A Match Made in the Heavens: The Surveillance State and the “New Space” Economy

This post is part of a series of contributor perspectives and analyses called "The Coming Age of Tech Trillionaires and the Challenge to Democracy." Learn more about the call for contributions here, and read other pieces in the series as they are published here.

Outer space has become increasingly privatized, with more than half of the satellites launched for commercial purposes. While companies like Maxar Technologies and Planet Labs have helped monitor natural disasters and detect human trafficking, critics warn that, left unchecked, a space sector dominated by the private sector poses risks to human rights, privacy, and a healthy competitive free market. The problem, however, is not private sector involvement itself, but the growing concentration of economic power in the hands of private firms that are incentivized to serve the surveillance state and further a new kind of space military-industrial complex— one that increasingly threatens civil liberties and undermines democratic accountability.

For-profit incentives drive space companies toward defense

Doing space is hard. It’s time-consuming, financially challenging, and slow to yield returns. Even the most celebrated companies have struggled to find investors willing to fund them over the time horizons needed to develop, test, and deploy their products. Take Planetary Resources or Deep Space Industries, for example. In the 2010s, both were lauded as being the first enterprises to potentially achieve resource extraction in outer space. However, despite much fanfare and significant financial backing, both companies failed to fulfill their original missions. As a result, Planetary Resources was bought out by a blockchain company, while Deep Space Industries was sold to Bradford Space. These acquisitions did not save them. “They’re gone; they’re done. They don’t exist,” says Chad Anderson, the CEO of Space Angels, the venture capital fund that backed Planetary Resources.

Financial survival is the most immediate concern for most space companies, and competition amongst the thousands of space companies for private funding is fierce. Much of the billions of dollars in private funding goes to the largest companies, like Blue Origin, leaving even less for smaller companies. However, unlike many other markets, space ventures have always had a large and generally well-resourced customer: the government. If venture capital and private equity aren’t available, there is always the option to turn to federal funding, especially from the military.

In 2023, private investors committed around $12.5 billion to space companies. In comparison, the 2023 budget for the US Space Force (USSF) was $24.5 billion, with $15.8 billion for research and development alone. USSF also has a “buy before build” directive, meaning, when possible, they prefer to obtain services and products from the private sector rather than creating and maintaining their own. Small space companies that are hard-pressed for private funding or unable to generate revenue may therefore turn to US military funding.

As one space tech founder quipped, “If I had a nickel for every space company that pivoted to national security, well, I wouldn’t need to raise another round.” For example, Voyager Space, known for its partnership with Airbus to build a commercial space station, now generates 50% of its revenue from national security customers. The company has also partnered with Palantir to offer TALIX, a signals intelligence and mission planning software tool. Another recent example is ABL Space Systems, which pivoted from providing commercial launch services to missile defense. When the federal defense sector is the most reliable customer, the incentives are clear.

Security through near-constant planetary-wide surveillance

The booming market for defense-related space technology would not exist if it weren’t for the seemingly insatiable appetite of governments for information on citizens and adversaries alike. As James C. Scott argues in Seeing Like a State, legibility is a prerequisite for modern governance; bureaucracies require simplified, standardized systems to manage complex societies and suit administrative goals. But imposing legibility comes at a cost to human rights and civil liberties.

When it comes to national and international security, it is clear that states consider surveillance essential, given the substantial amount of money invested in building, maintaining, and expanding surveillance infrastructure, a trend that reflects how mass surveillance has become a pillar in contemporary migration governance For example, EUROSUR, a European satellite surveillance program, combines real-time imaging with predictive analytics to track and prevent border crossings. This data can support humanitarian goals, helping international organizations to prepare aid, streamline logistics, and deploy rescue operations. However, while these systems are often introduced and implemented under the guise of humanitarian efforts, they are also used to criminalize migration and fortify borders.

This dynamic reflects the dual-use nature of satellite technology (sat-tech), whereby data collected for one purpose is redeployed for another. Bureaucracies value legibility not simply to understand, but to classify, control, and, when necessary, deny. Tech firms, in turn, sell surveillance as security even when data does not necessarily translate into safer societies.

Surveillance, then, is less about understanding than disciplining an increasingly unpredictable world. As surveillance remains top of mind, satellites will continue to play an essential role in collecting massive amounts of raw data, and sat-tech companies will market their ability to translate that data into actionable information. Despite the questionable value of mass surveillance, it seems that states are in no hurry to end their obsession with it.

Space technologies are too entrenched to “opt out”

Modern society has become deeply reliant on private satellite technologies to meet policy objectives, maintain legibility across their territories, and facilitate timely responses during times of crisis. For example, satellite imagery is crucial in monitoring climate risks and informing mitigation strategies. MethaneSAT, launched by the Environmental Defense Fund, generates data to quantify methane emissions from the oil and gas sector, providing industry, investors, and regulators with a vital tool to detect and track reductions and assess progress in cutting emissions. Meanwhile, data from systems like GPS, which is managed by the US Department of Defense but is manufactured and launched by the private sector, is deeply intertwined with essential everyday services, such as navigation and mapping applications or emergency response technology. A single day of satellite disruption in the US could result in estimated losses of $1 billion. Put simply, even if we dislike the relationship between the private sector, defense, and surveillance, we have little choice but to participate in the current system. There is no easy ‘unsubscribe’ button.

The biggest issue, however, isn’t reliance on space-based technology; it’s reliance on just a few providers that wield outsized influence. As witnessed in Ukraine, Starlink has played a crucial role in maintaining military and civilian communications amid Russia’s invasion. But SpaceX and Elon Musk’s control over Starlink is not without risk. In 2022, he refused a Ukrainian request to enable use near Crimea. The fact that a single individual can approve or deny access to a vital communications system without oversight is cause for concern.

The increasingly close relationship between billionaire satellite operators and the US government is a particularly worrisome development, creating conflicts of interest that have geopolitical implications. In The Gambia, US officials reportedly intervened on Musk’s behalf, pressuring the Gambian government to approve Startlink’s license by threatening to suspend critical aid. Meanwhile, Musk is leveraging SpaceX's scale to keep pressure on African countries by drastically undercutting local ISPs, setting up a future dependency on Starlink services in these countries. In Bangladesh, the US government is also utilizing the threat of looming tariffs on critical garment exports to expedite Starlink through legal and administrative red tape. Interim Bangladeshi leader Muhammad Yunus approved Starlink’s bid, using the gesture as a shield against the tariffs. The entangled relationship between sat-tech companies and the Federal Executive branch of the United States government contributes to the entrenchment of power in the private sector, encourages monopolistic market behaviour, and is shaping foreign policy in particular ways.

Conclusion

To be sure, space-based technology has advanced many progressive goals. In Brazil, environmental activists have used satellite data to counter former President Bolsonaro’s misleading claims regarding the deforestation of the Amazon rainforest. The Integration of satellite data with AI and deep learning has enabled early warning systems to support data-driven climate policymaking, especially for communities most vulnerable to environmental change. Satellite communications have proven vital to areas with little digital infrastructure or those subject to ongoing political censorship.

But as the new “space race” heats up, we must confront the risks and consequences of near-constant planetary-wide surveillance. These systems are already targeting marginalized groups, criminaliz mobility, or even intercepting satellite communications to kill journalists, their deployment frequently carries the risk of reinforcing securitized framings of environmental and human mobility issues.

Dan Deudney cautioned in 1990 that securitizing climate change may do more harm than good by militarizing environmental policy and narrowing the space for cooperative, equitable solutions. Instead of fostering sustainable and humanitarian responses, the securitization of climate and migration can justify surveillance, border fortification, and the marginalization of vulnerable populations under the guise of national security.

There is also no guarantee that more data will lead to more positive outcomes. In Information Technology and Military Power, Jon Lindsay questions the value of information for its own sake, arguing that information does not equate to power. If this were true, the US wouldn’t struggle, as it has, in protracted conflicts with drastically weaker foes. Similarly, with climate change, despite the availability of advanced satellite data, during the recent wildfires in Los Angeles, many homeowners remained unaware of their wildfire risk. This gap is partly due to some risk assessments being based on private data models that are not publicly accessible, limiting residents' ability to make informed decisions about their safety.

We should be wary of potential conflicts of interest, as demonstrated by the relationship between the Trump administration and Elon Musk, alongside the risks of becoming wholly dependent on a small number of providers. For example, India has maintained a slower, calculated pace in allowing Starlink into its internet economy, ensuring protective regulations are in place to avoid potential abuses. Canada is also reconsidering its reliance on Starlink, where over half of its provincial and territorial governments buy critical internet and emergency communications services from the company.

While we cannot opt out of our dependence on space-based technology, we can—and must—choose carefully how to govern the systems we have come to rely on and the companies that provide these services. Only by recognizing the scope and scale of this emerging space-surveillance complex can we begin to reclaim democratic oversight of the skies above.