The Moon Has Been Declared a Republic to Save It from Dirty Humans

Current discussion of the Moon tends toward the enterprising and the political, but it wasn’t always like that. Once, the Moon was reserved for the realm of art, where it has played a role as a powerful symbol, an inspiring muse, and a fertile ground for imagination since we first looked upon the great celestial sliver. And now a group of artists want it back.

They’ve claimed a Republic of the Moon, for them and for us, from right here on Earth. I went to their temporary terrestrial Moon Embassy—which is in fact an exhibition at London’s Bargehouse gallery, commissioned by the Arts Catalyst—to find out more about the moon futures they fear and desire.

“It’s an imaginary concept of course,” said Rob La Frenais, who curated the exhibition. “But it’s basically a way of re-thinking and re-defining the way things have changed socially and politically and culturally here on earth, since those 12 men, Americans, went to the moon in Apollo.” He pointed to China’s recent mission that sent the Jade Rabbit rover to the moon, India’s Mars Orbiter, and the Google Lunar X Prize as examples of how far space exploration has come, and as reasons why “we should start rethinking all these concepts of governance and ownership, and the way societies are formed.”

It’s been decades since we set foot on the lunar surface, but there’s no doubt we’ll be back there soon with big ideas, whether it’s mining for minerals, shepherding tourist trips, dumping nuclear waste, or building summer homes. And as the race to profit from this huge chunk of more-or-less untouched real estate heats up, the question of ownership arises.

According to the UN’s Outer Space Treaty, which was signed by all space-exploring countries and entered into force in 1967, “Outer space shall be free for exploration and use by all States,” and, “Outer space is not subject to national appropriation by claim of sovereignty, by means of use or occupation, or by any other means.” The treaty also stated that space exploration should be undertaken for the benefit of all mankind—not just the nation that sends the rockets and astronauts—and that it should be used for peaceful purposes. Nuclear weapons and harmful contamination are specifically denied.

But while the treaty still stands, it’s not exactly clear where we really stand now on who can and can’t do what in space. A follow-up treaty that entered into force in 1984, the Agreement Governing the Activities of States on the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies, was never signed by the nations that would be most likely to be impacted by it; the US, China, Russia, Japan, and some members of the European Space Agency, including the UK, are notably absent from the list of signatories.

Then there’s the niggling fact that the treaty only strictly covers nation states. There’s currently no law specifically designed to stop private businesses, or individuals, from appropriating the Moon, because until now, no one could get there without government backing. That apparent loophole has already led some to exploit the opportunity; Dennis Hope, the man behind lunar real estate company Moon Estates, has managed to make a living selling over 600 million acres of the Moon.

La Frenais thinks artists are in a good position to fight back against potential future exploitation of the Moon, mainly because they’re not the kind of people to hang around.

“They want to think about where do we go now, straight away, without having to wait for the space agencies to start going there or doing things,” he said. The kinds of questions that are being raised throughout the duration of the exhibition touch on issues such as mining the Moon (“Is it worth to be mining on the Moon than it is to be drilling in the Arctic?” La Frenais asks), sending microbes to Mars, and protecting the planetary ecosystem.

Exploring the exhibition, I came across a room with a neon sign that read “The Moon Ah Yeah” and a shopping trolley full of rocks. An installation by artist duo We Colonised the Moon, the sign symbolised the fun of the fairground, and the trolley-rover represented Moon-mining. The rocks, WCTM’s Sue Corke told me, were “real fake Moon rocks”—plaster, chicken wire, and polystyrene, covered in NASA-official Moon regulate. On a blackboard were the words: Theme park or a quarry? That’s where things could be headed for the Moon, Corke said, not that she’s happy about it.

I asked her why she supported a Moon Republic. “Realistically, science programs and politically motivated or commercially motivated exploitation—trips to the Moon—are never going to include artists unless there is something in it for the parties with the money,” she said.

And where countries might see colonies and corporations dollar signs, artists are more preoccupied with protecting the Moon against potentially destructive exploration. “The history of man’s activity on Earth in terms of colonisation and invasive species introduction, and the way we encounter and leave our traces behind in pristine environments, is very much one of unintended consequences and disasters,” warned Corke.

She held up Thomas Austin, an English settler who introduced rabbits to Australia in the 19th century, as an example. He thought the animals “could do little harm, might add a touch of home, and would be good for a spot of hunting.” Now they’re a serious pest.

For two of the other artists in the exhibition, Agnes Meyer-Brandis from Germany and Leonid Tishkov from Russia, owning the moon is a more personal activity, and doesn’t require any space travel.

Meyer-Brandis’ installation was inspired by Francis Godwin’s 17th century book The Man in the Moone, which is considered by some to be the first ever science fiction novel. In the book, “moon geese” fly the protagonist to the Moon. Meyer-Brandis has raised 11 of her own “moon geese” since they hatched in 2011. They’re named after astronauts, live in a simulated moon habitat in Italy, and conduct science experiments like observing a dandelion—their favourite food—in non-directional gravity. I observed the moon geese at work via a control room in the exhibition (they transmit data over using a special Morse code device) and even waved at one of them via Skype.

It might sound a little wacky, but it’s her way of exploring the Moon without relying on state- or corporation-run projects. “It’s a quite private way of space travel I would say, low cost but time intense,” she said. What did she think of developments in space tourism? I asked. “I prefer to travel with moon geese; it’s more environment friendly.”

Tishkov carries his own moon around with him: a crescent-shaped electric light that he has photographed in different locations (he’s actually gone through quite a few of the moon lamps, as they don’t take too well to being dragged in the snow and hiked up to his studio on the 26th floor).

He’s adamant we should leave the Moon alone, and preserve it as a destination for dreaming and fairytales, not excavators and nuclear waste. Too much exploration, he thinks, could change our relationship with the cosmos and take away its poetic qualities.

“It is my opinion, humans lost romance and poetry in everything we discovered,” he said. “I think we need to discuss a moratorium for the Moon; the moon only for poetry.”