Artemis, Moon Bases, and a Legal Gray Zone: Why NASA’s Lunar “Safety Zones” Could Become the Next Big Space Fight

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NASA’s Artemis program is back in the spotlight, and not just because watching a giant rocket leave Florida is one of the few universally accepted forms of therapy. The bigger story is what comes after the fireworks: a sustained human presence on the Moon and, eventually, something that looks a lot like a Moon base.

That ambition runs straight into a problem that can’t be solved with better batteries, more funding, or a motivational poster in Mission Control: the law. Specifically, the uneasy relationship between 1960s-era international space law and 2020s/2030s-era plans to extract lunar resources, establish “safety zones,” and build infrastructure in strategically valuable locations like the lunar south pole.

This article uses as its starting point “The Artemis Moon base project is legally dubious” by Georgina Torbet, published by The Verge on April 1, 2026. Torbet’s piece tees up the central question: if nobody can own the Moon, what does it mean to build a base that depends on using (and possibly extracting) lunar resources?

Let’s unpack what Artemis is trying to do, what the key treaties actually say, why the Artemis Accords are both practical and controversial, and how this all could evolve into a policy fight that makes today’s satellite-regulation debates look like a friendly Slack thread.

Artemis II is a flyby — the Moon base is the real mission

Artemis II, scheduled for launch in April 2026, is NASA’s first crewed mission of the Artemis era: a roughly 10-day flight around the Moon and back to Earth using the Space Launch System (SLS) rocket and the Orion spacecraft. The crew includes Reid Wiseman, Victor Glover, Christina Koch, and Canadian astronaut Jeremy Hansen. It’s the first time humans will travel to the vicinity of the Moon since Apollo 17 in 1972. citeturn3search7turn3news15turn3news16

But Artemis II is, legally and politically, more like a trailer than the movie. The larger Artemis architecture is aimed at repeated missions, lunar surface operations, and eventually a sustained presence supported by the planned Gateway station in lunar orbit. NASA has said Artemis IV (no earlier than September 2028) is intended to begin on-orbit assembly of Gateway, including launching the Lunar I-Hab module with a crewed Orion on an SLS Block 1B rocket. citeturn3search3turn3search9

Once you talk about long-duration lunar stays, you’re immediately talking about logistics: power, water, oxygen, fuel, spare parts, radiation mitigation, dust management, and the simple human need to not run out of essentials 250,000 miles from the nearest convenience store. That’s where in-situ resource utilization (ISRU) comes in: using local resources (like water ice) instead of hauling everything from Earth.

ISRU is also where the legal trouble starts.

The Outer Space Treaty: the Moon is not yours, even if you brought a shovel

International space law is thinner than most people assume, but it has one big foundational instrument: the 1967 Outer Space Treaty (OST). Article II contains the famous “non-appropriation” principle:

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. citeturn2search3

That seems straightforward until you ask the 2026 version of the question: “Okay, but what about extracting resources?” The OST doesn’t explicitly say “no mining,” and it was drafted in an era when “lunar mining” sounded like a rejected plotline from a pulp sci-fi magazine.

The treaty also makes states responsible for national space activities, including those conducted by private entities, and obligates them to authorize and continually supervise those activities. That matters because the next lunar economy—if it materializes—won’t be only NASA flags and footprints. It will be government agencies, commercial contractors, and private companies with investors who expect returns. citeturn2search3

Appropriation vs. extraction: the loophole debate

The core argument in today’s space-law debate is whether extracting resources is effectively a form of appropriation. The United States has long leaned toward the view that you can’t claim territory, but you can own what you extract. Critics respond: if you can establish exclusive access to resources in a location and prevent others from interfering, that starts looking like territorial control with better marketing.

This distinction isn’t academic nitpicking. It determines whether a lunar base that depends on local water ice (for life support or fuel) is a perfectly legal extension of “use,” or a de facto land claim dressed up as “operations.”

The Artemis Accords: practical coordination tool or international-law end-run?

To make multinational lunar exploration workable, NASA and the U.S. government introduced the Artemis Accords, a set of non-binding principles that partner countries sign in order to participate in Artemis-related activities. NASA presents the Accords as a framework to implement existing obligations (like transparency, interoperability, emergency assistance, and registration of space objects) while promoting safe and sustainable operations. citeturn2search2

Two provisions draw the most controversy in the context of Moon bases and resource use:

  • Space resources: The Accords state that resource extraction and utilization can be conducted in compliance with the Outer Space Treaty and that such extraction does not inherently constitute national appropriation. citeturn2search2turn2search1
  • “Safety zones” / avoiding harmful interference: The Accords promote establishing safety zones to prevent harmful interference with operations. NASA emphasizes that these zones must respect free access and the “due regard” principle. citeturn2search2

On paper, safety zones sound like common sense: you don’t land your rover on someone else’s lander, and you don’t drive a drilling rig through a habitat’s power cables. In practice, “safety zone” is dangerously close to “keep out,” especially on a Moon where the most valuable sites are geographically constrained.

As Britannica notes, it’s unclear how safety zones can operate without becoming de facto territorial claims—particularly if multiple countries establish overlapping zones near scarce resources like permanently shadowed craters that may contain water ice. citeturn2search1

Safety zones are easy to define in PowerPoint, harder in geopolitics

In 2026, everyone involved in lunar planning has the same nightmare scenario: two missions arrive at the lunar south pole aiming for the same ridge line with near-continuous sunlight (for power) and proximity to shadowed regions (for ice). Both sides say they’re acting peacefully. Both say they’re just “avoiding interference.” Both declare a safety zone around their operations. Then what?

Space.com recently highlighted that under the Artemis Accords, safety zones are the de facto mechanism for avoiding harmful interference—but what a safety zone actually is “is not pretty well defined,” and could be small or big. citeturn2news16

This is where the law gets real. The OST doesn’t provide a lunar zoning board. The Accords are non-binding. And the Moon doesn’t have local courts, unless you count whatever tribunal a future habitat’s commander convenes in the galley.

U.S. domestic law: the SPACE Act and the “we’re not claiming the Moon” disclaimer

The U.S. position on resource rights is not just policy; it’s been written into domestic law. The U.S. Commercial Space Launch Competitiveness Act of 2015 includes space resource provisions and states, in the “sense of Congress,” that the U.S. does not assert sovereignty or exclusive rights over any celestial body by enacting the law. citeturn2search0

That disclaimer is doing a lot of work. The point is to say: “We’re not claiming territory. We’re creating a legal environment where U.S. citizens and companies can own the resources they obtain.” Critics argue that recognizing private ownership of extracted resources could still function as an exercise of sovereign authority in practice, even if not framed as a territorial claim.

This is one reason why international lawyers debate whether national laws and real-world practice could gradually harden into customary international law—especially if enough states behave as though resource extraction is lawful, and other states don’t effectively object. citeturn4search0

It’s not just the U.S.: Luxembourg and the UAE are building similar legal frameworks

The legal push toward space resource utilization isn’t exclusively American. Luxembourg passed a space resources law in 2017. SpaceNews reported that it recognized that space resources are capable of being owned by private companies, and it established a government authorization/supervision regime for those activities. citeturn4search3

The UAE has also built regulatory structure around space activities and has formal “Space Resources Regulations” under Cabinet Resolution No. (19) of 2023, linked to its broader space sector law. citeturn4search5

In other words, the “resources can be owned” approach is spreading. That matters for the customary-law question: if multiple states adopt similar positions, it becomes easier to argue the international norm is evolving—whether or not everyone agrees that it should.

The Moon Agreement: the treaty that tried to settle this (and mostly didn’t)

There is a later treaty that tried to address lunar resources more directly: the 1979 Moon Agreement (often called the Moon Treaty). It leaned into the idea that the Moon and its resources are the “common heritage of mankind,” and envisioned an international regime for exploitation of those resources.

But it never gained broad adoption. Commentary and reporting frequently note that it has relatively few ratifications and none from major spacefaring powers, leaving it with little practical influence over the biggest actors in lunar exploration. citeturn2news13turn2search8

The result is a vacuum: the primary binding treaty is the 1967 OST, and the most active “rulemaking” today is happening through national laws and non-binding agreements like the Artemis Accords.

Why the lunar south pole raises the stakes

If the Moon were uniformly rich in easily accessible water, the legal conflict would likely be easier to manage. The problem is that the most attractive sites are limited and highly specific—especially near the lunar south pole, where permanently shadowed regions may contain water ice, and nearby peaks can receive long periods of sunlight for solar power.

This is also where geopolitical competition sharpens. The U.S.-aligned Artemis framework is one pole; China is pursuing its own lunar ambitions with partners via the International Lunar Research Station (ILRS) concept. Chinese government communications have described plans for an ILRS basic station in the lunar south pole region by 2035. citeturn3search11turn3search8

Put simply: the Moon is big, but the “premium real estate” isn’t infinite. Scarcity turns coordination challenges into potential conflict drivers.

From “harmful interference” to “hostile act”: where ambiguity becomes risk

The language around “harmful interference” shows up in multiple space-law discussions, and it’s a reasonable idea: you shouldn’t sabotage or dangerously disrupt someone else’s lawful activities. But the concept becomes slippery when used to justify exclusionary practices.

A safety zone could be a modest buffer around a lander’s exhaust plume area. Or it could quietly expand into a large perimeter around a resource extraction site, justified by the need to protect equipment, communications, or crew safety. The bigger and longer-lived the zone, the more it resembles control.

There’s an analogy often raised by analysts: offshore oil rigs. A state can establish safety measures around a rig without claiming the ocean itself. A Polish foreign policy institute analysis notes that safety zones don’t have to equal appropriation and compares the concept to offshore installations under the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea. citeturn2search6

That analogy is helpful, but it isn’t a perfect fit. The ocean has a dense legal architecture, enforcement capability, and long-established norms. The Moon has… a treaty, a bunch of national laws, some non-binding principles, and whatever political leverage countries can bring to the table.

What would a “Moon base” legally look like?

“Moon base” is a catchy phrase, but legally it’s a bundle of activities, each with different implications:

  • Habitat operations: Keeping astronauts alive, maintaining communications, generating power.
  • Scientific research: Sampling regolith, deploying telescopes, studying geology and volatiles.
  • Resource prospecting: Locating and characterizing ice deposits or other useful materials.
  • Resource extraction and processing: Extracting water, producing oxygen, potentially producing propellant.
  • Construction and infrastructure: Building landing pads, shielding, roads, storage facilities, and maybe even refueling depots.

The legal controversy intensifies as you move down that list. Scientific research is broadly accepted. Prospecting and mapping raise fewer objections. Extraction and long-term exclusive operations around scarce resources are where “non-appropriation” starts to feel like it’s being stress-tested in a lab built by attorneys.

Why NASA (and partners) still push ahead

It’s tempting to frame this as NASA versus international law, but the reality is more complicated. NASA’s position is that the Artemis Accords reinforce compliance with the OST while providing operational clarity for safe exploration. citeturn2search2

There are also practical reasons governments like frameworks that favor resource utilization:

  • Cost and sustainability: ISRU could reduce mission mass and recurring launch costs, making long-term presence more feasible.
  • Commercial incentives: Private firms are more likely to invest if ownership and operational protections are credible.
  • Strategic positioning: Establishing early operational capability at key lunar sites can provide technological and geopolitical advantage.

And, to be blunt in the mildly funny tech-reporter way: governments like to win. “Why go to the Moon?” is never just about science, even when science is real and important. It’s also about prestige, industrial base, alliances, and setting the rules before someone else does.

The “customary international law” endgame: norms by repetition

One of the most consequential themes raised in space-law commentary is whether repeated practice—resource extraction, recognition of ownership, safety zones—could evolve into customary international law. The idea isn’t new: customary law often arises when states behave consistently in a certain way out of a sense of legal right or obligation, and other states accept it (or at least don’t object effectively).

That’s why national laws matter, and why the Accords matter, even though they’re non-binding. As Opinio Juris notes, the interaction between international and national frameworks is “peculiar,” and national legislation can become part of the evidence base in arguments over customary law—though the topic is contested and fact-specific. citeturn4search0

Translated into plain English: if enough countries act like mining is legal, and nobody stops them, the world may eventually treat it as legal—even if the original treaty language didn’t clearly authorize it.

Cybersecurity and infrastructure angle: a Moon base is a critical system, not just a camp

Dorland.org readers care about the unsexy reality: infrastructure. A Moon base isn’t just a habitat; it’s a high-value, high-risk system-of-systems. And if the next decade of lunar operations looks anything like the last decade of Earth-based critical infrastructure, security will be a first-order issue.

Consider what “harmful interference” could look like in practice:

  • RF interference or jamming of communications links.
  • Navigation spoofing for autonomous rovers (or landers).
  • Supply chain compromise in flight software or base control systems.
  • Industrial control system (ICS) attacks against power, oxygen generation, or thermal regulation—systems where downtime is fatal.

The OST and Artemis Accords discussions are usually framed in geopolitical terms, but the operational reality is that many disputes will manifest as “technical incidents” first. A future diplomatic crisis could begin with a bug report.

What better rules might look like (and why they’re hard)

Most serious observers agree on one thing: clearer rules would reduce risk. But the path to clearer rules is slow and politically fraught.

Option 1: A new binding treaty (good luck, everyone)

A binding multilateral treaty that defines resource rights, benefit sharing, environmental protections, dispute resolution, and enforcement would be the cleanest solution on paper. It’s also the least likely in the near term, given great-power rivalry and the difficulty of negotiating complex regimes even when everyone’s aligned (which they aren’t).

Option 2: COPUOS norms and guidelines

The UN Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS) is an existing venue for discussion of space sustainability and norms. Incremental progress—guidelines, best practices, transparency measures—may be more realistic than a grand bargain, but it may not settle core property and access disputes.

Option 3: “Soft law” plus practice (the current path)

The world may continue down today’s road: non-binding agreements, national legislation, and operational precedent. That can work—until a serious conflict emerges where the parties disagree on what the rules were supposed to mean.

So is Artemis “legally dubious”?

Torbet’s Verge article argues that the Moon base vision tied to resource extraction and safety zones sits in a gray zone, and quotes space-law experts who contend that the U.S. interpretation is effectively carving out a loophole in the non-appropriation principle. citeturn1view0

Based on the available legal texts and the current state of policy, “legally dubious” is a fair characterization—not because Artemis is clearly illegal, but because the most contentious activities (resource extraction, priority access, and exclusionary safety zones) live in an area where:

  • The Outer Space Treaty is clear on sovereignty but unclear on resource extraction specifics. citeturn2search3
  • The Artemis Accords are influential but non-binding, and they reflect one interpretation rather than a universally accepted regime. citeturn2search2turn2search1
  • National laws (U.S., Luxembourg, UAE and others) are building a patchwork that may or may not align with other states’ interpretations. citeturn2search0turn4search3turn4search5

That’s not a stable foundation for a long-term off-world economy. It’s a foundation for arguments, and eventually, for tests of power.

What to watch next

If you want early warning signals that lunar law is about to become lunar conflict (or at least lunar litigation-by-diplomacy), watch these areas:

  • How “safety zones” are operationalized in actual mission planning: size, duration, publication of coordinates, transparency mechanisms.
  • First commercial-scale extraction demos (even small ones) and how states react.
  • South pole mission congestion and landing site coordination—especially as more actors target the same regions.
  • Whether non-signatory major powers (notably China and Russia) push alternative frameworks or challenge Artemis-aligned practice.
  • Dispute-resolution mechanisms proposed inside COPUOS or via bilateral/multilateral agreements.

In the meantime, Artemis II is a reminder that human spaceflight is hard, expensive, and occasionally delayed by the universe’s deep love of unexpected technical issues. But if the launch is the headline, the real story is what happens when humans stop visiting the Moon and start operating there. The moment you operate somewhere, you need rules. And right now, the rules are… let’s call them “under active development.”

Sources

Bas Dorland, Technology Journalist & Founder of dorland.org