareness (SSA). Protecting celestial bodies from debris and contamination requires monitoring capacity. Regional SSA centers, like the one proposed by the African Union, can provide data to support treaty compliance.
• Demand transparency in resource extraction plans. Use diplomatic channels to require that any state or company planning to extract celestial resources disclose environmental impact assessments and benefit-sharing proposals.

Frequently Asked Questions

Does the Outer Space Treaty ban mining on the Moon?

No. The Outer Space Treaty prohibits national appropriation of celestial bodies, but it doesn’t explicitly address commercial resource extraction. This ambiguity has led to national laws, like the U.S. Commercial Space Launch Competitiveness Act of 2015, that allow companies to own and sell resources they extract. The Moon Agreement tries to close this gap by declaring celestial resources the common heritage of mankind, but it has few parties. The legal status of space mining remains unsettled, and the Global South has a stake in ensuring that any future regime includes equitable benefit-sharing.

How does planetary protection differ from space debris mitigation?

Planetary protection focuses on preventing biological contamination of celestial bodies (forward contamination) and Earth (back contamination) during scientific exploration. It’s primarily a scientific policy implemented through sterilization and cleanroom protocols. Space debris mitigation, by contrast, aims to reduce the creation of orbital debris that threatens satellites and spacecraft. While both protect the space environment, planetary protection is concerned with preserving celestial bodies for scientific study, whereas debris mitigation is about maintaining the safety and sustainability of Earth’s orbits. The two intersect when considering the Moon: debris from impacts can contaminate pristine areas, but no binding rules prevent this.

Can a country claim ownership of an asteroid under current law?

No. Article II of the Outer Space Treaty clearly states that outer space, including the Moon and other celestial bodies, is not subject to national appropriation. This applies to asteroids as well. However, the treaty does not address private ownership. Some states, like the U.S. and Luxembourg, have passed laws granting property rights over resources extracted from asteroids. This creates a legal gray area: while a state cannot claim the asteroid itself, its nationals may be able to claim the resources they remove. The international community has not reached consensus on whether this violates the OST, and the question is likely to be tested in practice before it is resolved in law.

What role does the Global South play in shaping these treaties?

The Global South plays a growing role through multilateral forums. In COPUOS, developing countries have pushed for greater attention to space resources governance and long-term sustainability. The “Space2030” agenda, adopted by the UN General Assembly, emphasizes that space benefits should be shared equitably. Regional bodies like the African Space Agency are coordinating positions. However, influence remains limited by technical capacity and funding. Building expertise in space law and policy, and forming coalitions with like-minded states, are essential strategies for ensuring that the protection of celestial bodies reflects diverse interests, not just those of established space powers.