Who Owns the Moon? How Treaties Guard the Skies for the Global South

Look up at the Moon. It’s the same silver disk that has pulled tides and inspired poets for millennia. But in the halls of international law, the Moon—and Mars, and the asteroids—are no longer just objects of wonder. They’re potential real estate, mining sites, and strategic outposts. For countries in the Global South, the question isn’t academic. It’s about whether the cosmos will become a shared inheritance or a new frontier for the same old colonial land grab. The answer, for now, lies in a handful of treaties that most people have never read.

The Bedrock: The Outer Space Treaty and the Ban on Land Grabs

The Outer Space Treaty of 1967 is the granddaddy of space law. Ratified by over 110 countries, including many from Africa, Asia, and Latin America, it lays down two deceptively simple rules. Article II says no nation can claim sovereignty over the Moon or other celestial bodies. Not by planting a flag, not by building a base, not by any other means. Article I goes further, declaring that space exploration must be carried out for the benefit of all countries, regardless of their economic or scientific muscle.

For a policy wonk in Jakarta or Nairobi, that non-appropriation principle is the main legal fence against a lunar land rush. It means a crater brimming with water ice can’t be fenced off with a “No Trespassing” sign. But here’s the catch: the treaty is maddeningly vague on what “use” of resources actually means. The United States, through its Artemis Accords, and Luxembourg, with its national space mining law, are driving a truck through that ambiguity. They argue that extracting resources isn’t the same as owning the land. The Global South’s job is to push back, reminding everyone that this commons was declared the “province of all mankind” before many of these nations even had a seat at the table.

The Moon Agreement: A Stronger Shield That Nobody Signed

If the Outer Space Treaty is a broad shield, the Moon Agreement of 1979 is a suit of armor—one that’s gathering dust in the closet. It explicitly calls the Moon and its resources the “common heritage of mankind.” That’s a loaded term, borrowed from the Law of the Sea. It implies that any mining must be run by an international body, with profits shared fairly, and that the lunar environment must be preserved for our grandkids.

The problem? Only 17 countries have ratified it. The big players—the U.S., China, Russia—never signed on. But look closer at the list of signatories: Morocco, Pakistan, Peru, the Philippines, Uruguay. For these nations, the Moon Agreement isn’t a dead letter. It’s a moral compass. They can wave it in meetings of the United Nations Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS) and argue that any new rules for space mining must be built on the common heritage idea, not just a loophole in the Outer Space Treaty.

Keeping the Moon Clean: Environmental Stewardship

Treaty protections aren’t just about who owns what. They’re also about keeping celestial bodies from becoming cosmic garbage dumps. Article IX of the Outer Space Treaty tells states to show “due regard” for each other’s interests and to avoid “harmful contamination.” That’s the legal backbone for planetary protection—the effort to stop Earth microbes from hitchhiking to Mars and, just as importantly, to keep any Martian life from crashing our party.

The Committee on Space Research (COSPAR) sets the global standards, and space agencies follow them. A rover hunting for life on Mars gets baked and scrubbed far more rigorously than a lunar orbiter. For a Global South nation building its first Moon mission, meeting these standards is a smart move. It’s a ticket into the international community, a sign of responsible behavior, and a way to build technical chops. It also helps ensure that scientifically priceless spots—like the water ice trapped in the Moon’s polar shadows—aren’t ruined by a haphazard race to drill first.

Footprints as Monuments: Protecting Historic Sites

Think about Tranquility Base, where Neil Armstrong’s boot left its mark. Those footprints, the descent stage, the experiments left behind—they’re not just American artifacts. They belong to the story of our species. Yet no binding treaty explicitly protects them. The legal hook is the Outer Space Treaty’s rule that a state keeps jurisdiction over the stuff it launches. The U.S. has passed its own law, the One Small Step to Protect Human Heritage in Space Act, and nudges other countries to create “safety zones” through the Artemis Accords.

This is tricky for the Global South. Protecting sites of universal human achievement sounds right, and it echoes the common heritage principle. But when the U.S. unilaterally draws a safety zone around its own operations, it starts to look a lot like a backdoor claim. A better path? Hash out these protections in COPUOS, where every nation gets a voice. That way, the first footprints on Mars—whether they’re made by an American, a Chinese, or an Indian astronaut—are preserved by a truly global consensus, not just the rules of whoever got there first.

The Paperwork That Keeps the Peace: Registration and Liability

Protecting celestial bodies also depends on some unglamorous paperwork. The Registration Convention requires countries to tell the UN about every object they launch. This creates a public list of what’s sitting on the Moon or circling Mars, which cuts down on interference and clarifies who’s on the hook if something goes wrong under the Liability Convention. For a developing nation, registering a lunar rover is a cheap way to plant a flag of presence and rights. If another country’s negligence smashes that rover, the Liability Convention offers a legal path to compensation.

Transparency and confidence-building measures (TCBMs) are just as vital. The Global South can push for mandatory pre-launch notices: where a mission is going, where it will land, what it plans to do on the surface. This stops two rovers from accidentally meeting in a dark crater. These procedural safeguards are the quiet workhorses of space governance, turning lofty treaty promises into daily operational reality.

The UN Office That Holds It Together

The United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs (UNOOSA) is the secretariat for COPUOS and the keeper of the space object register. It also runs the Space Law for New Space Actors project, which helps emerging space nations understand their treaty obligations. For a Global South policymaker, UNOOSA is the go-to ally. Its advisors can help draft national space laws that don’t accidentally break the Outer Space Treaty when a country launches its first lunar mission.

Three Storms on the Horizon: Mining, Megaconstellations, and the Artemis Accords

The treaty framework is getting squeezed from three sides. First, the lure of asteroid and lunar mining. The U.S. and Luxembourg have passed national laws that grant property rights over extracted resources. Their argument: the Outer Space Treaty bans owning territory, not the rocks you dig up. Many Global South nations call this a legal sleight of hand that guts the treaty’s intent and sets the stage for a resource scramble.

Second, the sky is filling up. Megaconstellations of satellites in low Earth orbit create physical and radio interference that can block other nations’ access to the Moon and beyond. The International Telecommunication Union (ITU) hands out radio frequencies on a first-come, first-served basis, which often leaves latecomers—many of them developing nations—staring at a crowded spectrum.

Third, the Artemis Accords. These are bilateral deals led by the U.S. that set practical norms for lunar exploration, including resource extraction. They nod to the Outer Space Treaty, but they’re not a multilateral agreement, and critics say they sidestep COPUOS. For a Global South nation, signing the Accords is a strategic gamble: join the club and get a seat on U.S.-led missions, but risk legitimizing resource extraction norms, or hold out for a fairer, UN-based process.

A Global South Playbook: Fairness, Know-How, and Guardianship

For nations in Africa, Asia, and Latin America, protecting celestial bodies isn’t about slamming the brakes on progress. It’s about grabbing the steering wheel. The agenda rests on three legs. Fairness: pushing for an international system that shares the benefits of resource extraction, maybe through a global fund for space capacity building. Know-how: investing in the legal and technical skills to hold their own in COPUOS, the ITU, and other forums. Guardianship: leading the charge on environmental protections for celestial bodies, from planetary protection rules to heritage site designations, as a responsibility that falls on everyone.

Regional teamwork is a force multiplier. The African Space Agency, based in Cairo, and the Asia-Pacific Space Cooperation Organization (APSCO) can pool resources to hammer out common positions on lunar governance. Joint missions, like the proposed African Moon rover, would give these nations real operational experience and a louder voice in writing the rules that will govern celestial bodies for centuries.

FAQ: Your Questions on Celestial Body Protection

Can a country claim ownership of a part of the Moon?

No. Article II of the Outer Space Treaty flatly bans national appropriation of the Moon or other celestial bodies by any means—sovereignty, use, occupation, you name it. The gray area is private ownership. Can a company extract and sell resources? The treaty doesn’t say. The Global South’s stance, backed by the Moon Agreement, is that any resource extraction must be run by an international regime that ensures the benefits are shared fairly.

What is the difference between the Outer Space Treaty and the Moon Agreement?

The Outer Space Treaty (1967) is the foundation, ratified by over 110 nations. It bans national appropriation and says space activities must benefit all countries. The Moon Agreement (1979) goes further, calling the Moon and its resources the “common heritage of mankind” and demanding an international regime to manage exploitation. Its weakness? Only 17 countries have signed on, and the major space powers haven’t. For Global South nations, the Moon Agreement is a stronger moral standard, but the Outer Space Treaty is the binding law for most of the world.

How are historic landing sites on the Moon protected?

There’s no binding international treaty specifically for lunar heritage sites. Protection leans on the Outer Space Treaty’s rule that states keep jurisdiction over their launched objects, plus some voluntary guidelines. The U.S. has its own domestic law and pushes “safety zones” through bilateral deals. A stronger, multilateral approach through COPUOS would make sure sites like Apollo 11 are protected by global agreement, not just by the country that left them there.

What role can developing nations play in shaping space law?

Developing nations can jump into COPUOS working groups, submit their national positions on hot topics like space resource use, and form regional blocs to amplify their voice. They can also help shape soft law—UN General Assembly resolutions and COPUOS guidelines—which over time can harden into binding custom. Capacity-building programs, like UNOOSA’s Space Law for New Space Actors, are essential for giving diplomats and policymakers the expertise they need.

Conclusion: A Living Framework for a Shared Future

The treaties protecting celestial bodies aren’t Cold War fossils. They’re a living legal framework that needs active interpretation, defense, and evolution. For the Global South, the stakes couldn’t be higher: the rules being written right now for lunar mining, planetary protection, and heritage preservation will decide whether space remains a shared province of all humankind or becomes the next arena of inequality. By anchoring their advocacy in the Outer Space Treaty’s non-appropriation principle, building technical capacity, and forging regional coalitions, developing nations can make sure the protection of celestial bodies is more than a legal formality. It can be a practical, lived reality.

This article is part of an ongoing series on space law and policy from a Global South perspective. Future installments will examine the legal status of space resources, the role of the International Telecommunication Union in orbital slot allocation, and the potential for a multilateral framework on lunar governance.