When we talk about protecting celestial bodies, we aren’t just talking about preserving distant rocks and ice. We’re talking about a legal architecture that decides who gets to use the Moon, asteroids, and other planetary surfaces—under what conditions, and for whose benefit. The backbone of this architecture is the Outer Space Treaty of 1967, buttressed by the Moon Agreement of 1979 and a growing stack of non-binding guidelines from the Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS). For states in Africa, Latin America, Southeast Asia, and small island nations—regions that have historically been consumers rather than architects of space law—these treaties aren’t dusty diplomatic documents. They are the primary legal shield against a future where celestial bodies get carved up by the most technologically advanced actors, leaving little room for equitable participation or environmental stewardship.
This article walks through the treaty mechanisms that safeguard celestial bodies, the gaps that persist, and why the perspective of the majority world is essential to the next generation of planetary governance.
The Outer Space Treaty: A Foundation Built on Non-Appropriation
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 (OST) for short—is the bedrock of international space law. Ratified by over 110 states, including every major spacefaring nation, it establishes two principles that directly protect celestial bodies: the prohibition of national appropriation and the mandate that space activities be conducted for the benefit of all countries.
Article II is blunt: “Outer space, including the Moon and other celestial bodies, is not subject to national appropriation by claim of sovereignty, by means of use or occupation, or by any other means.” This clause was drafted in the 1960s, when only the United States and the Soviet Union had the capacity to reach the Moon. Yet its language was deliberately broad, anticipating a future where multiple actors—state and non-state—might try to assert control over lunar territory or asteroid resources. For a country like Nigeria or Indonesia, which may not launch a lunar mission for decades, Article II functions as a legal equalizer. It ensures that the absence of a flag on the surface does not translate into an absence of rights.
Article IX adds an environmental dimension. It requires states to conduct space activities “with due regard to the corresponding interests of all other States Parties” and to avoid “harmful contamination” of celestial bodies. This provision, though brief, is the closest the OST comes to an explicit planetary protection obligation. It has been invoked in debates about forward contamination from landers and rovers, and it underpins the planetary protection policies of agencies like NASA and ESA. But the treaty does not define “harmful contamination,” leaving significant room for interpretation—and for conflict.
What the OST Leaves Unresolved
The OST’s protections are broad but shallow. It prohibits national appropriation but says nothing about private property rights. It calls for “due regard” but provides no enforcement mechanism. It requires states to authorize and supervise their national activities, yet many states lack the domestic legislation to do so. For countries in the Global South, these gaps are not theoretical. They raise urgent questions: If a private company extracts water ice from a lunar crater, does that violate the non-appropriation principle? If a state licenses that extraction, is it exercising de facto sovereignty? The OST offers no clear answers.
These ambiguities have prompted some states to pass national space resource laws, such as the U.S. Commercial Space Launch Competitiveness Act of 2015 and similar legislation in Luxembourg, Japan, and the United Arab Emirates. These laws assert that private entities can own extracted resources, a position that many developing states view with skepticism. The argument that resource extraction is not appropriation because it does not claim the land itself is legally contested and politically charged.
The Moon Agreement: A Stronger Shield, Lightly Worn
Adopted in 1979 and entered into force in 1984, the Agreement Governing the Activities of States on the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies—the Moon Agreement—was designed to fill the gaps left by the OST. It explicitly declares the Moon and its natural resources to be the “common heritage of mankind” and calls for the establishment of an international regime to govern resource exploitation. This language, inspired by the Law of the Sea Convention, implies that benefits derived from lunar resources should be shared equitably, with particular attention to the interests of developing countries.
Yet the Moon Agreement has been ratified by only a handful of states, none of which are major spacefaring nations. The reasons are complex. Some states object to the “common heritage” framing, arguing it could impose a moratorium on resource extraction until an international regime is in place. Others see the agreement as an obstacle to commercial investment. For many African and Asian states, however, the Moon Agreement represents the most comprehensive existing framework for ensuring that celestial bodies are not simply claimed by those who arrive first. Its principles continue to influence discussions at the UN Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS) and in the Legal Subcommittee, where developing states have consistently advocated for a multilateral approach to space resource governance.
The Artemis Accords: A Parallel Path
In 2020, the United States introduced the Artemis Accords, a set of bilateral agreements intended to establish “practical principles” for cooperation in lunar exploration. The Accords include provisions on transparency, interoperability, and the protection of heritage sites. They also endorse space resource extraction, framing it as consistent with the OST. As of 2025, over 40 states have signed, including several from Africa and Latin America.
However, the Accords are not a treaty. They are political commitments, negotiated outside the UN system, and they do not carry the same legal weight as the OST or the Moon Agreement. For many developing states, signing the Accords offers a seat at the table—but a table whose rules were written by a small group of spacefaring nations. The risk is that bilateral agreements could fragment the international legal regime, creating a patchwork of norms that undermines the universality of the OST.
Planetary Protection: From Science to Governance
Beyond the legal architecture of treaties, the concept of planetary protection has evolved as a set of scientific and policy guidelines aimed at preventing biological contamination of celestial bodies. The Committee on Space Research (COSPAR), an interdisciplinary scientific body, maintains a Planetary Protection Policy that categorizes missions based on their target body and mission type. These categories range from simple flybys to landers and sample-return missions, with increasingly stringent sterilization requirements.
While COSPAR’s guidelines are not legally binding, they are widely adopted by space agencies and are referenced in the OST’s Article IX obligation to avoid harmful contamination. For celestial bodies like Mars and Europa, where the search for extant or fossilized life is a primary scientific objective, planetary protection is treated with utmost seriousness. Yet the policy was designed for an era of government-led exploration. The rise of commercial lunar missions, many of which carry biological payloads or plan to land near sensitive sites, is testing the limits of a voluntary system.
Heritage Protection: A New Frontier
Another dimension of celestial protection is the preservation of space heritage. The Apollo landing sites, Luna 2 impact site, and other early robotic landing locations hold immense historical and cultural value. There is currently no binding international agreement that designates these sites as protected areas. The One Atmosphere principle, proposed by some legal scholars, suggests that certain sites should be treated like UNESCO World Heritage sites, with buffer zones and access restrictions. The Artemis Accords include a provision on heritage protection, but it is vague and non-binding.
For states that have never placed hardware on the Moon, the question of heritage protection may seem remote. But it is deeply connected to the broader principle of equitable access. If a handful of states can unilaterally declare “safety zones” around their assets—as the Artemis Accords allow—those zones could become de facto exclusion areas, limiting where others can land or conduct science. The legal scholar Frans von der Dunk has noted that such zones must be temporary and transparent to avoid violating the OST’s non-appropriation principle. The challenge is ensuring that heritage protection does not become a backdoor to territorial claims.
The Role of the Majority World in Shaping Celestial Governance
For states in Africa, Latin America, Southeast Asia, and small island nations, the protection of celestial bodies is not a luxury concern. It is tied to fundamental questions of equity, resource distribution, and the right to participate in the scientific and economic benefits of space. The African Space Agency (AfSA), established in 2023, has identified space law and policy as a priority area, recognizing that the continent’s voice must be heard in forums where the rules are being written. Similarly, the Asia-Pacific Space Cooperation Organization (APSCO) and the Latin American and Caribbean Space Agency (ALCE) are working to build regional capacity in space law.
One concrete mechanism for participation is the UN COPUOS Legal Subcommittee, where any member state can contribute to the development of non-binding guidelines and, potentially, new treaty language. In recent years, delegations from Nigeria, South Africa, and Indonesia have been active in debates on space resource governance, arguing for a multilateral framework that includes benefit-sharing provisions. These interventions matter. They shift the discourse from a purely technical conversation about extraction rights to a broader discussion about the common heritage of humankind.
Environmental Stewardship Beyond Earth
Another area where developing states are making their mark is in the application of terrestrial environmental law to celestial bodies. The Convention on Biological Diversity and the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change have established principles—such as the precautionary principle and common but differentiated responsibilities—that could inform space governance. Small island developing states, which face existential threats from climate change, have been particularly vocal in arguing that the same logic of environmental stewardship should apply to the Moon and other bodies. After all, if we cannot protect Earth’s environment, what hope do we have of preserving the pristine nature of the Moon?
This argument is not merely rhetorical. It has practical implications for how we design missions, manage waste, and plan for in-situ resource utilization. A lunar mining operation that leaves behind toxic tailings or irreversibly alters a scientifically valuable site would violate the spirit, if not the letter, of the OST. Developing states are pushing for binding norms that would require environmental impact assessments for all celestial activities, not just those with potential biological contamination.
Practical Steps Toward Inclusive Celestial Governance
What can be done, in practice, to strengthen the protection of celestial bodies while ensuring equitable participation? Several avenues are open, each with its own tradeoffs.
1. Universal ratification of the Moon Agreement. While politically unlikely in the short term, a renewed push for ratification—perhaps with an optional protocol addressing resource extraction—could revitalize the “common heritage” principle. States that have already ratified could form a core group to develop model implementation legislation, demonstrating that the agreement is workable.
2. A new COPUOS working group on celestial resource governance. The Legal Subcommittee has already held discussions on this topic. A dedicated working group, with a mandate to produce guidelines or principles, would allow for more focused negotiations. Developing states could use this forum to advance proposals on benefit-sharing, environmental protection, and technology transfer.
3. Regional capacity building in space law. Many states lack the domestic expertise to engage meaningfully in international space law negotiations. Initiatives like the African Union’s Space Law Project and the UN Office for Outer Space Affairs (UNOOSA) Space Law for New Space Actors project are critical. They provide training, model legislation, and opportunities for peer exchange. Strengthening these programs is a concrete way to level the playing field.
4. Civil society and academic engagement. Organizations such as the Space Generation Advisory Council (SGAC) and the International Institute of Space Law (IISL) offer platforms for young professionals and scholars from underrepresented regions to contribute to policy development. Their research and advocacy can help shape the agenda of official negotiations.
FAQ: Celestial Bodies and International Law
Does the Outer Space Treaty ban all military activity on the Moon?
No. The Outer Space Treaty prohibits the placement of nuclear weapons or other weapons of mass destruction in orbit or on celestial bodies, and it requires that the Moon and other celestial bodies be used “exclusively for peaceful purposes.” However, the treaty does not ban conventional military activities or the use of military personnel for scientific research. The exact scope of “peaceful purposes” remains debated, with some states arguing it permits non-aggressive military operations, while others advocate for a complete demilitarization.
Can a private company own land on the Moon under current international law?
Under the Outer Space Treaty, no state can claim sovereignty over the Moon or other celestial bodies, and the treaty requires states to authorize and supervise the activities of their nationals. Most legal scholars interpret this as prohibiting private ownership of lunar land, since property rights typically derive from state sovereignty. However, the OST does not explicitly address private property, and some companies have attempted to sell lunar deeds. These claims have no recognized legal basis under international law, but the lack of explicit prohibition remains a concern for many developing states.
What is the difference between the Outer Space Treaty and the Moon Agreement?
The Outer Space Treaty (1967) establishes the basic framework: space is free for exploration and use by all states, celestial bodies cannot be nationally appropriated, and activities must benefit all countries. The Moon Agreement (1979) goes further by declaring the Moon and its resources the “common heritage of mankind” and calling for an international regime to govern resource exploitation. The Moon Agreement has far fewer ratifications and is not accepted by major spacefaring nations, making it a weaker instrument in practice despite its stronger language.
How do planetary protection guidelines affect missions from developing countries?
COSPAR’s planetary protection guidelines are not legally binding, but they are widely followed by space agencies. For a developing country launching its first lunar mission, compliance can be technically challenging and costly. However, adherence is important for international cooperation and scientific credibility. UNOOSA and other organizations offer technical assistance to help emerging space actors meet these standards, and some argue that the guidelines should be adapted to be more inclusive of states with limited resources.
Looking Ahead: The Next Decade of Celestial Governance
The protection of celestial bodies is entering a critical phase. With multiple lunar missions planned by the United States, China, India, and others, and with commercial actors taking on larger roles, the pressure on the existing legal framework will only increase. The question is not whether the treaties will be tested, but whether the international community will respond with coherence or fragmentation.
For the majority world, the stakes are high. A fragmented regime, dominated by bilateral agreements and national legislation, risks creating a two-tier system in which spacefaring states set the rules and others are left to accept them. A coherent, multilateral regime, grounded in the OST and strengthened by new guidelines, offers a path toward genuine equity. The choice will be made in the coming years, in working groups and committee rooms, and it will require the sustained engagement of states that have too often been spectators in the story of space.
This publication will continue to follow these developments closely. In a future article, we will examine the specific legal challenges posed by lunar mining and the proposals for an international resource governance framework. We invite readers to share their questions and perspectives—the conversation about who protects the Moon, and for whom, is only beginning.