June 2024
VMAC Article
Data Centres on the Moon and Other Tales: A Volumetric and Elemental Analysis of the Coloniality of
Digital Infrastructures (Excerpt)
Text: Yung Au
Satellites serve a wide array of functions. Rather than transferring data through physical cables, satellites beam information through the vacuum of space, where they are intertwined with elements within and outside of the Earth’s atmosphere. The latter being a place that makes explicit how our Earth is a sphere suspended in space, where there is no objective ‘up’, ‘down’ or ‘centre’, and where the horizontal/vertical binary starts to break down further. Like other geographies in which dataspaces are embedded, there are ongoing claims in extra-terrestrial space. This claiming of outer space, Smiles (2020) argues, is a continuation of the ongoing settler colonialism on Earth (see also Gorman, 2005; Klinger, 2018; Maile, 2018).
According to the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs, there are currently 7500 active satellites as of late 2021, with many more inactive satellites still in orbit. A confluence of factors has led to this increase, including the growing demand and dependence on satellite data and connectivity by a number of industries and governments. The development of even lighter and even smaller satellites has also facilitated more economically viable satellite projects. A total of 94% of all spacecraft launched in 2020 were ‘smallsats’, satellites that weigh fewer than 600 kg (Chakrabarti, 2021). The list of actors who are able to make a physical claim to space is highly stratified. The countries that take the lead in terms of number of active satellites are the United States with 1897 satellites, China with 412 satellites and Russia with 176 satellites. While more than 105 countries have at least one satellite in space, some countries have never launched their own satellites (Salas, n.d.). In contrast, the US-based company SpaceX has launched over 1700 satellites as of 2021, and OneWeb, a company that is partially UK government-owned, has around 352 satellites in orbit. Both companies aim to launch more than 40,000 satellites between them in the coming years (Chakrabarti, 2021).
Data centres in space are not necessarily new. If data centres are defined as facilities that host servers and/or computer hard drives, many mini-data centres are already in space. Satellites are often built to be multifunctional; this can include acting as small-scale data centres, especially if a satellite has a central processing unit (CPU) and can process,store, transmit and receive data. However, what is relatively new is the development of more dedicated and larger scale data centre facilities for outer space. This can, for instance, look more like the distributed system of the Internet of Things (a network of physical objects that are embedded with sensors, software, and other technologies for the purpose of collecting and sharing data), where mini-data centres are integrated into the ecosystem of devices and man-made objects in space (Mohney, 2020). Others are more closely aligned with the idea of edge computing in space, such as with US firm OrbitsEdge, which aims to offer services from a proprietary ‘satellite bus’ that contains server racks bolted to the bus floor. Here, high-performing computing infrastructure would be launched into orbit to collect, clean and aggregate data from satellites, where the satellite bus would be in much closer proximity than land-based data centres. Similarly, Japanese firm Nippon Telegraph and Telephone is planning to launch a data centre into space as early as 2025, where it aims to locally process satellite data in order to only beam select, useful information down to Earth, which would reduce the time and cost spent in transferring large amounts of data (Menear, 2021; NTT Press Release, 2021).
The hardware considerations of these data projects in outer space must account for the elemental environment. For instance, the satellite bus makes use of solar panels to gather energy from the sun but also batteries to keep systems running when the bus is in the shadow of the planet. Likewise, systems and servers must be able to work in the vacuum of space, they must be protected from cosmic radiation and other space events. Other projects include the ambitious space-based content-delivery network (CDN) patented by Amazon in 2019 (Amazon, 2019). The patent outlines the plans for a geographically distributed network of data centres in an extra-territorial environment and, eventually, a lunar data centre as part of the Amazon Web Services to be located in Mare Tranquillitatis, a basin on the Moon. The patent states that the satellite-based CDN aims to support a range of applications including voice calls and streaming services, but also time sensitive applications that require near real-time responses ‘such as professional gaming in selected areas covered by the high-altitude airships’ (Amazon, 2019). Thales, a French company, is also conducting feasibility studies to support human living quarters and computing infrastructures on the Moon as part of a collaboration with the Italian Space Agency (ISA) and National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA); it aims to establish a permanent lunar base as early as 2024 (Menear, 2021; Moss, 2021).
Amongst these speculative data projects, several intersecting grand narratives about technological infrastructures in space are noticeable. This includes, first, considerations of outer space as an egalitarian and placeless space, which ties into, second, claiming outer space volumes through logics of terra nullius. With regard to the former, for many businesses, data centres outside of Earth offer an attractive investment prospect with free cooling from the frigid vacuum of space and accessible renewable energy from the sun as well as being in a territory that is away from most human interference and has relatively nascent regulation along many axes. For instance, ConnectX – a start-up that plans to launch a satellite constellation for data storage that targets crypto-currency and stores digital wallets off-planet – notes:
space gives ConnectX an unfair advantage. Economically, we do not have to pay for real estate, electricity, cooling, staff or security. From a security perspective, no one can physically access our system and no government or entity can force the exposure of your information. (ConnectX Company Statement, quoted in Donoghue, 2018)
The sentiments expressed by ConnectX perhaps represent the more extreme end of utopian ideals of data centres in space. Nevertheless, the idea that outer space is a blank slate with no implications for human labour or environmental impacts is a continuation of the colonial discourses on Earth where realities of digital infrastructures are flattened and equalized. In the larger picture of the privatization of space, especially by large technology companies, Cath and Lewis (2021) tease out how the rhetoric used to justify these projects mirrors the discourse of the internet being a placeless and egalitarian space, where everyone has equal participation. The implication of this being that regulation would only restrict the possibilities and progress of this supposedly new frontier.
Indeed, the regulations and international agreements pertaining to space exploration appear to support the claiming of territory in space along multiple axes, which a more expansive view of the volume helps to reveal. This includes the Outer Space Treaty of 1967 by the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs, which states that the exploration and use of space should be open to all of humankind (United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs, 1967). Its related committees coordinate and demarcate how space is used.
There are multiple dimensions to the claiming of physical and elemental territory in outer space. Here, as Smiles (2020) argues, fantasies of terra nullius frame how space represents yet another frontier to be claimed both for the possibility of further settlement in space and also for the preservation of the existing status quo on Earth. The more traditional considerations in terms of occupying space include the way that the physical territory of outer space is divided and distributed. For instance, there is a limit to physical airspace, particularly in the high altitudes of Earth and in near-Earth orbits. The claiming of these territories is coordinated by various international bodies, which often operate on a much disputed ‘first arrival’ basis (Purity, 2020; Rothblatt, 1982; Thompson, 1996) that is reminiscent of settler-colonial logics.
Beyond the claiming of physical space, satellite constellations also claim space in the radiowave spectrum landscape. Wireless data are transmitted by sending signals over certain frequencies, where limited frequencies are available. If two signals occupy the exact same frequency, they may interfere with each other; thus, frequencies have been treated as a limited resource in which equitable access must, in principle, be protected. The allocation of orbits and spectrum space are both coordinated by a specialized United Nations agency, the international Telecommunication Union (ITU), which is responsible for information and communication technology matters (Boley & Byers, 2021; Voelsen, 2021).
Both orbital positions and frequency plans operate largely on the basis of allocating a frequency or orbital path to whichever eligible actor is first to put in a request. In theory, the first occupant does not own these spaces but instead occupies them for a certain amount of time. Furthermore, certain ‘slots’ are reserved for countries with less developed space capabilities. Nevertheless, this allocation system still perpetuates a particular settler futurity where space is and will continue to be divided and claimed by nation-states (more specifically, ITU member countries). This is a futurity that perhaps appears counter to the spirit of the Outer Space Treaty of 1967.
Finally, these settler-colonial logics persist into the afterlife of space expansion projects, where data centres will inevitably incur pollution. The current spacecraft afterlife care processes fit what Liboiron (2021) calls the dominant paradigms of today’s pollution science, the ‘permission-to-pollute’ system that is built on top of colonial land relations, where land is seen as a resource where pollution is allowed to happen – where the right to waste is parcelled out to certain actors who are given permission. This involves managing rather than eliminating pollution and assuming an entitlement to land, rivers, atmospheres and bodies for settler-colonial goals. As such, it not only paves the way for a settler-colonial futurity that eliminates other types of possible futures and relations with the environment but involves an ad hoc approach to dealing with the myriad of possible pollution legacies rather than refusing them in the first place. This continues in space.
For instance, satellite constellation projects have raised concerns over light and sound pollution from the bright light and noise they emit when in orbit – which particularly affects astronomy, scientific, and cultural practices that require clear, dark skies and radio silence (Chakrabarti, 2021; Clery, 2020; Hecht, 2021). Likewise, decommissioned satellites that are left out in orbit as space junk add to the physically congested volumes of space, where there are risks of collision events with the potential to trigger unpredictable chain reactions (Boley & Byers, 2021; Le May et al., 2018; Mann & Pultarova, 2022). While retired satellites can also be ‘designed for demise’, where after their service, they burn up upon re-entering Earth, the environmental considerations include how materials that get burnt up can produce fine aluminium particulates, constituting a form of anthropogenic deposition of aluminium in the atmosphere – something that has been a controversial proposal for geoengineering a climate change intervention (Boley & Byers, 2021).
Space debris can also be disposed of through ‘controlled re-entry’ back into Earth, where risks include potential human casualties, [1] property damage and discard pollution. Currently, the most common practice is for space debris to fall within the South Pacific Ocean Uninhabited Area, the largest unpopulated ocean space that is beyond the legal jurisdiction of any country, into which more than 260 satellites have fallen. This point, also known as Point Nemo (Latin, ‘no one’), stretches over 22 million km2 and represents yet another a ‘blank slate’ territory. It is the location in the ocean that is farthest from land, about 2688 km from the nearest land and where the closest people to it at any given point are likely to be along the vertical axis – that is, the astronauts in the International Space Station (ISS) that is orbiting at 400 km above Earth (Sharman, 2022). NASA states:
because of its distance from populated areas, this location is traditionally used for spacecraft disposal and represents an excellent target for ensuring any hardware that survives the heat of re-entry does not land near populated areas on Earth. … Once the debris enters the ocean, it would be expected to settle to the ocean floor. Based on the findings of the International Space Station Environmental Impact Statement, no substantial long-term impacts would be expected. (FAQ: The International Space Station 2022 Transition Plan, 2022)
Perhaps a more expansive understanding of earthly volumes would attend to implications of pollution beyond fatalities when, for instance, the 420-tonne ISS (itself a structure fitted with about 100 laptops) is planned to be laid to rest at Point Nemo in 2024.
As Liboiron (2021) argues, in many cases pollution is colonialism, where modern environmental pollution perpetuates ongoing colonial relations to land. This permission-to-pollute and use of harm mitigating, rather than eliminating, assumes a specific settler-colonial futurity rather than the many alternatives that are possible. Responding to the visual pollution of satellite constellations, Venkatesan et al. (2020) argue that the sky should be treated as an ‘ancestral global common’ that contains the heritage and future of humanities’ scientific and cultural practices. They argue that the systemic inequity in the terrestrial world also underlies how ‘space is literally being occupied, with little coordinated international regulation, discussion of ethical considerations, or consensus-building from a shared vision for the future of humanity in space. The rush to claim near-Earth space is also leaving out the world’s most minoritized communities, including Indigenous peoples, who need to be involved as stakeholders in decision-making’ (p.1043). They warn that the increasing privatization of near-Earth space risks repeating colonization on a cosmic scale, with effects on the natural sciences and space exploration but also on the human right to dark skies and the rights to cultural traditions of communities across the world, such as the Likan Antai in the Atacama Desert. Similarly, with regard to the sea, while the dumping ground of Point Nemo is lawful under space law, De Lucia and Iavicoli (2018) argue that these processes use the ocean with little consideration of the potentially harmful consequences for marine ecosystems or for the oceans as a global commons. This includes the wider potential problems from leakage of toxic rocket propellant (hydrazine) and the growth of the debris pile of retired satellites. Similarly, potential impacts on socio-cultural life and influence on the ocean as a global commons is little discussed (De Lucia & Iavicoli, 2018). Risk calculus, then, tends to be based on very specific metrics of impact: not endangering human life and not endangering private property. Proposing a different approach, Liboiron (2021) urges us to reconsider how pollution is measured, arguing that pollution is best understood as the violence of colonial land relations rather than environmental damage and harm – land (and space) relations that can be reproduced even through well-intention science and activism.
From the speculation stages to the afterlife of space exploration, settler-colonial logics persist in the form of a sense of entitlement to the physical space of near-Earth orbit and the Moon as well as in the claiming of the sonic landscape, atmospheric landscape and oceanic landscapes. While the volumetric spaces implicated here tend to resist any easy borders or jurisdictional claims, there is good reason for them to be considered as global commons: resources and natural spheres that are to be shared by all rather than the few. Much of these data storage and architecture projects in space are still at proof-of-concept and nascent stages, but they already exemplify some of the potentially perilous pitfalls left in the wake of the race to space. A more expansive understanding of the elemental and volumetric dimensions of such space expansions might contribute to a more comprehensive understanding of their risks, inequities, and enacted violence. There are still many unknowns about future developments beyond Earth, but it is important to extend foresight over these issues. For instance, instead of dismissing the need for manual labour in space, we could attend more carefully to ongoing research about how space travel affects the human body. Many astronauts returning to Earth after long periods of space flight suffer from blurred vision from flattened eyeballs (a condition called visual impairment intracranial pressure) (Alperin et al., 2017), which has implications for space maintenance work. Likewise, instead of defaulting to ‘managing’ pollution, there could be a more concerted effort in refusing certain options and relationships with nature.
[1] NASA recommends such a risk be below 1:10,000.
Editor’s Note:
This is an excerpt from Yung Au’s 2024 article ‘Data centres on the Moon and other tales: a volumetric and elemental analysis of the coloniality of digital infrastructures’, which was first published in Territory, Politics, Governance (12:1, 12–30, DOI: 10.1080/21622671.2022.2153160). Yung is a PhD researcher at the University of Oxford. Thank you to the author for permission to reproduce.
(Image is generated by Midjourney AI)
(The views and opinions expressed in this article published are those of the author/s. They do not necessarily represent the views of VMAC.)
Staff Pick
VMAC – Jess Lau’s works
The VMAC has recently included four works by local artist Lau Ching-wa Jess. They comprise Lau’s 2014 “The Fading Piece” as well as three more recent works: “The Cinema of Walking: Airship” (2020), “Sparkling Fountain” (2021) and “The Cave with a Wheeze” (2021).
These works navigate between reality and the virtual world; the virtual part lies in their presentation through video and stop-motion animation, while the reality comes from Lau’s use of tangible media such as charcoal and fabric patches. The way Lau handles these materials evokes a primitive sense, reminiscent of how early humans documented the world on cave walls, shells, and wood before the development of writing.
Born in Hong Kong in 1991, Jess gained her BA (Honours) in Creative Media at the City University of Hong Kong in 2014. Jess’ work applies themes such as narrative fragments, body memory and focus on iterative manual processes and the aggregation of time. Jess’ work involves a wide range of media – videos, animation, installation – it explores the uniqueness and the malleability of each different medium, for example, outlining the fiction and reality with stop-motion animation. Her iconic works are created through the accumulation of labour and time. The material is constantly reorganised, shaped and dismantled in the world of video, connecting and extending with the memory and imagination of the city as well as the individual self. At the same time, her works aim to break the cold impression of media art, to portray the temperature of people, the traces left by her body, and to emphasise the process of creation and imaging.high-definition visuals, emphasizing the transient and fluid nature of materials.
In “The Fading Piece”, Lau depicts the transformation of Kwun Tong through the slow loss of the pastel. The right half of a split screen displays a diminishing pastel, while the left side shows Kwun Tong’s cityscape in animation. There is a sense of melancholy as the pastel is slowly consumed. Within the frame, the pastel disappears; outside the frame, the artist’s physical strength, time and memories of the city also slowly disappear. Finally, as the pastel is consumed, the cityscape on the left is completely hidden by the repetitive lines.
Jess Lau’s work can be viewed at Videotage. Reservations are welcome!
Video Review
The Gaze, Lam Wai Kit, 2003
Cheung Wai Chu (Intern)
The Gaze utilizes ringing bells, a character’s movement, and a night mode color tone to craft a precise long take. It possesses the enchantment of captative viewers to meditate deep even amid unease. Are the bells a provocation, a command, or a SOS signal? Who is gazing at whom?
When discussing “gaze,” the object is always assumed to be female. The fixed camera does indeed focus on a woman in black. However, upon closer reflection, the camera (first-person perspective), seems to have no way out, emotions can be solely expressed by shaking bells, heightening the fear and the powerlessness of scrutiny. The woman wanders and sneaks around, looks back at the bell ringer, and approaches, with the bell tolling faster, eventually arriving in front of the camera. The character’s actions become more blurred, but the gaze appears to evolve into substance.
If watched in silence, it simply depicts a woman pacing back and forth, occasionally glancing at the camera. The most oppressive final scene: the woman walking toward the camera might only signal her action of ending the recording, underscoring the profound impact of sound editing on the vibe.
About VMAC Newsletter
VMAC, Videotage’s collection of video and media arts, is a witness to the development of video and media culture in Hong Kong over the past 35 years. Featuring artists from varied backgrounds, VMAC covers diverse genres including shorts, video essays, experimental films and animations. VMAC Newsletter, published on a bi-monthly basis, provides an up-to-date conversation on media arts and their preservation while highlighting the collection and its contextual materials.