Who owns the moon?
...and what does this mean for our spaces here on Earth? Alex Oetzel from Issue 13, Spring 2018.
In pondering on and ideating solutions to Knowlton's spaces of autonomy, let's look beyond--to the archives and to the moon-- for new perspectives.
The Outer Space Treaty was drafted during the Cold War Era when the top competitors for lunar success were the Soviet Union and United States. This treaty agreed that no single country could own the Earth’s lonely moon, but did not specify any grounds of ownership for equally lonely individuals. Since then, some hundreds of acres of desolate space rock have been sold off and deeded to a variety of individuals—unrecognized by the UN until recently. It’s a pyramid scheme of some astronomical dimensions, but noteworthy because it poses some questions: Why would you want to own the moon? How charismatic was the individual who sold you a piece of the moon? How do you claim ownership of a piece of property you’ve never seen, touched, surveyed? Do you plan to spend summer or winter holidays there?
Perhaps, the moon is the world’s largest pet rock. We can note that there are at least two types of ownership in this scenario: psychological and legal. The case of the moon illustrates both an international treaty, deeds of ownership (albeit), and a sense of control or self-identification as a result of buying into the moon’s “guaranteed” future development.
Back on Earth, we face equally politically sticky ownership situations. There are extremes such as international waters and parts of the atmosphere that begin to illustrate the three-dimensional stretches of space that avoid a singe states’ or individuals’ oversight. These spots follow statues like the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea which declares that the sea must be used for the benefit for all states and peoples' of the international community (a follow up called the Moon Treaty attempts to copy this although it’s considered a failure as no state with self-launched flight has agreed on its ratification). There may be some suspicious power dynamic at play in this abstinence—who stats to lose the most if the moon is not open for cultivation? Who gains?
Most curious, perhaps, are the spots even closer to us. Who owns the space above a building? Who owns the ground beneath? How far up or down? I am reminded of the 1916 Zoning Resolution in New York City and the development of the Equitable Building—can we revoke ownership of air space to assure the allocation of a public good (e.g. sunlight) to the public? Or oppositely, can we sell the land rights above our trains at Grand Central Terminal with the caveat that x amount of foundation is only allowed below, a structural determinant of the ultimate building height? This is clearly a concept of political consequence.
Whether you are surveying the pocketed land of a space rock, pirating on the open seas, or digging into the water line near your home and flooding the neighborhood, you can be sure to be tip-toeing on a fine line (imagined or lawful) of what is yours and what is mine. There is much to be learned exploring these aforementioned suspicious moments where the ownership becomes both yours, mine, and ours. Considering all of these questions, I feel the most relevant is: why do we feel the need to own anything at all?
From the Archives
This article is a part of One:Twelve’s “From the Archives” series, selecting some of our favorite pieces since the magazine’s start in 2010.